A/N: Hi everyone! I'm sorry about the lack of update the past couple of weeks but I have been busy studying for my finals! They are all over now, so thank you for being so patient!
Quick trigger warning for this chapter: the section dated April 27, 1922 covers the scene where Edna gives Tom a drink and sneaks into his room. Mary and Sybil talk about it afterwards, and Tom reflects upon it it in the section dated April 29, 1922, and the last part dealing with it comes directly afterwards when Mary and Sybil discuss it. By the part dated May 13, 1924, you are in the clear! I don't delve into it much further than what we see in the show, but I wanted to warn anyone who may need to skip those scenes.
I hope you are all staying healthy and safe!
Come Alive
Chapter Twenty
August 21, 1921
"Do you want me to come into the room with you?" Tom asked hesitantly as they approached the doorway of the hospital. He still couldn't believe what had happened— it didn't seem possible. He felt as though he was living in a nightmare and wished he could wake up. If he hadn't seen the wreck...
Robert seemed to consider it before shaking his head. "No," he said finally. "It really must be me. And I'm afraid it won't be pretty." There was a pause before he added, with all sincerity, "But I thank you for offering."
Tom nodded woodenly, not taking offense. It was a rare moment of genuine affection from his father-in-law that had become increasingly frequent. Tom might have celebrated it if it weren't for the horrible, constricting feeling in his chest.
"I'll wait outside, then," he told Robert as they approached the private room.
Robert merely nodded, exchanging a grim look with Tom before knocking on the door. "Come in!" Mary called out.
Tom watched as Robert closed his eyes, sighing deeply, grief written clearly on his face. It was as potent as it had been the moment he had reentered the library, pale and ashen. When he had emotionlessly declared that something horrible had happened, Tom's first thoughts had been about Mary, convinced she had succumbed to the same horrible condition Sybil had. But when Robert had revealed, tears in his eyes, that it was Matthew, Tom hadn't felt any relief.
Robert entered Mary's room, closing the door behind him. Tom leaned against the wall. He had been taken somewhat aback when Robert had asked him to drive him to the hospital to tell Mary but he understood shortly after why he had done it. Robert was a proud man; he loved Matthew like a son. With Tom driving him to the hospital, he could be certain he wouldn't be judged when the odd tear fell from his eyes.
"Papa! How marvelous!" Tom could still hear her voice, bright and cheerful. "Meet your grandson."
"Mary—"
"Has Mama come with you? I want to discuss the christening—"
"Mary—"
"Is Matthew terribly excited?" The mention of his name sent a jagged piece of glass into Tom's heart. She had no idea... "I told him that he would have plenty of time with the baby later, but I think I want him to come back as soon as he can."
"Mary, there's been an accident."
"What?" The sunniness vanished from her voice. "What do you mean?"
"It seems that— that when Matthew was driving home from the hospital, he crashed his car."
"But he's alright?" Tom squeezed his eyes shut. He wished Robert had let him into the room now. Hearing this was torture. His heart ached for the woman inside that room. The pain she was about to feel would be indescribable and unbearable. "Papa, you must tell me how bad it is! Please tell me he's alright!"
He heard a choked out sob. Robert had begun to cry again. "I'm so sorry, my dear girl. He's gone."
Tom wasn't prepared for the silence. He strained his ears to hear the weeping. Then, he heard her. "No! No, this can't be! He can't— this can't be!"
"Mary, I'm sorry!"
"No!" She was crying now— Tom heard it. She let out a wail, one so loud that her baby began crying. Tom's eyes clenched shut. Had it been that bad for everyone else the night Sybil had died?
There was a sudden commotion— Tom jumped as the door flew open, a nurse carrying a red faced baby out of the room, panic in her eyes. She was young— maybe as young as Sybil had been when she had begun training as a nurse. He pitied her; there was no way she could have predicted this would be a part of her job.
"I can hold him," Tom found himself offering the obviously overwhelmed girl. "I'm his uncle, I have a daughter, I know what to do—you can go fetch Dr. Clarkson—"
He heard the shatter of breaking glass, Robert's baritone attempting to comfort her, but to no avail. The nurse said nothing, but looked grateful as she shoved Mary and Matthew's baby into his arms before running through the halls.
The baby continued to cry, just like his mother, even as Tom held him close. "It'll be alright," he told his nephew, even though he didn't see how things could be. Just like Sybbie, this little boy had lost a parent a few short hours after his birth... there was still a mist hanging over him, over all of them. He only hoped, for the baby's sake, it would dissipate soon.
Mary swallowed once she came to, feeling the tears stream down her cheeks. Seeing it had been unspeakably difficult... she reached for the handkerchief Sybil had given her, still resting on her lap, and dabbed at her eyes.
She'd never known that Tom had taken it upon himself to comfort George when she had been unable to. It was beyond touching...
"Are you feeling alright?" Sybil asked, apparently concerned. Mary felt her her arm wrap around her, holding her in a hug.
Mary nodded, though she wasn't sure if that was true or not. Learning she had lost Matthew had marked one of the worst days of her life. She hated that it fell every year of George's birthday... still, she always tried to push those horrid memories behind her for the sake of her little boy.
Finally, after she gathered Sybil was waiting for some sort of response, she found herself saying, "I never knew Tom did that."
Sybil nodded before letting her arm fall. "He cares for George very much."
"Yes, I know," murmured Mary. Out of all her... suitors, she supposed, Tom was the one who had cared for George the most. She tried to imagine Tony Gillingham allowed George to join them for breakfast or Henry Talbot taking him and Sybbie out on little outings without her. She supposed she would never know for certain but something told her it was unlikely.
