Thank you, as ever, for reading/reviewing/following/favoriting. It means a lot to hear what people think, so please keep sending your comments. I don't always have time to respond to reviews, but I try to when I can, especially if you have a comment or question that I can shed some light on.
This chapter involves lots of cricket. I know next to nothing about the game, so I will try to avoid specifics, but if my complete and utter ignorance of the sport shows, I apologize. This chapter also is my delayed nod to STEAMM (Sybil, Tom, Edith, Anthony, Mary, Matthew) day on tumblr (mine is magfreak dot tumblr dot com), so there's a bit of each couple here.
Hope you enjoy!
Tom rolled his eyes and let out a frustrated sigh after missing yet another ball. Matthew smiled knowing his friend was prone to dislike anything he wasn't good at.
"Is this worth it?" Tom asked as he threw the ball back to Matthew. "I've no time to learn anything. Shouldn't I trust a beginner's luck?"
"Certainly not," Matthew answered. "I want you to profit from my skills so we can make a good showing at our first match."
Matthew tossed the ball back and forth between his hands while Tom got into batting position again.
"Elbow up."
On hearing Robert, Tom stood to see him coming up behind him, dressed for the team practice that was to start in about a quarter of an hour at 3 o'clock. Matthew and Tom had arrived a half-hour early in order for Tom to learn the basics before the rest of the team gathered, but if Matthew and Robert had hoped that a natural talent for the game had lain dormant within Tom, waiting for the right opportunity to make itself known, they were in for disappointment. Having spent all week trying to convince them that, politics aside, he'd be a detriment to the team, Tom was, nevertheless, trying to make a genuine effort on their behalf as well as Sybil's. In fact, he was determined not to be so terrible that he'd be dismissed from participating in the very event he himself had argued so passionately against. But he just wasn't very good.
With Robert watching, Tom set to bat. Matthew bowled, and once again, Tom missed. And despite the fact the annual match brought Robert's competitive nature to a boil, Robert smiled at Tom's futile attempt, seemingly unconcerned about this team member's ability.
Tom looked over at him with a skeptical expression. "I do believe I warned you about what I'd have to offer."
"We don't need you to carry the team. We need an eleventh man and I'm happy to settle for you," Robert said. "Although I do hope your dress improves come Saturday, if not your play."
Tom looked down at his attire. He and Matthew had come to the house straight from their office in Ripon, and therefore were still in their suits, though they'd taken off their jackets and rolled up their shirtsleeves. Tom had also, and rather unceremoniously, yanked off his tie after the first five minutes out of frustration.
Looking back up to Robert, Tom teased, "And what if I don't own any cricket whites? You won't settle for this?"
"If you don't have whites, I'll take you to the tailor myself," Robert said as he walked over to the net set up behind the wicket and picked up the ball to throw back to Matthew, who was watching their interaction with amusement.
Tom moved to reset himself and said, "You won't make a gentleman of me, you know. You can teach me to fish, to ride, to shoot, but I'll still be an Irish mick in my heart."
"So we should hope," Matthew said with a laugh as he released the ball and for the first time Tom made contact.
"There!" Matthew exclaimed. "See, you're getting the hang of it!"
As Matthew ran off to chase after the ball, Tom looked at Robert again.
"Will you make such a fuss about shooting?" Robert asked.
"I suppose not, but do you really want to put a rifle in my hands?"
"I don't see why not. What difference would it make, anyway, when you do your worst damage with your mouth?"
Tom grinned. "Thank you. That's precisely my aim."
Robert looked at Tom from the side of his eyes and couldn't help but smile.
As Matthew, now with Robert's help, continued to try to make something of Tom's less than stellar play, inside the house, Cora and the girls were in the parlor with Rosamund, who'd arrived that morning and would be staying through the weekend.
"Any interesting news from London?" Cora asked Rosamund as she settled into her chair, having spent most of the early afternoon resting after her train ride.
"There never is this time of year," Rosamund replied. "Although I did have tea with Mrs. Chetwood yesterday. Anthony wrote to her to tell her that he was coming for the cricket match, and she was rather excited at the prospect."
Mary rolled her eyes. "It's really too bad she only had one son. She's so eager to marry people off. I do rather feel for Sir Anthony having to put up with her."
"Would that we could choose our relations, dear," Rosamund answered Mary with a sly wink. "Though in so far as sisters-in-law may do so, she has her heart set on you as one, I'm afraid."
"She must prepare herself for disappointment," Mary said.
Rosamund looked over at Cora with a confused expression. "Must she? I assumed he'd been invited for—"
"Actually, Rosamund," Cora cut in gently, looking over at Edith, who was already blushing, "Sir Anthony and Edith got along quite well when we invited him to dinner and though there is no expectation of anything beyond friendship, we hope he seeks out and enjoys her company again."
A wide-eyed Rosamund looked over at Edith in surprise.
"Does it shock you so that someone would take an interest in me?" Edith asked, a bit defensively.
"Oh, I'm not shocked that he would take an interest in you, my dear. I'm shocked that he or you got up the courage to talk to one another at all. Anthony is a jolly fellow, but rather shy at the end of the day, and you're certainly not known for being a social butterfly yourself. But bully for you if it'll get you a husband."
"Edith only talked to Sir Anthony because was trying to make a point to me," Mary said, and before Edith had a chance to take offense, Mary added, "thankfully for all involved she turned out to be right."
