Chapter 18

...

Colindale

London

Summer of 1886

...

Together for the first time since their engagement, Sybil and Tom sat by the window. They watched the iridescent summer rain fall against the window panes, fingers wrapped around lukewarm cups of tea and feet brushing innocently beneath the small kitchen table.

The atmosphere surrounding them was understatedly intimate, more so than it had been in days.

Despite the difficult road that lay ahead, Sybil could never regret meeting him. Tom was her first, in every sense of the word, and while she knew that countless others would consider her foolish or naive for feeling the way she did for him, Sybil was determined to make their relationship work.

He was her first love, but against all odds, what she really wished for in life was for him to be her last.

In the months that had passed, Sybil had realised that falling in love with Tom was rather like entering a house and finally realising she home. When he smiled at her, Sybil felt invisible hands wrapping around her, making her feel safe and loved. When his eyes were locked upon hers, it was as though she could suddenly see galaxies instead of just pupils. There was something in Tom that made her look forward to their life together. Sybil found herself anticipating not only the larger milestones of a life well lived but the small, sweet and seemingly insignificant mundanities that made up a happy marriage.

Having Tom in her life made Sybil feel as though anything was possible, like she could conquer anything.

However, like all things...their happiness was by no means complete or perfect. There were still plenty of rather glaring obstacles to worry about, her family's disapproval being a prime example.

Sybil caught Tom's eye across the table, knowing he had already sensed her unease.

Anxiously tapping the side of her cup with her thumb, she was plagued with thoughts of her sister Mary's current predicament and how it all lead back to the deceased Mr Pamuk and the wider scandal that threatened their family as a result of the affair.

Although the prospect of becoming a social pariah still didn't frighten Sybil in the way it did Mary, she did find herself reconsidering how her and Tom's deepening attachment would affect her family.

Having a sister who wholeheartedly chose to run off with a working class man could ruin Mary and Edith's reputations in an instant, something Sybil wanted to avoid at all costs. While a once off affair could, with some effort, be pushed under the rug, a marriage most certainly could not...nor would Sybil want it to be. She was so proud of Tom, for the truly wonderful man he was and all he had already accomplished in twenty four short years.

That being said, Sybil couldn't deny that her parent's already had a great deal to contend with. The birth of the fourth Crawley child was quickly approaching and the last thing that Sybil wished to do was add to her mother and father's worries.

Silently, Tom's hand slipped across the table and covered hers.

"Sybil darlin', is everything alright? Is it your sister?"

She nodded solemnly, allowing her feelings from the last few days to finally surface. "I suppose it's quite a lot of things, her included."

"Anythin' I could help with?", Tom asked, his voice carrying a certain kindness that sent an unexpected surge of warmth rushing through her.

Sybil smiled soberly, thinking of her sister and how Mary had relentlessly evaded all help over the last number of days. She knew that Tom was only asking for her sake, especially since he was still rather sceptical about her family, but Sybil was admittedly rather touched all the same.

"Oh Tom, you're sweet to offer but she hardly lets me help her most of the time. Mary's rather stubborn that way."

He smirked affectionately, his fingers playfully squeezing Sybil's in an attempt to lighten her spirits...something that very nearly worked. "Sounds like someone else I know."

Sybil shook her head, her lips tentatively curling upwards into a genuine smile. "Don't be rude", she bantered softly in return, still mulling over how her argument against their elopement would sound to him.

By all means, Sybil didn't want Tom doubting her determination to marry him...not for a moment.

However, she couldn't deny that her perspective had changed on the subject since she'd seen Tom last. Sybil knew that running off to Gretna Green was a fanciful notion at the best of times and while she was as unwilling as ever to give her fiancé up, she was adamant not to risk losing her family in the process.

"I've been thinking...will you meet my parents?"

Tom frowned in confusion, clearly taken aback by Sybil's request.

"I thought we were going to elope?", he asked carefully, his eyebrows raised in surprise. Both of them were more than aware of how the aristocratic classes viewed people like him...young upstarts out to cause trouble to Queen, country and their precious status quo. "You said so yourself that forgiveness was easier to ask for than permission."

"And a part of me still thinks that."

"Then what's changed?"

Sybil sighed deeply, needing him to understand. "Tom darling, imagine if we had a child in the future. How would you feel about them marrying someone you didn't even know existed! I can't do that to my parents!"

"Then what do you suggest, Sybil?", Tom retorted, his voice carrying a slightly hurt edge. "People like me don't exactly go walzing into places like Downton Abbey or Grantham House to ask the Lord of the Manor for his daughter's hand."

"Don't be silly, Tom", Sybil implored. "We won't be asking for their permission, only their understanding."

"And you really think they'll understand?"

"Perhaps not right away, but given time I think they will."

He sighed distractedly, his gaze purposeful and concerned.

"You know them better than I do, I suppose."

Sybil drew herself closer to Tom, setting a reassuring hand upon his arm. She knew that they wouldn't get anywhere without being completely candid with one another.

"I will marry you, Tom. I will! And if it comes to a choice, I will choose you...but I'm not burning my bridges unless it becomes absolutely necessary."