"Do you need another moment? Before we move on?"
Mary shook her head. It would be better if they could move this period of time as quickly as possible.
April 25, 1922
The hallway was firmly lit, casting shadows as Tom walked down it. He was dreading this evening; the house was packed full of people— full of duchesses and viscounts and other members of the aristocracy. The rest of the family was able handle everything with ease, but he felt so alone and confused.
He spied a familiar figure walking his way at the end of the hallway. Edna. He wondered if allowing her back was going to be a bad idea. He cursed himself for giving her so many mixed signals; they'd gone to the pub together, then the fair, and when she had kissed him that night, he hadn't shoved her away. The memory of it had gnawed away at him, filling him with equal measures of guilt and uncertainty.
He stopped walking as Edna said, "They finally got you into white tie, I see."
"More's the pity," said Tom, adjusting his cuff links. That was one of the things he liked about Edna; she treated him like a normal person. She was able to remind him of the revolutionary chauffeur he'd once been, one who'd never have dined with a whole table full of lords and ladies. The servants downstairs, the people he had worked alongside for years, treated him now as if he were somehow grander than them because he'd fallen in love with Sybil. He knew plenty of them resented him; Thomas never resisted the opportunity to remind him with a sneer that he went by "Barrow" now. He let out a nervous laugh. "I've never felt more stupid in my life."
Edna checked to make sure no one was looking before stepping forward, closer and closer, until she was standing right beside him. For a moment he was worried she would try kissing him again. "I was wondering why we've never spoken since I came back," Edna whispered. "I hope we can still be friends?"
Friends. That was a reasonable request. He didn't have many of those— Edith was a worthwhile ally and like a beloved sister, but she spent so much time in London. And Mary— she was just starting to enjoy life again. For too many months, she'd been trapped in the same mist that he had, unable to bring herself to care about anyone or anything. She had insisted that she cared about George, but it was hard to believe her when her eyes were dead. She was busy now as well, with a Mr. Tony Gillingham—
He stopped himself. Why was he thinking about Mary so much? "Of course we can," he told Edna, deciding to ignore the detour his mind had taken.
Edna smiled before it slowly turned into a sad, wistful look. "But we can't have lunch again at the pub in the village." It wasn't a question but a statement.
Oh no... here it was. "Braithwaite... Edna," he corrected himself. "I'm trying to walk a tightrope here—"
"As long as you're not my enemy," she interrupted.
"God, no." He didn't want a conflict... and he was glad that she understood that he couldn't even begin to contemplate starting a new relationship. "I hope things turn out well for you. I do, truly."
Edna smiled.
"Who was that?" The question was pointless, given she already had a name: Edna Braithwaite. But Mary could not for the life of her remember this woman. Obviously she had worked at Downton...
"Edna," Sybil said with a surprising coolness. "She was Mama's maid after O'Brien left. Before that, she was a housemaid."
Mary frowned, hardly recalling the woman. Perhaps it was unreasonable but after that short conversation, Mary had developed a strong dislike for Edna Braithwaite, whoever she was. She'd stepped into his space so easily... and what was that about a kiss?
"I must warn you that if you are feeling agitated now, it gets worse," Sybil said, voice a mix between sadness and simmering anger.
She nearly asked Sybil, but decided against it once another memory overtook her.
April 27, 1922
Tom leaned up against the back of the bench, muscles aching and feeling helplessly lost. The Crawleys were busy entertaining, paying him no attention. He felt alone, almost as alone as he had felt when Sybil had died, and there was nothing to cling onto.
A glass full of amber liquid was thrust in front of his face. It looked like whiskey... and God, he hoped it was. He turned his head to see none other than Edna, training her gaze ahead but with a smile playing on her lips.
"What is it?" Tom asked, sounding drowsiest than he felt.
"Whiskey," she whispered back, confirming his suspicions as he took it from her.
Tom inspected it, still sleepy. "God, it's huge."
"Thought you might need it."
Tom sipped at the drink, grimacing. He stared at the glass thoughtfully before saying, "You understand me, don't you?" He was all alone; Edna seemed to be the only one who recognized that. And how could anyone understand? No one here knew what it was like, losing the one person who meant the world to you—
But that wasn't true, was it? Mary knew. It had taken her months to resurface from the fog of melancholy after his death and now that she was back in the land of the living, she was taking to it like a duck on water. Tony Gillingham was clearly enamored with her and she didn't seem to dislike him. Maybe it would be easier to move on than he thought. Maybe it could happen if he just tried...
"I like to think so," Edna replied, and for a brief moment Tom forgot what they had been talking about. He'd been so caught up
in his own reverie and Mary and her struggle—
He paused internally. How was it that Mary kept cropping up in his thoughts? He shook them off, taking another swig of whiskey.
Soon, everything grew fuzzy around him. He didn't feel like speaking to anyone, to risk embarrassing himself yet again, so Tom stumbled up the steps before making it to his bedroom. He kicked off his clothes, inelegant.
The bedroom was dark but it seemed to be spinning all around him. He couldn't get her face out of his mind— well, two faces. Mary's and Sybil's. He loved Sybil, even though she wasn't here any longer. He'd never loved before as he had loved her. She taught him so much in their brief time together and when she passed, a part of him had been ripped away to die alongside her.