Edith pursed her lips as if biting her tongue, but she could tell from Mary's tone and countenance that Mary was only teasing her and meant no offense.
"Do you know Sir Anthony very well, Aunt Rosamond?" Sybil asked asked.
"He was a favorite of Marmaduke's when he was a young man, had some interest in the banking business and Marmaduke was keen to mentor him, but when his father passed, the reins were handed over to him at Locksley and he never took on a profession. I haven't seen much of him in recent years, but I can't imagine he's changed in any significant ways."
"I didn't know Marmaduke knew Anthony," Cora said.
"Marmaduke knew everyone," Rosamund responded proudly. "He made it his business to know people, and as I said Anthony had expressed interest in taking a profession. Pity about his father, but I suppose some men are only meant to be caretakers of what's been left to them."
"Have you been to Locksley, Aunt Rosamund?" Edith asked.
"Oh, yes," Rosamond said. "It's not so grand as Downton, but a lovely country home in its own right."
Edith was about to ask another question when Carson came into the room. "Pardon me, my lady," he said.
"Yes, Carson," Cora said, looking up to him expectantly.
"The cricket team will be gathering on the lawn shortly for our practice before Sunday's match," Carson said. "In fact, his Lordship and Mr. Crawley and Mr. Branson are already there. The footmen and I will be occupied for the next hour or so. If her ladyship needs anything, Mrs. Hughes can have one of the maids take care of it."
"Thank you, Carson," Cora said, with a smile. "I think we are taken care of for the time being and certainly wish the team the best of luck."
Carson gave a slight bow, turned on his heel and left, immediately after which Sybil stood to go as well.
"Where are you going?" Mary asked.
With a sly smile Sybil answered, "Tom's never played cricket before. I'm not going to miss the fun."
Mary rolled her eyes, but Sybil hadn't taken five steps before she stood to follow as well.
Cora smirked and shook her head watching the two of them go. Then, turning back to Rosamund, she said, "If you'll excuse me, I think this will be a good time to talk to Mrs. Patmore about our picnic lunch for Saturday."
Having been left alone with her middle niece, Rosamund looked over at Edith, who was fidgeting with the book that lay on her lap, and smiled knowingly.
"What were you going to ask me, dear?"
Edith looked over to Rosamond abruptly, as if she been surprised by the train of thought that Rosamond had interrupted by speaking again.
"Oh, nothing."
"You can ask me whatever you like," Rosamond said. "It's always best to be prepared for these things."
Edith blushed. "I don't think I could ever be prepared."
"And what could you mean by that?" Rosamund asked.
"Well," Edith said, dragging out the word as if still considering whether she could confide in her aunt. "He's so much older than I am, for one."
"Oh," Rosamond said quietly. "I suppose he's not the youngest colt in the barn, but I would not have thought his age would put you off."
"It doesn't," Edith answered quickly. "At least, I don't think him too old for me or not nice looking enough, if that's what you think I meant."
"So what did you mean?"
"It's just . . . he is older, which means he's so much wiser and more experienced than I am—more cultured, more travelled, more everything! How could someone like that want to have a conversation with me. I barely know anything of the world."
"Well, according to your mother, you sparked his interest once. What makes you think you can't do it again?"
"Mary was right about that," Edith said meekly. "I was more bold than I usually am because I was trying to show her up."
"But, it worked to your favor."
"Yes, but that's not how I usually am. I find the idea of having to always be so forward rather exhausting."
"How else are you to get to know a man if not by talking to him?"
Edith laughed in spite of herself.
"What did you talk about?" Rosamund asked, taking another tack. "More likely it was not the boldness for its own sake, but the subject that enthralled him."
Edith rolled her eyes at herself thinking back on it. "Farming machinery."
Rosamund tilted her head as if in deep thought. "I don't suppose conversations on that subject are enough to sustain a marriage," she said, causing Edith to laugh. "But the key is how the courtship ends, not how it starts."
Edith smiled, grateful for her aunt's encouragement.
Rosamund smiled back. "May I confess something, darling."
Edith narrowed her eyes and nodded, wondering what Rosamund, someone usually so open about her thoughts and opinions, could possibly have to confess to anyone.
"Marmaduke was already thirty-five when I was introduced to him during my first season."
"Really?"
"He was not cheap wine by anyone's standards, but he was of a fairly recent vintage, as mama might say."
Edith smiled and wondered how in love Rosamund had to have been—and how large Marmaduke's bank account—to get Violet to agree to a match with a man who worked for a living.
"I found him terribly charming and far more interesting than any of the young men my age that I encountered after coming out, but he was rather a tough nut to crack. I could tell that he liked me, but he never seemed eager to converse with me for long. I was determined, though, and by that August, he finally spoke with papa about our getting married. I told to him then that I had begun to give up hope he would ever ask and that I feared perhaps he thought me too silly a girl to make a good wife. He responded by saying that his reticence came from believing I might not think him interesting enough."
Rosamond leaned in conspiratorially toward Edith. "I would venture to guess that that is how Sir Anthony feels about you."
Edith had no words, she could only blush and grin and hope that her aunt was right.