At this he stared at her for a moment, both enamoured and slightly guilty about being at the receiving end of such a promise.

"I don't mean it like that, darlin'. You shouldn't have to pick between me and your family. I just...", Tom's voice trailed off for a moment. He looked at her earnestly, searching her eyes for answers that she hoped he would find in them "...I really don't want to lose you. "

Sybil bit her lip, unsure whether his words made her want to smile or cry. Either way, she remained determined. Despite the difficulties they would face, he was hers and she was his.

"You won't lose me, Tom. No matter what you think, I will stay true to you."

Seeming at though he was digesting her words, Tom began to look somewhat more open minded. He covered her hand with his own once more, interlacing their fingers. "And the rest is detail..."

Sybil smiled, hoping that she would do right by both Tom and her family. She needed to. "Exactly."

"So do you have somethin' in mind, Love?"

Looking at Tom's tentatively more sanguine expression, Sybil thought of the conversation she'd had with Matthew the night before on the subject.

Her cousin had promised to help her and Tom in whatever manner he could...but she and Tom would have to wait several more weeks until the season was over before they faced her family at Downton Abbey.

"I do actually."

...

Grantham House

St James's Square

London

...

Although they hadn't properly spoken or even looked at one another all evening, Matthew found himself very cognisant of Mary's presence at his right hand side.

She was quieter, more serious than usual and she hadn't insulted him once.

While none of those things should have surprised him in light of recent events, Matthew found himself a little taken aback...and quite a bit worried about her too. Rather tirelessly, he'd tried to reach out to her over the past week but nothing had worked. Mary seemed very adamant to keep her distance from him.

He glanced along the table, noting the presence of their fellow diners. With The Greys joining them for dinner, their party had reached fourteen.

"Sybil doesn't look very happy about being lumped with Larry Grey", Matthew observed, trying to make lighthearted conversation with Mary on any subject that was relatively inoffensive.

He wondered vaguely what Mary would think upon discovering that her younger sister had agreed to marry Tom Branson, but kept that to himself for Sybil's sake. He'd given her his word after all.

Mary eyed Matthew cooly in return, not looking particularly sympathetic or amused. She glanced across the table at her sister. "The poor darling will know all about it in a year or two. Having every eligible bachelor from here to Timbuktu flung at you can be rather exhausting."

Her tone clearly stated a desire for their conversation to come to a swift ending.

Matthew nodded curtly in return, feeling slightly put out by Mary's dismissal even if he understood it's origins. While, as a solicitor, he'd learned to be tactful, Matthew had never quite mastered the art of holding his tongue.

"You seem to enjoy the attention", he returned offhandedly, immediately regretting the words as they left his mouth.

"Do I?", Mary challenged, hurt and fire mingling in her eyes. As they looked at one another, memories of dragging a corpse through darkened hallways seemed to pass between their eyes.

Matthew ducked his head sheepishly. His thoughts returned to Mr Kemal Pamuk, and how the Turk's lifeless face had been the subject of his own nightmares for days. With that in mind, he could not even begin to imagine how it had been for Mary.

"That was insensitive. I apologise."

Mary's voice was cold when she spoke up once more, taking a long and languid sip from her wine glass. "What is it to you anyway, Angel Clare? I don't expect you to understand."

Digesting her biting words and literary reference, Matthew knew that he should feel in some way reassured that Mary sounded more like herself. However, her words cut deep as he began to understand her meaning.

He didn't want to hurt Mary, that had never been his intention. Matthew could never thinking poorly of her despite the impossible standards women were held to by society.

"My careless comments aside, I do care about you a great deal, Mary", he tried gently, voice low enough to avoid the possibility of anyone overhearing them. "Despite everything that has happened both recently and before your mother announced her pregnancy, I still see you as an important member of my family. Could we ever be friends?"

Mary eyed him suspiciously. "Friends?", she asked, laughing humourlessly as though she had never truly considered the possibility of such a thing.

Matthew nodded seriously, confirming her words."Yes, real and honest friends. Without the pretences of before. Perhaps we would even try to tread on one another's toes a little less?"

"I'm not sure I would know how to do such a thing."

"We'd do it together, step by step...as friends should."

Mary observed him silently for a moment, her lips pursed. It was only when Carson arrived at the dining room door with their next meal in hand that she turned to Matthew with a slight smile, the most genuine one he'd seen on her for days.

"Very well", she replied, as firm and regal as ever. "If you think you can manage it."

Following an afternoon spent with Tom, Sybil hadn't expected to find herself seated beside Larry Grey. Masking her irritation, she endeavoured to make polite conversation and ignore his greviously ill-informed and entitled viewpoints as her mother beamed in anticipation at her from further down the table.

Sybil internally cursed herself for having defended William Gladestone's efforts to aid some of London's most notorious courtesans. While she initally intended for her words to be just scandalous enough to deflect Larry's unwanted advances, the man had gone off on a tangent against humanitarianism, feminism, socialism and a number of other things he knew that Sybil had very passionate opinions in favour of.

She eyed Larry sceptically, having heard enough of his bizarre argument to call his bluff. Swallowing a harsher retort, she tried to remain as civil and tolerant as possible.