But Mary— he couldn't seem to get Mary out of his mind. She'd welcomed him in even when Robert had seemed determined to push him away. She knew the same loss he did and he watched her for months mirroring the deep sadness he still felt within when he dared dwell on Sybil's untimely demise. She had blossomed again, back to the cool, confident Lady Mary he met all those years ago, only this time he knew the real Mary behind the mask.
But what did it all mean? She was the sister of his wife— his sister-in-law! She'd proven herself to be a good friend, someone to entrust and confide in— and that was all it was! The fact he found her beautiful was merely evidence that he was a man—
"Are you awake?" A voice whispered.
Tom merely groaned in response. He was so confused— he closed his eyes as the door clicked behind the person entering the bedroom. Who was it? He felt the bed sink beside him. He tried to speak, but every slurred together. "Shh, it's alright," the voice said again— was that Edna? What was she doing?— "I know what you need."
Tom felt a pair of lips meet his own.
When Mary finally came to, she felt sickened. She met Sybil's eyes and knew they felt the same way about what she had just occurred. Still, she couldn't help but exclaim, "What a vile woman!" She was glad the memory stopped where it did or else she would be more furious, but what she had seen already made her want to hunt this horrid maid down.
"I know I called O'Brien odious, but I really think Edna rivals her," Sybil said. She wasn't frowning or grimacing as Mary thought she might, but it was clear her sister was unhappy... or perhaps bottling up her anger and disgust.
"Well, it wasn't as if O'Brien was taking advantage of your husband," Mary said, trying to restrain herself but failing miserably. Edna Braithwaite, whoever she was, was fortunate she was no longer employed at Downton Abbey or else Mary would have had no hesitation about unleashing her wrath upon her.
"She kept making comments to him. About how he didn't belong with the family, how he was betraying himself by staying at Downton." Sybil shook her head. "And he started to believe it."
Mary clenched her jaw, trying to quell her fury. This additional information paled in comparison to what Mary had seen. It made her feel sick to her stomach. But she didn't dare say anything aloud— if anyone had the right to be angry, it was Sybil, wasn't it? Tom was her husband. Mary was... well, she was a sister-in-law, a friend... and a paramour. It wasn't nearly as significant a connection...
"Pay attention to this next one," Sybil's voice interrupted her reverie. "It's important. I promise."
April 29, 1922
Tom shrugged off his coat. He still felt like fraud, masquerading through Lady Rosamund's grand home, welcome only for once being married to her niece... even after he had betrayed her memory by being with another woman.
Shame threatened to overwhelm him. What had he been thinking? He didn't love Edna— he didn't even know if he could honestly even admit to desiring her... but for a moment, she made him feel like they were the same, as if she understood him. As if they were friends... But when he woke up confused in the early morning to her creeping out of his bed, he felt disgusted. How could he have done this?
Everything was made worse when Edna barged into his room and demanded that he offer her a proposal of marriage if she happened to be pregnant. He'd already felt ill before and it was nothing compared to what he felt then. It might sound stupid, but he'd never imagined that their union could result in pregnancy. As a teenager, he had been assured by some of the older boys at school that it wasn't possible if you'd only done it the once, but once he insisted so aloud it sounded so feeble and stupid.
"What the matter?" Mary's voice pulled him out of his melancholy thoughts. "You've been a glump all day."
Had it been so obvious? Tom hoped not. It wasn't a surprise to him that Mary had been able to read his moods. They'd become a bit closer lately... which was exactly why he couldn't tell her what he'd done. "If I told you, you'd despise me." And that, he knew, he couldn't bear. The Crawleys, as strange as it was, were family to him now. To lose their support, especially Mary's, would devastate him when he felt as low as this.
Mary was silent for a moment, ruminating what he said with a look of sadness. "It may surprise you to hear that I said that to someone once," she admitted. He didn't need any clarification to know she was talking about Matthew. He haunted her just like Sybil haunted him. "But I did confess things in the end... and it made things a lot better."
He contemplated it, just for a moment. If there was anyone he knew he could trust wholeheartedly, it was her. Still, he couldn't bring himself to say anything. What if he lost their friendship? What would she think of him polluting the memory of Sybil? "Well, I couldn't say it. Not to you."
The last couple of words left his lips without his volition, but Mary didn't seem to be surprised or mind. Instead, she firmly told him, "Then find someone you can tell. It will help more than you know." She paused a moment, overcome with emotion, before saying, "Well, on that modest note, I'll say goodnight." She turned around, sauntering up the staircase and leaving Tom behind her.
"Goodnight," he echoed quietly.
It was strange, seeing that moment through his eyes. He had seemed morose to her... and now she knew why. "What happened to her, then?" Mary asked Sybil, trying to remain as composed as possible, even though she was attempting to restrain her anger. "Miss Braithwaite, that is."
"I'm sure you'll be pleased to know that Tom spoke with Mrs. Hughes and she made sure Braithwaite left," Sybil replied, a glacial tone to her voice. "And thank God for that."
"Yes," said Mary, who privately thought that wasn't enough. The thought of what Edna had done made her stomach churn. She only wished Tom had felt he could speak to her then. She understood, of course, why he felt awkward, but surely he would have understood Mary wouldn't blame him for Braithwaite's actions? With her past, there was no way she would have judged him... not that it was his fault. She burned with rage at the thought of what Edna Braitwaite had done.
"Are you feeling alright?" Sybil asked, concerned. "Do you need a break? Or do you want to move on now?"
Mary was never one to admit weakness. "I'm fine, Sybil darling." She just hoped the next set of memories wouldn't be so troubling.