XXX
Outside, as the rest of the team began to gather, Tom happily gave over the bat so others could take their turn. Along with Matthew and Tom, the team consisted of Robert, Carson, Pratt, Thomas, Alfred, Joseph, Peter, William and Moseley, who seemed to be bursting at the seams with excitement.
When Tom had revealed to his immediate family the evening before that he would be participating after all, Moseley volunteered himself to initiate Tom as to the rules of play, a task he took quite to heart. Upon arrival at the practice, he set to quizzing Tom about what he had gone over with him at breakfast that morning. Tom was amused by Moseley's enthusiasm and genuinely wondered if knowledge of the game translated to skill on the field.
"You take this rather seriously, don't you, Moseley?"
"I think cricket's like anything else. When you learn it as a child, there's an understanding that's hard to come by later, and with a father like mine, ugh, I was brought up with cricket in my blood."
Tom smiled. "Well, I can certainly understand a love of anything shared with a father."
"Didn't Dr. Crawley play with you and Mr. Matthew?"
At Moseley's question, images of Reginald poring over an old book or atlas with Tom and building model trains with Matthew flooded Tom's mind. After a moment, he answered, "Uncle Reg was more one for cerebral pastimes, I'm afraid, not one for sport, which I suppose is in some measure why I'm not either. Matthew came to love it in his later years at school, but he was past his father's influence by then."
"Well, my dad has loved the village-house match since it began. He was on the first team for the village side. Even in the many years he worked in London, he'd send letters home to see how the village lads had done."
"Given his enthusiasm for it, and yours, I was surprised when you said you hadn't played in the match before. How come?"
"How could I? I didn't work at the house before this year."
"Couldn't you have played for the village?"
"There was never a need for me to play," Moseley said with a shrug. "The village is overrun with young men with talent for the game, which is why the house only rarely wins."
Tom smiled and slapped Moseley on the back, "Well, I can't say I will contribute much, but I daresay Robert will be thankful to have you."
Moseley smiled sheepishly. After a moment, he tilted his head to look behind Tom, causing the latter to turn to see what he was looking at. It was Sybil and Mary, who had just walked out onto the lawn. Tom grinned and waved. Sybil waved back and sat down on the grass, with the obvious intention of staying to watch, which made Tom laugh.
Sybil knew only slightly more of cricket than Tom did. Little of what she would see that afternoon or the following Saturday would make much sense to her, but watching the servants mingle and play around with her father, Matthew and Tom, as if they were friends and not merely employers and employees—it was an image she couldn't help but like. She understood Tom's objections to playing, and supported them, but from her current vantage point, the easy manner in which the classes were mixing seemed almost . . . democratic. She wondered if Tom could see it now too and if that would help ease any lingering doubt as to his participation. She resolved, despite her previous indifference to the event, that there was something here to like.
After she made herself comfortable, Sybil looked up and watched Mary as Mary looked across the lawn to the players.
"Aren't you going to sit down?" Sybil asked with a smile.
"I haven't decided if I'm staying," Mary said without looking down. "Cricket bores me terribly, and it's bad enough to have to sit through the whole match on Saturday."
"You can enjoy the view," Sybil said teasingly. 'I certainly intend to."
"I know precisely what you intend," Mary tartly. "I won't deny that cricket clothes are rather becoming, but I prefer a fine set of tails myself. There is no greater view, if you ask me, than the row of young gentlemen lined up to dance at the head of a Mayfair ballroom at the start of the season, a sight you will see soon enough."
Sybil smiled but did not did not respond.
After a moment, Mary let out a sigh and sat down on the grass next to Sybil. As she did, Sybil raised her eyebrows, and Mary said in response, "Only for a little while. I don't suppose papa will allow one of the footmen to step away to bring us chairs now, so I'll consider this skirt a sacrificial lamb to his cause."
"Perhaps that's precisely what the team has needed all this time," Sybil said.
Mary smiled.
"So when will you give me your advice?" Sybil asked quietly.
"Advice about what?" Mary asked.
"The season, what I am to expect, what I am to do."
Mary laughed. "Even I would never presume to tell you how to do anything."
Sybil laughed as well. "Surely you have an opinion on how it should be done. Even if I plan to do it my own way, I'd like to know your opinion. Otherwise all I'll have to go on is what Imogen has told me."
Mary rolled her eyes. "And what, pray tell, is that?"
"That I will lose a shoe, spill wine on a dress and if I'm lucky, I suppose, I will kiss someone."
"I've never lost a shoe or spilled anything—what a ridiculous notion."
Sybil laughed. "And the kissing?" she asked gently after a moment.
"Any is too much in the eyes of most, so it's best not to say anything at all."
"But I'm your sister. Surely, you wouldn't think that I would judge you."
Mary smiled. "I know you wouldn't."
"But you'd rather not say?"
Mary looked at her hands as if weighing her response.
"Would it help if I told you that I've kissed Tom?" Sybil asked, continuing to prod.
Mary raised her eyebrow. "You didn't need to tell me that for me to know it's true."
Sybil laughed and blushed slightly. "It's funny. My feelings are so strong and present in my heart, I have a hard time remembering sometimes that it's still something of a secret. It wouldn't be all bad if our intentions came to be known before we plan to reveal them to mama and papa ourselves, but waiting until I've made my debut, I'll at least avoid them telling me that I didn't do things in the proper order."
"As if there is such a thing when it comes to love," Mary said wistfully.