"Surely you aren't trying to suggest that when a child is taught in the nursery to share their toys, it encourages socialism in later life?"

Larry looked rather please with himself as he supped on his third glass of red wine. "Obviously", he replied, as though speaking to a small child. "These problems start very early on, earlier than any of us would ever care to believe."

Sybil sighed deeply, reigning in her frustration as she caught Matthew's eye across the table.

While she could have gone off on a rant of her own, quoting the works of Anna Doyle Wheeler and others of a similar repertoire, Sybil knew that Larry Grey would only scoff at such an outburst.

So instead her rebuttal was shorter and spoken as a whisper, purely for her own appeasement.

"I'm sure a child could grow to become worse things than a socialist!"

Despite Sybil's efforts, Larry seemed to have heard her. He smiled condescendingly in return, the edges of his lips twitching upwards into a cruel smirk.

"Oh come now, Sybil. What would your Papa say if he heard such a thing? Class isn't transitory and egalitarianism is just an illusion. Any fool on the street will tell you that."

Sybil frowned, her annoyance only growing further at his words as she thought of Tom, of Gwen and of every other working class person up and down the country who had aspired for more and made efforts to achieve it. "There's no reason why a man or woman shouldn't elevate their station when they are blessed with talent and prepared to work hard."

"This is why women should be kept out of politics. You are all far too sentimental creatures."

Larry tutted gently, his tone just patronising enough to have her wishing that she was somewhere-anywhere-else. Silence fell between the two of them and Sybil began to turn away from her dinner companion, to forgo etiquette and speak to Edith instead.

Suddenly, she felt something rather cold and unexpected ghost against her leg. Freezing for a split second in alarm, Sybil watched as Larry's grin turned positively wolfish. Through the fabric of her gown, she felt his hand grasp around her knee..possessive, uncomfortable.

Sybil's blood ran cold and she glanced up at him in shock. Her stomach turned quesily, suddenly feeling rather ill. While she had been touched by a man before (specifically just Tom), he'd never done anything either without her expressed consent or before she'd reached out to him in a similar way herself.

The fact that Larry believed that he was entitled to do so to her, or to any woman, was enough to make Sybil absolutely furious.

"Larry I-"

Going by his rather smug expression, Larry clearly expected her to be shocked and perhaps a little flattered by such a blatant and public advance. Sybil's cheeks flushed, but not with the girlish embarrassment that he anticipated.

She glared at him angrily, a death stare that would have made even The Dowager Countess grudgingly proud.

Evidently amused by her outrage, Larry's eyes seemed to challenge Sybil. He was challenging her to call him out, to cry wolf, to protest aloud...truly believing that she wouldn't say a word. It was one of the many cruelties of their world, in such matters the lady involved would always be blamed for encouraging a man's untoward advances.

However, everyone at the table knew that Sybil wouldn't do that and deep down they also knew that Larry Grey was a complete and utter prat...

So with one more defiant glance in his direction, Sybil held up the offending hand for the whole table to see. She glared at Larry over her shoulder, her tone sickly sweet as she smiled at the look of horror that came over his face.

"Goodness, would you just look at what I found in my lap!"

A Little History:

On Countess Markievicz: "Lady Gregory and Countess Markievicz, why are the Irish rebels so well born"~The Dowager.

The final section in this chapter, the scene between Larry and Sybil, is based off of real life events from Countess Markievicz's coming out season in London in 1897.

Markievicz went on to be involved in the 1913 Strike and Lockout, The Easter Rising, The War of Independence and became the first female cabinet member in Europe when she was elected to parliament in 1919. Her sister, Eva Gore Booth left their family estate in Sligo to live in a working class suburb in Manchester where she was involved in the growing trade unionist, suffragists and pacifist movements. Eva supported contentious objectors during WWI and lobbied against the execution of Rodger Casement in the weeks following The Easter Rising. Lady Gregory was more of a cultural nationalist. She was an Irish dramatist, folklorist and theatre manager who supported the ideas of republicanism through retellings of old Irish mythology and folklore.

On William Gladestone: In public the epitome of respectability, Gladestone'she relations with women of "easy virtue" nevertheless raised eyebrows. His Foreign Secretary, Granville, once spoke of having known nine prime ministers, five of whom had committed adultery. Informed Victorians speculated privately whether Gladstone was one of the five. Speculation centred on two aspects of Gladstone's social life. He was the only prime minister to stalk the streets of London seeking to reclaim street prostitutes from a life of vice. Equally controversially, his friendships with notorious courtesans such as Skittles – Catherine Walters – and Lillie Langtry invited charges of hypocrisy.

On Anna Wheeler: Anna Wheeler (1780 – 1848), also known by her maiden name of Anna Doyle, was an Irish born British writer, socialist and advocate of political rights for women and the possible benefits of contraception. Philosopher William Thompson described his book Appeal of One Half of the Human Race, Women, Against the Pretensions of the Other Half, Men, to Retain them in Political, and Hence in Civil and Domestic, Slavery as the "joint property" of himself and her. A staunch advocate of political rights for women and equal opportunities in education, she was friendly with French feminists and socialists.