May 13, 1924
"Tell me, does Edith seem very distracted to you?" asked Tom, a glass of whiskey in his hand. Mary was seated across him, a blazing fire burning away in the fireplace. She'd been acting odd of late— at least to Tom.
"I'm not sure I'd notice."
A laugh escaped him. He tried to hold it back— he didn't like laughing at poor Edith, not when she'd been so good to him, but Mary's dry wit always managed to make him laugh. Tom regained his composure by hastily saying, "Well, she does to me. As if she were always thinking about something else." He directed his gaze to the flames, trying to stop his gaze from lingering too long on her.
"I might say the same of you," Mary pointed out, though not accusingly.
Tom bit back a sigh. Mary knew him too well. Over the past few years, they'd grown so close— sometimes, it felt like she could read him like a book. He was only glad his thoughts weren't completely transparent. Still, Tom met her eye and said, "It can be hard to know what to do for the best. You don't want to hurt people, but you may have to."
"I know exactly what you mean," said Mary, exasperated and rolling her eyes. Tom paused. Could this be about... what he thought it was? Mary, however, shook her head, embarrassed, and said, "Sorry, I don't know why I said that. It just sort of slipped out."
"Are you talking about Tony?" Tom half hated himself for asking. The thing was... he didn't like Tony Gillingham. Or, rather, he didn't like the idea of Mary with Tony Gillingham. Tony was a perfectly fine gentlemen but he didn't seem right for her. Neither was Charles Blake, in his opinion, but he hadn't dared to voice such a thing aloud, especially when he was a perfectly nice man. Mary deserved to be happy, and it had been almost been three years since Matthew's death... but the idea of her moving on made his stomach twist and clench. He tried to tell himself it was because it meant that he needed to move on from Sybil, but that wasn't it. He suspected it had to do more with the dreams that plagued him night after night, the kind that made him feel deeply ashamed and elated at the same time, or the thoughts he had when his eyes lingered on Mary for too long.
"Maybe?" She looked so uncertain. Sighing, she said, "I don't know. I'm not sure."
Tom ignored the happiness her words brought him. Mary was in the midst of a crisis; now wasn't the time to be rejoicing. "I was beginning to think you'd settled on him." It was the truth; Charles Blake had stopped coming to Downton and Tony Gillingham had made himself a frequent visitor. His intentions were clear as crystal, and he seemed to be everything Mary wanted on paper: wealthy, a proper title, someone who worshipped the ground she walked on... but he didn't suit her.
"I had. I think. But I seem to have... unsettled. Goodness," she said, rising to her feet, heading towards the drinks. "I hadn't said it out loud before."
Tom was silent for a moment, ruminating. Should he continue? "So what's he done wrong?" He asked, after debating with himself for a moment or two.
"Nothing," said Mary, pouring herself a new drink. "We'd never spent much time together until recently—"
The words felt like a punch in the gut. Tom had expected them, but not the feeling they elicited. He downed more of his drink, hoping to numb it away.
"—and when we did, I began to wonder how much we really had in common," Mary concluded.
Maybe it was liquor that emboldened him, but Tom finally had conjured up to courage to ask what he had meaning to say all evening. "How recent was this time you spent together?" He picked himself up from the couch, joining her to fetch himself another drink. Something told him he would need one if he wanted to make it through this conversation relatively unscathed.
Mary tensed up, staring straight ahead. "Very recent," she admitted.
He couldn't stop the second laugh from bubbling up. He didn't find it funny, per say, but his suspicions were confirmed. "Are we talking about your so called sketching trip?" He asked, watching as she slowly smiled. "Because I never believed in that for a moment." Mary was many things; clever, a talented singer, someone who followed all the rules of the society she had been born into... but an artist she was not. When she announced the trip to the family, he had bit his tongue and wondered if his Lady Mary was finally daring to break the rules for once.
He paused. When had she become his Lady Mary?
"The point is," said Mary, skirting over his question, though he detected a faint blush on her cheeks. God, somehow it made her look even more gorgeous... "I wasn't seeing him clearly, but now I do." Mary took a step back from the table. She seemed to be having hard time putting what she wanted to say into words. "He's a nice man... a very nice man... but not... I mean, of course we talked about things but I think my judgement was rather clouded by..."
Tom decided to put poor Mary out of her misery by cutting her off and offering, "What Miss Elinor Glyn likes to write about in her novels?"
The smile on her face as they returned to the couches made it worth it. "Maybe. But I seem to have got over that now."
And thank God for that, a traitorous voice in Tom's head said, but he ignored it. "Well, I won't ask how."
"I'd be glad if you didn't," she quipped, still smiling, almost shy. He was caught of guard by a moment, transfixed by this blushing, bashful Mary. It seemed as if every time he thought he knew her, she showed him a different side to herself.
"Well, I'll back you up if you support me," said Tom.
"Are we talking about Miss Bunting or your move to America?" Mary asked, sounding considerably more annoyed.
Tom inwardly winced. He had nearly forgotten about Sarah... truth be told, he didn't think about her as often as he should. Sarah was an intelligent woman, someone who shared his political views, and attractive. But somehow, whenever he was alone in his room or solely in Mary's company, she vanished from his mind. He figured it probably meant something, but he tried not to examine it too closely.
"I'm not sure. Either. Or both." He was leaning towards the either option: moving to America. Something inside him was telling him that he needed to get away from Downton... for a while, at least. As long as it took for his lingering thoughts fixated on Mary to vanish. With any luck, Sarah or another woman would captivate his interests more profoundly and he could put it all behind him and come back to home to his family— the Crawley's.