"Order or propriety?"
"Both." Mary took a deep breath, then added, "Kemal Pamuk is the only man who has kissed me."
Sybil's head whipped toward her sister in surprise, and without word, she took Mary's hand and squeezed it comfortingly. "Patrick never . . .?"
Mary laughed ruefully. "I never let him, not even after we were engaged. I know girls who kissed practically every boy they danced with at their first ball. But it always seemed so childish to me, wanting to partake in a rite of passage into womanhood merely for the sake of doing so. I already felt grown up. I didn't need slobbering boys to prove it."
"Wasn't there ever anyone you wanted to kiss?"
"Just one."
"And who was that?"
"The Duke of Crowborough," Mary said with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "You never met him. It was two years ago now, during the season. We danced together at the Northbrooks, and after, he pulled me into the conservatory . . . I don't remember what we talked about, only the feeling of my skin tingling. I was so sure he was going to kiss me, and then someone walked by in the hall. Then, the moment was over and we went back to the ballroom."
"What happened after that?" Sybil asked quietly.
"He found out papa lost Downton or simply lost interest in me. God knows."
"Whether a fortune hunter or a fool, he proved himself unworthy of you," Sybil said squeezing Mary's hand again. "Is there anyone you want to kiss now?"
Mary turned to face Sybil, and Sybil laughed at the glare her sister was leveling in her direction.
"All right, I'll stop asking questions," Sybil said, still smiling.
"Thank you," Mary replied. "Besides, it's useless to wish it," she added, looking back across the lawn at Matthew. "He would only ever kiss a woman—really kiss her—if he knew he was going to marry her. I know him at least well enough to know that."
XXX
The practice proved a very successful one, running almost an hour longer than initially planned. (Sybil and Mary had their fill after about half an hour.) At its end, Robert was left feeling more confident than he had been at the start. That evening the family dined all together, and as a gesture of good faith for the effort put in by the staff, they did so informally with the chafing dishes set out on the serving table and everyone serving themselves as was usually done only at breakfast. The maids looked after the family, giving the footmen and Carson a much needed rest—even though Carson accepted the reward rather reluctantly and only relented at Mrs. Hughes' not-so-gentle urging.
The rest of the week went by quickly and when Saturday dawned there were few in the village or the house who woke to thoughts of something other than the match and the related festivities. Matthew woke earlier than usual and after dressing himself to play, decided to walk over to Downton Abbey early and do some work on the books before it was time to head to the village green. As he was leaving before breakfast, he walked down to the kitchen to grab something to eat. When he entered, Moseley and Ivy were finishing their breakfasts while Claire worked on breakfast for the family and a picnic lunch for herself, Moseley, Ivy and Alfred, whom she expected would be eating with them, rather than the Downton Abbey staff after the match.
"Good morning, Mr. Crawley," Ivy said as she and Moseley stood from the table.
"Fine day for cricket wouldn't you say, sir!" Moseley greeted.
Matthew smiled. "Indeed, it is. Please continue eating. I apologize for intruding. I'm walking over to the big house to do some business and thought I'd just grab something on the way out."
Claire quickly took one of the ham sandwiches she'd made for the picnic lunch and an apple and wrapped them in a small cloth. She walked over to Matthew and handed the food to him with a wink.
"Thank you, Mrs. Branson. You always seem to know what I need before I do."
Claire only smiled. "Don't suppose my son's up yet?"
"I could hear him snoring through the door, so I'd say not."
Having finished his meal, Moseley stood and said, "I'll go fetch your laundry sir, excuse me." And with that headed up to Matthew's room.
Looking over at Ivy, who had also finished, Claire said, "All right dear, no dilly dallying this morning. Wash up those dishes, then up to make up the bed."
"Yes, Mrs. Branson," Ivy said, picking up hers and Moseley's dishes and heading over to the adjoining room where the sink was.
Left alone with Matthew, Claire turned to him and asked, "Now be honest, just how foolish is Tommy going to look on that pitch today?"
Her tone was jocular, but Matthew could sense a measure of maternal concern within it as well.
"Considering that he only really learned the game days ago, I'd say it could be worse," Matthew replied.
Claire sighed. "He's never lacking for confidence. I suppose it's good for him to know that he can't excel at everything."
"He'll be fine, and I dare say he will enjoy himself."
"Was the family happy to have him play at least?" Claire asked. "He never said much about their reaction to his change of mind."
"They were—well, Lord Grantham, anyway. I don't think the ladies care too much one way or the other."
"As a girl, I never would have imagined having a son who was on such friendly terms with an English lord," she said, causing Matthew to laugh lightly. "The bits of Irish still left in me find the whole thing a bit odd, but as a mother, it behooves me to be nothing but proud."
Matthew regarded Claire for a long moment. He knew that Tom's Irish pride had been stoked considerably during his days as a student back in Ireland, but the seeds had been planted and nurtured by his mother, whose strength of character had not been mollified by almost a lifetime in service to an English family. Though given her link to the family through Tom, she had never really felt like a mere servant to Matthew.
Eventually, Matthew lifted the food Claire had given him to indicate he was leaving. "I should get going," he said. "Thanks for this."
"I'm proud of you too, Mr. Matthew, I hope you know," Claire said quietly as Matthew took his leave. "You're very much like your father. I think he'd have liked the man you've become."
