I ask only that you trust that I see this story to where I need it to go.
July 12th 1919
A click is heard in the lock and a whispered "Come on then, men, come on!." The huddled prisoners leave without stopping to think and the group of them are shunted down an alleyway. They reach an open field and run for their lives to the truck waiting at the end. One of the newly liberated sinks gratefully down and takes a thermos of tea from one of his rescuers. He nods his thanks.
"No worries, friend.", says Tom, "early for a run, ain't it?"
"Good to be out. Wish I were going home, there's nowhere a man likes to be than his own bed."
"Aye."
Tom settles himself by his new friend and raises his eyes to watch the morning break across the skies.
Xx
Several hours later, as the sun's warmth intensifies into a cloudless day, Sybil steps out of a hot bath and submits to the expert hands of Anna and Miss O'Brien as they drape her in lace and silk, perfume her with rose oil, and guide her dark tresses into a soft bun, securing it with a wreath of sapphires.
"Oh my child, you are a picture! My prettiest girl! But what shall we do about your hands?", exclaims her Mama, noticing the work roughened skin on Sybil's hands, "O'Brien, fetch my lavender night cream for Lady Sybil won't you."
"Mama, I work for a living, these are the hands of a nurse. Besides, Charles won't mind."
"He will tonight.", observes Mary drily, coming in with Edith .
"Mary, don't be vulgar!"
"She can't help herself, Mama. Papa is asking for you, something about the seating."
In a flutter and a fluster, the Countess leaves, taking Anna with her.
"Couldn't you have stayed away from the carbolic soap just for the week? Your poor husband.", said Mary, who, flush from recovery, is awash with wit and the need to expend it.
"Mary, you must be quiet. Sybil is probably quite nervous about tonight as it is.", chides Edith.
Mary snorts. Sybil raises warning eyebrows.
"What is it that I'm missing?" asks Edith who has seen the eyebrows.
"Only common sense. All I mean is that Sybil is a nurse. She likely has a very clinical and…thorough understanding of the proceedings."
"I feel there is something more, but I shan't push you to tell me. But Sybil, darling, if you are worried, you mustn't be. And don't worry if it's not wonderful the first time around, it can take a couple a while to…get to know each other."
Is that why you and Anthony spend so much time perfecting the art?, thinks Mary. By the grace of the Goddess of Harmony, she does not speak that sentence out loud. I say grace, but I really mean that she had to drop-kick the Deities of Discord and knee the God of War in the unmentionables. Then she sat down and had a cold gin, glaring all the while at Mary's guardian angel, who shrugged and went back to his bag of wine. Well, if you were Mary's guardian angel, I'd say you would have a drinking problem too, wouldn't you?
Let us return to the room, where further conversation is disrupted by Anna and Miss O'Brien arriving with veils and creams. The Dowager comes in for last checks, and the whole party soon departs for the church. As it is the beginning of the season, they are in London, and the marriage is to take place in a crumbly old church that Charles particularly loves.
Are you surprised that Sybil is marrying Charles? To be honest, so is she. The las few months have been so busy- for both her and Charles- that the wedding day itself came upon them unexpectedly. Sybil has been training so intensely that she has not allowed herself to think about the choices that she has made. When she finishes her shift, she is so tired that she falls into a sweet, dreamless sleep. From time to time, though, she remembers that one brief hour she spent with Tom. His hands exploring every part of her, the way her skin yielded to him, the way his eyes burned when their bodies reached climax. She knew she belonged to Tom in a way that she would not belong to anyone else.
When she arrives at the church, she wanders down the aisle in a daze, her eyes fixated on the shimmering white of the altar cloth. As she and Robert stop, she turns to Charles hesitantly. Charles, who has been in his own reverie, turns to her on Matthew's prodding and sees suddenly startled to be standing beside her, in a church, and in his morning suit. He half laughs, half smiles to see her and the expression on his face sends her into giggles. She is suddenly flooded with relief that even though she is not marrying her lover, she is at least marrying her best friend. The ceremony itself is very carefree and informal. Sybil and Charles had intentionally asked that only their families and close friends be present.
The reception later is more formal, and Sybil feels almost able to hide away amongst the crowd. Charles , too, seems distracted.
"Darling, do you suppose we could just slip away?", he asks after they have cut the cake.
"I think I would really prefer that."
They send word through Carson, who speedily arranges for the car to be brought round, so that, with a wink and a nod to the Viscount Grantham and Lady Mary, the newly weds are able to flee their own reception. "Thank God for you, Sybil.", says Charles as the car speeds them away to their Scottish honeymoon.
The car and train to Stonehaven leave them exhausted and the only energy they have is expended on undressing and climbing into bed. Yet, Sybil feels the need to hold on to Charles' hand as she falls asleep. She feels so surreal, so unfixed. His presence is like an anchor.
She wakes to find him standing by the window, looking out to the bright, wide sea by their little cottage.
"Charles?", she whispers, sitting up against the pillows. "Are you well?"
"I am, darling, of course I am." He walks slowly back to the bed and sits next to her, kissing her cheek through her hair. He stops to just rest his head against hers.
"Come to bed, Charles.", she says, needing to rid herself of the thought of Tom.
"Sybil…". He seems unable to respond. So she draws herself upon on her knees, kissing him gently and stroking his chest. He moans loudly and pulls her to him and they fall upon each other with displaced passion, each needing the physicality of the moment to distract their in-dwelling fears and unnecessary thoughts. After, they lie together, spent, happy, sleepy. "Might we take the luxury of a long sleep, Lady Blake?"
"I think we might, Mr. Blake, I think we might."
Xx
The morning after Sybil's wedding, Tom stands staring out to sea. He lights a cigarette and smokes it slowly. "Ready then, Tom?", asks a voice behind him.
"Ready, sir.", he responds, stubbing out his cigarette.
For Tom, the revolution is yet to be realised.