"Well, you're asking a lot. I'm not very keen on Miss Bunting." That, Tom was already aware of. Mary had a hard time containing her dislike for a person and had already practically voiced her opinions with Sarah herself. He believed the feeling was mutual when Sarah went off on a tangent, but after catching him grimacing, she had never spoken about Mary again. "And I can't bear the thought of your leaving."
Her words filled him with a strange sort of... hope. Tom knew it was foolish, but he found himself saying, "Well, if you love me, you'll support me." He didn't know why he said it; maybe he thought hearing her reaffirmations that she loved him as a brother would stop him.
Mary smiled, then said, "Then I suppose I'll have to."
It didn't stop him.
If anything, Tom realized that he was in even more danger than before.
Mary blinked. "So... even back then?" She mused aloud. That was years ago... she hadn't realized that he had begun feeling that way even before he set off to America.
"Even back then," Sybil echoed.
"Goodness." She hadn't even begun to feel stirring like this until after Henry...
Mary trailed off. Was there more to her feelings? If what Tom felt really was love... their feeling were not so dissimilar.
"Having any revelations yet?" Sybil asked teasingly.
"Just show me the next memory," she said, more brusquely than she intended.
January 9, 1925
Mary had volunteered to go with him. She didn't need to; a part of him wished she hadn't, but he couldn't bring himself to ask her to stay home— for either of their sakes.
"Are you sure you've remembered everything?" She fretted, bending down so she was level with Sybbie, fussing with her hat. "You have all your toys, all your dresses?"
"Yes, Auntie Mary," said Sybbie, smiling widely. Though she was sad to be leaving Marigold and George, she had been rather excited to go on an adventure. He hoped it would stay that way; something told him he would lose his resolve to stay if Sybbie begged him to return to Downton.
"Well, good." Mary rose back up to her full height, still speaking to Sybbie. "America is a long ways away. It would take some time before you would see them again." She choked up, blinking rapidly, but recovered quickly. She faced him, a smile on her face that didn't quite meet her eyes. "Should we leave now, then?"
Tom checked his watch. "I suppose we should."
As the car pulled out of the driveway, Tom turned around to get his last view of Downton. It was hard to believe he had spent over a decade here... it was where he had met Sybil, where Sybbie was born, where he had found a new family, both downstairs and upstairs, where he had come to know Mary...
He tore his eyes away, feeling as though he might cry. Tom stared straight ahead, desperately to regain control of his feelings. If Mary noticed him blinking rapidly, she said nothing. He still felt that nagging doubt, that voice that was calling out to him to stay...
The drive to the train station was a short one, but the train ride was longer. Sybbie had at first been excited, crawling over Tom's lap to watch out the window before bouncing over to Mary's side of the compartment to chatter excitedly, but after an hour or so, her eyelids grew heavy. Tom watched as she yawned, curling up on space beside Mary.
After a few minutes of undisturbed slumber, Mary leaned over, scooping Sybbie onto her lap. The expression on her face was unreadable; Tom, who normally prided himself on being able to determine just what she was feeling, was at a loss. One of her fingers came to brush an errant strand of hair from Sybbie's face. Not for the first time, Tom took note of how similar they looked to one another... there was a lot of Sybil in Sybbie, but Tom wondered how much of it was the Crawley genetics.
When she caught Tom watching her, she flushed. "Don't tease me, whatever you do," she said lowly, careful not to wake Sybbie. "I have a right to coddle my favorite niece. Who knows when I'll be able to do it again?" After a pause, she added, "She might be too big the next time I see her."
Tom, without thinking, opened his mouth to ask about Marigold before remembering that Mary still didn't know. "It won't be forever," he said instead when he realized Mary was waiting for a response. Just until I can learn to control myself.
"But it will be a long time," Mary said sadly, averting her gaze back to Sybbie.
"Yes," Tom agreed, feeling a stab of guilt. He was the one responsible for her sorrow... he didn't know how he was supposed to feel about it. "It will be."
It's for the best, he tried to remind himself, even though it sounded weak to his own ears. The last thing she wants is her own brother-in-law lusting after her.
He had been tempted to stay. "I don't want to lose you, Tom," she would say at times, or "I don't know if I can bear it without you here." Each time she did, he felt his resolve weaken momentarily before he would quickly come back to his senses.
They woke Sybbie up as lunch was being served. Tom tried to ignore the pain in Mary's eyes but each time he caught a glimpse of her sorrow, he felt like a monster. He only wished he could explain all this to her without her hating him.
Several hours later and feeling as though he was a world away, Tom, Mary, and Sybbie arrived to the port. "This is our stop," Tom told Mary, trying to inject some lightness into the situation, but it fell flat.
Mary met his eyes, misty and full of emotion. "Please don't joke, Tom. Not now," she implored. She then bent down to press a kiss to Sybbie cheek. "Now you must remember to be a good girl for your father when you are away. I don't want to hear that you've been misbehaving."
"I won't, Aunt Mary," Sybbie promised, hugging Mary tightly. Mary hugged her back, eyes closed, and Tom could tell she was trying not to cry.
When she rose back to her full height, she was trying to put on a brave face. "Goodbye, Tom," she said to him, with a smile that didn't quite meet her eyes. She leaned towards him, and Tom held his breath as her lips met his cheek. The spot where she kissed him continued to burn, even as she said, "And good luck. I mean it."