Matthew looked back at Claire with a soft smile. "Thank you."
As he headed out, Claire's words rang in Matthew's ears. Thoughts of his father stirred him. He remembered his mother telling him that Robert had once offered Reginald a position at Downton hospital, which prompted Matthew to wonder what it might have been like to have grown up in the village. He and Tom would have been young boys at the time and thus would have been introduced and come to know Mary, Edith and Sybil long before the time that romantic notions begin to take hold of young minds. He supposed, given how things had transpired, that not much in their current lives would be very different.
Well, no, that's not true, he thought. One thing would be very different.
He would not have met and loved Lavinia Swire. Memories of Lavinia still gripped his heart, though time had slackened their hold.
Thinking of her now, Matthew considered how little she had been in his thoughts of late. There had been a time, for many weeks and months after her death, that he could not escape thought of her, nor of the life, now lost, that they would have lived together. Upon his proposal to her, that future had rolled out before him in one long and predictable sequence of events, but upon her death it became a blank once again. Now, with his investment in Downton, the title that awaited him lit a different kind of path. The question of whether he would walk it alone remained open. As he passed the Downton gates and the house loomed ahead of him, Matthew stopped and looked around. All of this was his—or would be eventually—but he still wasn't sure whether he'd ever see himself as anything more than a steward. How could he ever be true master of this domain, after all, without a mistress?
That particular thought, without fail, always led him to think about Mary. The promise that he had made to her about staying in Downton beyond her father's time as earl had been a sincere one offered in earnest friendship. Matthew was too honorable a person to turn her out from a house that more just inheritance laws would have declared rightfully hers, and certainly, if they were to need his support, he'd give the same offer to Edith and Sybil (though he knew the latter, at least, would be married to Tom and long gone from Downton Abbey by the time he was likely to inherit it). And yet, a tiny, unrelenting fiber in his heart knew that in saying those words to Mary there was something more than friendship being offered—something like a proposal, one that he was not ready to make in clearer language and one his heart knew she was not ready to accept.
Not wanting to interrupt the servants' breakfast, Matthew came into the house without knocking, as was his usual custom, and headed directly to the library and the desk where he and Robert kept the estate's ledgers. He sat down to review the current month's expenses, eating his sandwich and apple as he did so. He'd not been there a quarter of an hour when Mary walked into the room.
Not expecting to see him, Mary was momentarily startled.
"I'm sorry for not giving warning I'd be here so early," Matthew said, stepping away from the desk. "I was up early so I thought I'd look to the books."
Mary smiled and came the rest of the way into the room. "You're very meticulous. I don't remember papa ever having your diligence, though I suppose that explains what drove us from the house."
Matthew laughed and dropped his chin down to his chest in embarrassment. "We all have our way of doing things."
"So how are things?" She asked. "I hope Downton has proven a good investment."
"Very good," he said.
"I suppose I shouldn't ask too many questions. It's not really my concern."
"It's your home," Matthew said. "Of course, it's your concern—if you really want to know all about farming yields or accounting, I'm happy to tell you all about it."
"Please, no."
Matthew laughed. He looked back to the desk, then back to her. "I hope I'm not keeping you from something."
"No, I just came to fetch a book," she answered. "Papa is still finishing his breakfast, I suspect he'll be in here before long, so I'll leave you to finish what you were doing."
Mary turned to go, but was stopped by Matthew's words.
"Did you know Robert once invited my father to come work at the village hospital?"
Mary turned again. "I had no idea."
Matthew gestured for her to sit down on the sofa, which they both did.
"I didn't know either, until fairly recently. In fact, my mother only told me just after Robert wrote to tell me I was in line to inherit his title."
"When was the offer made?" Mary asked.
"I don't know exactly. Some time ago, when we were all much younger. Obviously, nothing came of it, but . . . I was thinking this morning of what it might have been like, you and I—all of us—meeting when we were children."
"For starters, you'd know what you are in for today with this match."
Matthew laughed.
Mary thought for a moment. "You'd have met Patrick too."
"Did you always know you would marry him?"
The straightforwardness of the question surprised Mary, but it didn't put her off. It occurred to her, looking at Matthew's earnest eyes now, that he might believe that the match between herself and that particular cousin had been one of love, not convenience. And whether or not that knowledge had been what Matthew was after when he'd asked the question, she realized that she wanted him to know the truth.
"To be honest, Matthew I wasn't sure I was going to marry him even when I agreed to do it."
Matthew's brow crinkled with curiosity.
"Patrick and I were rather alike in some ways. We were both proud and we both felt a sense of duty to the family and to Downton. When we were engaged . . . it wasn't an engagement so much as an agreement to return to this house—it was formalized while we were at Downton Place, you see. We were committing ourselves to the preservation of this house, not to each other."
"So you . . . didn't love him?"
"No . . . well, that's not quite right. I did love him, but in the way you can't help but love someone you've known your whole life. And I never loved him as much as I loved this house. You could say that by choosing to marry him, I was marrying Downton Abbey."
That last was said with a soft laugh, but it caused Matthew to look away.
"And what of his feelings? Did he not love you?" He asked, still not looking directly at her.
"Patrick loved Edith—or rather, he loved the fact that Edith loved him. She did so much more earnestly than I ever did."