"Thank you," he said, suddenly wondering what he was going. Why was he leaving in the first place? It all seemed so futile all of a sudden, as if there was no point to it. But instead he forced a smile and said, "That means a lot."
It didn't feel like enough. That means a lot could not possibly encapsulate years of friendship but he couldn't bring himself to say any more than that. They said their goodbyes yet again, and Tom scooped Sybbie up into his arms as they boarded the ship. He tried to search for her in the crowd when the ship finally pulled out of the harbor as they all waved goodbye, but he couldn't pick her out. He wasn't sure if she had left or if he hadn't missed her, but he figured it was probably for the best. He needed to look forward and not back.
When Mary came to again, she found herself misty eyed. She made use of the handkerchief yet again. "Mary, are you alright?"
She shook her head. "I suppose I feel guilty in a way... I'm the one who drove him away. He didn't want to go, not really... and yet he did, for me."
"Don't blame yourself, Mary," Sybil said soothingly. "Tom made up his mind— you know he gets when he sets his mind to something— he needed to go to get a fresh look at things. It was about him, not you. You aren't to blame."
"I know that," Mary insisted, gaining more of her composure. "But it's— well, the thing is, I wish he could have felt he could tell me. I wouldn't have hated him for it..."
"I know you wouldn't have hated him... but I'm not so sure you would have taken it well..." Sybil said, somewhat apologetically.
"You're probably right," Mary replied, setting the handkerchief back in her lap. "I probably wouldn't have." Chances are that she would have fled from him just as he had when he made his admission of love. She studied the fine stitching on the handkerchief, momentarily transfixed by the pink stitching. She would have been taken by surprise, yes, maybe even stunned... but she wouldn't have hated Tom. She doubted she even could.
"Should we move on, then?" Sybil's voice interrupted her thoughts.
Mary nodded, even though her thoughts were far away. "Yes. I suppose we should."
April 23, 1925
Tom lowered himself to the edge of his bed, the springs beneath groaning as he did so. He was in his pajamas, face wet after being splashed with water. He'd woken up from yet another dream about Downton...
He thought this is what he wanted. To leave Downton, to start afresh, to discover himself again... to stop himself from thinking of her.
But the problem was he saw her everywhere. Mary Crawley, the most un-American woman possible, had followed him all the way to Boston, even if it was in spirit. Tom found her everywhere; in brunettes with bobs he passed by on the street, in the books he read, in whiffs of perfume...
And Sybbie, who he would join each evening as she knelt by her bedside, praying for each member of the Crawley family. Each time he heard her pray for her "Auntie Mary", his heart skipped a beat as he remembered the woman he had left behind. His thoughts would stray far away, back to an estate in Yorkshire, as he wondered what she was doing. Had she seen to the pigs? Was she at dinner? It was usually at this point Tom remembered the time difference and realized she would likely be sleeping... in which case he foolishly dared to hope she was dreaming of him.
Tom let out a weary sigh, staring at the walls. With agitation, he reached for his nightstand table, where he pulled out a cream colored envelope. He inhale deeply, smelling the scent of her fragrance that she had unknowingly left there, that somehow, after more than a week, had retained the scent of her. He pulled the letter off, rereading her slanted scrawl and trying recall the sound of her voice.
Dear Tom,
I can't tell you how lovely it is to receive your letters. I feel like I've been going mad the past couple of days.
I'm happy to report the livestock fair was a success. Our pigs did well— but of course all this was overshadowed by Edith's hysterics. We brought the children with us, of course, and Marigold wandered off at one point when Edith wasn't paying attention. She made such a big fuss, even after she found out that Mrs. Drewe had taken her back to Yewtree Farm, where she was obviously safe. It was so bad it got to the point where Mama, Papa, and her drove off and left George and I to walk back to Downton.
It's times like these where I find myself missing you. Sometimes I think you must have been the last thing keeping me sane; I'm afraid no one here, not even Anna, is able to help me as much as you did.
Still, I know you are enjoying America, so I oughtn't complain. How is the business going? I hope your cousin and his wife are well; please thank them on my behalf for looking after you in my absence.
Expect a package from me sometime in May; it will be for Sybbie. Her birthday is coming up soon and I found an illustrated book on Greek mythology and I couldn't resist. She may be too young for it yet but I thought it was too beautiful to pass up. Please tell her that her Auntie Mary and George miss her and are hoping she is enjoying America.
(We miss you too, of course, but I'm sure you must know that, given how often I remind you of it in my letters. I'm sure you're tired of hearing it by now)
Love,
Mary
A teardrop landed on the page, smearing the ink. Tom sat the letter down, trying to quell the sobs forming, but to no avail. How had it taken him so long to realize? How had he been so blind?
Tom reached over to his nightstand, lifting up the photograph of Sybil. He closed his eyes. "I'm sorry, Sybil," he whispered into the quiet of his apartment. I've fallen in love with your sister. I don't know how, but I have.
The next day, he made his plans to return to Downton Abbey, his home forevermore and the place he had left his heart.
Mary was rendered speechless. He really did love her... she felt it so strongly as if it were her own... and she supposed it was, in a way. It was intended for her, therefore it was hers.
Ever since she heard him utter the words, Mary had been half convinced Tom was only fooling himself. Over the years, plenty of men had claimed to have fallen victim to her spell and believed themselves in love. It seemed so much more likely that he was infatuated with her, that he found her attractive, and even that he desired her rather than actually loving her. Even now, knowing what he felt was true, Mary felt so undeserving. It was so... pure. He cared about her because she was herself.