A silence lingered over them for several minutes, not uncomfortable, but not quite settled either. When he finally turned back to look at her, Mary didn't see judgment in his expression and was grateful. But there was something else in his eyes that concerned her, that begged to be addressed.
"Matthew?"
He looked deep into her, the message still visible on his face—that having agreed once to marry for Downton, she could accept from him that same, loveless offer, if that's what she wanted.
"What?" He said almost in a whisper.
But Robert walked before she had a chance to say anything else.
And Mary couldn't tell Matthew, not at that moment and not for some time, that she wanted more than that from him.
XXX
A few hours later, Mary, Edith and Sybil joined their father, Matthew and the rest of the team on the walk to the village and the pitch, where Tom and Moseley were waiting and where a sizeable crowd was already beginning to gather. Upon seeing Tom, Sybil did her level best to contain her grin. His pants were a bit loose around the waist and hung slightly too long over his ankles, making it more than apparent that he'd merely taken Matthew's clothes rather than buy his own—a fact that Sybil took a bit of delight in.
The footmen and hallboys, with William's help, began setting up the equipment on the house's side of the pavillion, while Carson, Pratt and Robert walked over to the village team captains—Dr. Clarkson and Mr. Thornton, the postmaster—to make their greetings. Tom and Matthew walked the girls over to the tent, which had been set up the day before, and where the family's food had already been laid out.
"When did Mrs. Patmore have time to do all this?" Sybil asked walking to the table at the back of the tent.
"She, Mrs. Hughes and the scullery maids were here early this morning," Edith answered. "Mama mentioned something about it as we were leaving the house."
"And where are they now?" Sybil asked.
"Likely in the village tent," Mary said.
"Aunt Isobel is there now too," Tom said "Mrs. Drake's sister approached her when we arrived and wanted to give a report on Mr. Drake's recovery."
Sybil perked up at this. "Oh! I'd like to say hello and send my regards as well. Will you come with me?" she asked addressing Tom.
Tom looked over at Matthew, who waved him off. "Go ahead, we have a few minutes."
Mary and Edith looked at each other and smiled, knowing that it was a moment alone with Tom as much as anything else that Sybil was after. And indeed, instead of walking in front of the pavilion, she led him on a more circuitous route around behind it, where they weren't exactly alone, but where there were fewer prying eyes likely to watch them.
"Is Mrs. Branson here?" Sybil stopped to ask Tom when they were halfway between the house tent and the village one, and sufficiently isolated to speak naturally.
"She is," he said with a smile. "I'm sure she'd like to see you."
"I'll be sure to say hello to her as well."
They grinned at each other for a moment, until he finally broke their stare and did a turn in front of her, holding his arms out. "So . . . what do you think?"
Sybil laughed at his antics, then stepped forward and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, which were visible over the v-neck of his vest, and pulled the points of the collar slightly apart. He arched an eyebrow in amusement.
"Might as well have our money's worth," she said.
He leaned toward her and whispered. "I really wish I could kiss you right now."
"Imagine what you'll want to do when I show you what I have done," she said as a slight, but wonderfully becoming blush crept over her cheeks.
"I'm afraid to even ask."
Without a word, Sybil turned and continued to walk in the direction of the village tent, but she stopped after only a few steps. She looked around to ensure no eyes but Tom's were on her. Then, she lifted the skirt of her dress up to the back of her knees.
She was wearing no stockings.
Tom's jaw dropped slightly at the sight of her bare, shapely legs, and before he could formulate words to say anything at all, Sybil kicked her right leg up playfully then dropped her skirt once again. With a glance over her shoulder and a "good luck," she kept walking, leaving him standing there in awe not just of her beautiful skin and gorgeous figure but of her moxie and the ease and confidence with which she pushed his buttons.
Loving Sybil Crawley, he thought, is going to be terribly fun.
XXX
Cora and Rosamond arrived minutes before play started, escorted by Anthony, who had offered to pick them up in his motor. By this point Isobel as well as Violet had joined Edith and Mary in the family's tent. (Sybil was still mingling on the village side.) When Cora, Rosamond and Anthony came in, there were warm greetings all around.
Anthony took a seat next to Violet and conversed with her and Rosamond, who sat on his other side, as the village team took the field, and William and Joseph, the house's opening batsmen prepared for the start of the inning. Sitting next to Mary on the other side of the tent from the man who was purportedly there to court her, Edith was feeling terribly nervous, and therefore didn't particularly mind not having to speak to Anthony right away. After a while, though, he having given no signal that he intended to move from where he was currently, she wondered if he intended to speak with her at all.
Noticing her fidgeting, Mary rolled her eyes and shifted in her chair so she could lean over discretely toward Edith. "I'm not sure if you were expecting something different, but this is how it works," Mary said, her voice only slightly above a whisper.
"What are you talking about?" Edith asked, bristling slightly.
"He'll talk to you eventually. It would be rude if he did not spend time with granny first. It's important that she like him."
"More than me liking him?"
"I'm afraid for us, the pursuit of marriage is not supposed to be a terribly romantic business."
Edith smiled in spite of herself. "Is that why Sybil is so keen to rebel, do you think? Because she wants true romance?"
Mary sighed and looked out toward the action on the field. "Sybil's rebellion has more to do with what she doesn't want, not a house, not a title, not being received in London, nor welcomed at court—in short, nothing of the things that make our lives what they are. You and I are different from her, which is why we have to follow the rules, such as they are."
Edith regarded Mary with wide eyes. The idea that Mary had ever considered the two of them as having anything in common startled Edith. She was aware, as much as Mary was, that Sybil would choose a different path and that Tom Branson had sparked her interest not merely because of who he was, but also because he was the rare person who saw Sybil as she wanted to be seen, as a woman and person of action, passions and principles, certainly not as a mere lady. Edith would never judge or resent their youngest sister's choices anymore than Mary would, but Sybil's path was hers and hers alone. It hadn't occurred to Edith until now that that meant she and Mary would be would be left to travel theirs—the one chosen by their parents—together.
"So," Edith said finally, "according to the rules, I am to sit here and wait?"
Mary looked at Edith once again. "I'm afraid so."
Edith sat back in her chair with a sigh and once again turned toward where Anthony and her grandmother were sitting. At that moment, Anthony turned toward her, and their eyes met. He smiled and lifted his shoulders ever so slightly, in an effort to communicate to her that if he could sit somewhere other than where he was sitting he would. It surprised Edith how easily she understood everything he was communicating to her in that look. She smiled back and turned her attention toward the match again, deciding that however long the wait she had to endure would be, it would be worth it.
XXX
Sybil continued to converse with Mrs. Drake's sister long after Isobel had gone back to the family tent. She was in the middle of completing a secretarial correspondence course similar to the one Gwen had done, and upon mentioning it in conversation, Sybil began regaling her with stories of her friend's adventures working for the telephone company in Ripon in the hope they'd serve as motivation.
After that long chat, Sybil moved on, looking around for the Crawley House staff. Eventually, Sybil spotted Claire and Ivy, talking with the village grocer and his wife, and walked in their direction. Since her family had returned from London back in July, Sybil missed her regular teas with Claire, but did not dare continue them lest she draw too much of her parents' attention to the fact that she was spending a significant amount of time with Tom's mother. But she missed their talks dearly.
Isobel was practical and unencumbered, and Sybil admired her enthusiasm for her work at the hospital. But in spite of what Violet might say to the contrary, Isobel was in many other ways still one of Sybil's own. Her life had been slightly different, but not truly foreign. Not like Claire's, who after having been widowed at a young age, hopped a ferry alone and against her family's wishes and crossed the sea between her homeland and that of her homeland's oppressor—a short distance in actuality, but far, far larger in figurative terms. She had found a good job and, despite decades in service, had still managed to raise a son and did so without the ardent flame of his Irish forebears ever going out inside him. She was the bravest, most interesting woman Sybil knew.
Claire smiled warmly on seeing Sybil and excused herself from her conversation to say hello, knowing she should be quick and not so familiar as they'd grown to be in the private confines of the Crawley House kitchen.
"Good morning," Sybil said brightly. "I didn't mean to pull you away—"
"It's all right, milady. Mr. and Mrs. Miller see enough of me during the week."
"I hope you've been well. I know I haven't come to visit much recently, but I'll try to come this week. I have some news that I'd like to share."
"Oh?"
"Tom knows, but I had him promise not to tell you."
"Well, I look forward to hearing it."
As she spoke, Claire noticed someone's eyes on her from across the tent, and recognized Cora's maid right away. O'Brien was too far away to have heard them, but Claire knew it would seem highly irregular that she was speaking to Sybil at all. Having been caught, O'Brien didn't bother looking away, so Claire sought to end the conversation quickly.
"I best be getting back to see how Ivy's getting on," Claire said a bit anxiously. "She's rather nervous for young Alfred."
Sybil noticed the change in Claire's demeanor and turned to see who had caught Claire's eye. O'Brien, on meeting Sybil's eyes, finally looked away. Turning back to Claire, Sybil rolled her eyes. "I hope you'll forgive me for speaking ill of anyone, but she's rather a hateful woman."
"You best be going, and if I may say, it might do to tell her ladyship that we've spoken," Claire said with a sigh. "I've no doubt she'll be hearing it from her."
"You're probably right."
Sybil smiled once more, then turned to leave. Claire looked for O'Brien once again once Sybil was gone, but didn't spot her anywhere. She tried to convince herself it didn't matter. Sybil's parents weren't likely to be happy about the match regardless of how they learned of it. Claire, on the other hand, had come around to it, and though she knew they'd not always have it easy, she was sure now that Sybil was the girl to make her son happy.
XXX
When Sybil finally left the village side, it was during a break in play. As she walked over to her family, Tom and her father were talking just outside the tent. Or rather Robert was talking, trying to give Tom as many last-minute pointers as he could now that Tom's turn to bat was approaching. Seeing her coming, they both turned to her and smiled.
"How is it going so far?" she asked.
"Haven't you been watching?" Robert asked aghast at the possibility that someone had not been giving the match their full attention.
"I've been saying hello to people," she said.
"Well, Robert and Carson had the good notion to stick me in a part of the field where the ball rarely lands, so you've not missed me do anything but stand around. Unfortunately, batting cannot be avoided."
"Just keep a soft grip on the bat and your eyes focused on the ball," Robert said.
"And remember," Sybil added, her eyes wide and serious, "the honor of the house depends on it."
Robert rolled his eyes, sensing his daughter's sarcasm, but Tom could only laugh.