She felt poorly for doubting that he had never thought once of Sybil. Mary could see now that he had; he had not tossed her sister aside. Tom had struggled as she had with the weight of the love he still had for Sybil while coming to love her.
"You don't need to say anything," said Sybil, reminding Mary that she wasn't alone with her thoughts. "Not until you're ready."
Mary nodded. She felt as if she was on the precipice of something momentous, something far greater than herself... and even though she knew deep down what it was, she wasn't ready to face it yet. Not until she had seen more. "Thank you," she murmured.
August 12, 1925
Even though weeks had gone by, Tom still could hardly believe it. Mary had thrown Henry Talbot over. He couldn't forget the moment even if he tried— if he closed his eyes, he could still see her by Rosamund's telephone, almost in tears, ending it. "It's not what I want!" She had cried.
"You're frightened of being hurt again," Tom had told her, holding her hands in his own, trying to comfort her in any way he could. "But let me tell you this; you will be hurt again, and so will I, because being hurt is part of being alive. But that is no reason—" his voice wavered, knowing the next words would be hard to say, "—to give up on the man who is right for you."
He knew that to any outsider, it would look odd. What kind of man encouraged the woman he loved towards another man? Tom Branson, apparently. Henry had become a close friend in a short period of time and Tom couldn't help but feel sorry for the man for having lost so much in one day. But that wasn't his primary concern; Mary was. And for whatever reason, she had decided she didn't want Henry.
Ever since that night, she had been different. A bit cooler, more prickly. She was nursing a broken heart; Tom could see it clearly. There was a sadness deep inside her that hadn't been allowed to heal. He wished he could do something to ease it for her but wasn't sure how or if he could do that.
Even worse... without Henry in the picture, his affections could go unchecked. It was easier to remember not to let his touches linger or let his eyes follow her when he was reminded by her relationship with Henry. Without it, Tom could let his imagination run away from him. A well-meaning "What would I ever do without you?" had hidden depths, a soft smile meant something more...
His waking hours (and even some of the ones spent in slumber) were consumed by her. After learning about Bertie's status as the Marquess of Hexham, Tom was worried Mary might take her bad mood out on Edith. He knew she was hurting, deep down, and even though she had a tendency to self sabotage, she also wanted to bring Edith down with her at times. It was something Tom didn't understand yet accepted as a simple fact. It was why he had sent for Henry; a few weeks had passed and hopefully by now she realized she was missing him. If he could cure her sadness, then maybe he could spare Edith some pain.
Tom tossed and turned under the covers of his bed, wondering how she might react. With joy? Would she thank him or be displeased? She would come around, of that he was fairly certain, but there was the question of how long it would take.
As a result, Tom received roughly five hours of sleep before awaking early in the morning. It wasn't something he was unaccustomed to; he pulled himself out of bed, dressing himself, and setting off to the nursery to say hello to Sybbie before breakfast.
When he entered the nursery, he was surprised to see George and Sybbie already awake and on the floor, playing with Mary. "Daddy!" Sybbie shrieked, jumping to her feet and running towards him, hugging his legs.
Tom was robbed speechless as Mary turned around. She was dressed in her nightgown and a silk dressing robe, clearly only having woken a short time ago. She looked so beautiful... a faint blush rose to her cheeks. She rose to her feet with haste. "I'm terribly sorry... I should get changed... Anna has probably arrived by now—"
"Nonsense," Tom cut her off, finally finding his voice. It was terribly selfish of him, wanting to keep her here like this, but she looked so radiant... almost like an angel. Tom stopped his internal monologue, adding mostly to remind himself of the reality of the situation, "We're family after all. Besides, it's nice to see you spending time with the children."
A sudden, raucous shriek diverted their attentions away from one another. George and Sybbie were arguing with one another over a stuffed animal. "George," Mary said, adopting a stern tone that only a mother could perfect, kneeling down next to him. "You must remember that it is nice to share."
Tom couldn't help but smile as George, pouting, gave Sybbie the stuffed animal before returning to his train. "So why are you up so early?" Tom asked, deciding to join them on the floor. He bent up his knees so they were level with his chin.
Tom noticed a pink flush to Mary's ivory cheeks. It was something he was unused to... but he couldn't lie and say he didn't like seeing it. "I had rather a... strange dream," she confessed, voice a few pitches higher than her normal low tones, "and I didn't want to have a repeat of it. So I decided to come visit George."
Tom found himself intrigued. What did she mean by a strange dream? Hopefully not a nightmare... after all, she had said it was something she didn't want repeated.
He didn't know why he ended up saying what he said: it was practically an invitation for her to pick his brain. Maybe it had something to do with the way she looked in the white light of the morning or how sweet she was being with the children, but Tom found himself admitting: "I didn't sleep well either, to be honest."
"No?"
"I was up late last night. Thinking." He felt the need to be honest... or at least making an effort to be partially honest with her.
Truth be told, he wasn't certain of what he wanted: to tell her how he truly felt or allow her to be happy... even if it wasn't with him. Tom had never been one to keep secrets, especially not when it came to his feelings. It was a testament to the friendship he desperately did not want to ruin that he had stayed silent for so long. But now, with Henry gone, he was getting carried away. Should he dare to tell the truth and risk her disgust?
"About what?"
He hesitated. If he told the truth... she might not want anything to do with him.
And Henry was already on his way.
"I'm afraid you wouldn't like my answer," he finally said.
She didn't catch on to what he meant, rolling her eyes. "That's never stopped you before."