"I'm the last person to whom the honor of Downton should be entrusted," he said.
"You'll get no argument from me on that," Robert said humorlessly, pulling Tom along by the shoulders to walk back toward the pavilion so they could resume play. Sybil smiled as she watched them go. She knew this moment of contentment between them was a rare one and wouldn't last. She also knew that there would always be some tension in their friendship, not just because of their differing political beliefs, but because of her. She couldn't help that, though, and wouldn't. As much as she recognized that her choices would offend her father deeply, she had no plans on changing course.
Sybil remained standing there, as the players lined up once again and Tom took his position in front of the wicket. As the bowler went into his motion, Sybil brought her hands to her face and covered her eyes as he released the ball. But at the loud crack of the bat making contact, she opened them again and yelled out in delight. The delight was short lived, however, as the ball was caught in the air by one of the fielders, resulting in Tom's quick dismissal. Still, she was happy that he'd not embarrassed himself entirely and clapped for him anyway.
"I suppose that's all right for a first time," Edith said coming up behind her. "Poor Moseley fared far worse."
Sybil laughed. "He's likely just glad it's over for the time being."
"You came back at the right time," Edith said. "I overheard mama talking about sending out a search party."
"I was only just over there," Sybil said with a roll of her eyes.
Edith smiled. "You know how she can be."
"And what about you?" Sybil turned to look over her shoulder to where Anthony was still sitting next to Violet.
"Apparently, I'm at the end of a long line of people he is supposed to spend time with."
Sybil laughed. "Well, that just won't do, will it?"
Sybil turned to walk toward the tent, and Edith called after her, "What are you doing?"
But Sybil didn't answer. Instead, she approached Violet with an innocent smile. "Granny, how about you take a turn about the pitch with me. It's really not good for your health that you sit around all day."
"Oh, are you my nurse now?" Violet said pointedly.
"Come, granny, surely Sir Anthony can spare you for a few minutes."
Anthony laughed nervously, not quite sure how to respond to what Sybil was obviously up to.
"Oh, all right," Violet said, leaning on her cane to stand, and Anthony standing beside her. "But let's stick to this side of the playing field. No one needs that much sun."
Sybil laughed and took Violet's arm. As she led her grandmother away, she turned back toward Anthony and nodded her head slightly in the direction of Edith.
"Subtlety, Sybil, please," Violet said quietly. "The man's not stupid."
Sybil looked back at her grandmother and burst out laughing.
Behind them, Anthony and Edith stood next to each other without saying anything, both grateful for the diversion the action on the field provided.
"I hope you don't think me rude," Anthony said after a couple of minutes.
"Oh, no! I mean, I understand . . . I know how hard it is to disentangle one's self from a conversation with granny."
Anthony only smiled and didn't say anything else.
"Do you play cricket?"
"Oh, not any more," he said with a soft laugh. "In my younger days . . ."
His voice trailed off, and he looked down as if deeply embarrassed.
"What?" Edith asked.
"Nothing," Anthony responded with a sigh. "It's a fine sport."
"Sir Anthony?"
He looked into Edith's wide eyes. "Yes?"
"How old are you—I don't want you to say it aloud, mind. Just think it in your head."
"Umm . . . all right," he said, furrowing his brow, unsure as to where she was leading him.
"Now, I'm going to think of how old I am," Edith said, then closed her eyes for a long moment. When she opened them again, she smiled, a sight that stirred his heart in a way his heart hadn't been stirred in many, many years.
"Now, I'd like for us both not to think of how old we are again, not while we're together like this, not ever again. Is that fine by you?"
He grinned. "Very much."
Edith put her attention back on the match and the two stood there in a companionable silence for a long while, a silence that was broken only when Anthony asked Edith if he could drive her home when the match was over. She happily agreed.
XXX
Sybil and Violet were on their way back to the tent when Violet, taking advantage of this small window of time alone with Sybil, broached the subject of her interest in the hospital. Sybil had been waiting for the right time to discuss the matter of her wishes with her family, and decided that telling her grandmother first and away from her parents was actually a good idea. That they were in public was itself a blessing, for Violet would not think of scolding Sybil the way she had before with so many people within hearing. So in spite of their past quarrels on the subject, Sybil welcomed Violet having brought it up.
"Our family does have an important role to play in the hospital," Violet said, "and I don't think it inappropriate that you become involved, but remember that your season is coming and there will be other demands on your time."
"I know, granny," Sybil replied. "I am capable of allocating my time accordingly. I like helping others, and I don't see why I have to choose between that and preparing for coming out. Dress fittings don't have to take all day every day."
"But, my dear, I don't want you to overextend yourself. You need to understand what's expected of you, and what your limits are."
"I like to think I have no limits," Sybil said, smiling as Violet stared her down, lips pursed in rebuke.
"What limit would you put on me, then?"
"You cannot be a nurse, Sybil. It's simply too ludicrous."
Sybil laughed. "I have no plans of becoming a nurse, granny."
"Oh, thank heaven! I was afraid—"
"I'm going to be a doctor."
Note: FYI—I'm taking a little bit of a hiatus from this fic (I hope not more than a month or so). I'd like to make some progress on the other ones I have unfinished, and I have lots of research to do on the next phase of the story on Ireland and on medical school for Sybil. Thanks so much for your patience and support. I promise to return to it before too long.