Tom couldn't help but laugh. "No. Usually it doesn't." She had changed him, though— at some point, Mary had made her way under his skin and altered him. He did things now he never would have before, all in the name of her.
"Well, don't waste your time thinking about it anymore," Mary ordered him lightly, a small smile gracing her lips. "I don't need you losing sleep over silly things like this."
Silly things... she had no clue. If only he was losing sleep over silly things instead of her. With a sorrowful smile, he said, "I'll try."
And he would; Henry would be there that afternoon, ready to fight for her hand if it came to it, and Tom would encourage him to do so. So Tom tried to put his fantasies out of his mind and banish the stirrings of longing that had been provoked by the sight of her in her nightgown and focus instead upon what he believed would make her the happiest.
After breakfast with Robert, he and Mary had set off to do their agenting. "I think the wood is right the way it is. We don't need it any larger," said Tom, looking out into the quiet of the woods. There were so many old trees... Mary had once claimed there was one that had been around since the Norman Conquest. Still, the estate had plenty of unused land that could be put to use and if something wasn't done with it soon, it would expand the woods.
No reply came from Mary. He glanced over at her, finding her staring out at it almost blankly. He let out a sigh. "Mary, let me get him up here."
"There's no point. Nothing's changed."
"You've changed," he pointed out.
"It's not as easy as that," she started, walking forward. "I find him very attractive. I like him a lot."
" 'I find him very attractive. I like him a lot.' What a load of baloney!" Tom wasn't sure what it was— if it was just the car crash or if it was something else— but Mary had been happy and content with Henry to dropping him without much warning whatsoever. It made no sense to Tom— not when he saw how happy she'd been.
Mary turned around to face him, eyes wide open. "I don't love him, Tom. It's as simple as that."
That's what she kept saying: that it wasn't love. Maybe it was true but Tom knew Mary; whenever she had a good thing, for whatever reason, she was always determined to ruin it for herself. Henry, whatever the rest of family might think, was a good man who loved Mary. "You're happy with him, Mary!" He protested. "Everyone with eyes can see it!"
"And even if I was in love with him, then what's that?" She challenged him before derisively saying, "A powerful urge that fades."
Tom felt almost as if he'd been struck in the heart. If only love was as simple as that... if only it could fade. Tom knew that the love he had for her would haunt him wherever he went, just as his love for Sybil would. But telling her that wouldn't help. "Did it fade for you and Matthew?"
That took her by surprise. "We weren't married long enough..."
No... they hadn't. Just like he and Sybil hadn't. If the world were just and fair, the both of them would have been with Matthew and Sybil until they were old and grey haired, with dozens of children and grandchildren among them. But they lived in a harsh world, one that stole away the people loved the most for no rhyme or reason.
Sybil's death had altered him; he wasn't the Tom Branson who had arrived at Downton in 1913, nor the Tom Branson who had wed Sybil, nor even the Tom he had been the night of Sybbie's birth. And Mary wasn't the same Mary who had turned up her nose had him, the one who had hunted him and Sybil down in the dead of night, or the one who had fought with Matthew the night before their wedding. Somehow, they had moved on with their lives and become completely different people.
He was pulled out of his reverie when she spoke once again. "Tom, look I don't mean to pull rank but with people like us, we need to marry sensibly—"
Tom couldn't stop himself from scoffing. People like us... did she forget that he wouldn't even be considered a person like herself if he hadn't married in? And even if she was counting him among the category of people like her, he was hardly as wealthy as them. Comfortable, yes, and he enjoyed far more than he had as a chauffeur or even as a journalist, but he was by no means independently wealthy.
Mary ignored him, carrying in regardless "—Especially if we're going to inherit the family show. It's a way of life that isn't for everyone and a bad marriage can poison it."
"He's not an orangutan. He knows how it works." And so do I. Henry was of a higher birth than he was... honestly, it was like sometimes she forgot who she was speaking to. Henry was an intelligent enough man to understand what Mary's job entailed. If he loved her as much Tom knew he did, then he would understand how important it was to her.
"He wants different things!"
"What about you and Matthew? You came from different poles!" Though he might have been the heir to the estate, Matthew had never stopped being a middle-class lawyer from Manchester. It was why he and Tom had become such good friends; Matthew knew what it was like to come from a modest background and feel like an outsider at Downton.
Tom half regretted bringing him up when he saw a brief flicker of pain on her face. "Yes, but we were young and free. It's difficult the second time."
"Why?"
"Because you know what's at stake! It's easier to get it wrong!" Mary exclaimed.
"I only see a real opportunity for you to get it right," he told her. She had been looking for another husband for a few years now and Henry would treat her well.
"Honestly?"
"I'm always honest." Almost always... he supposed that by concealing his feelings, he was lying to her by omission, but he would never hold back if she were ever to directly ask him something.
She stopped walking so that she could turn around and face him. "Are you?"
Did she know... or somehow suspect how he felt? Fear caused him to demand, "Why would you say that, for heaven's sake?"
"One word: Marigold."
Oh. Tom wasn't sure if he ought to feel relieved or not. On the one hand, his secret was safe. On the other hand... Edith's wasn't. He wondered how she had figured it out. He let out a sigh before saying, "It wasn't my secret to tell."
"So, it is true," Mary said, almost more to herself than to him, almost smug. "Well, I knew it was."
"Never mind Marigold," he jumped in. She was just trying to distract him. "She won't make you happy. Henry Talbot will."
"Oh, Henry Talbot, Henry Talbot! You're far more on his side than you were on mine," she exclaimed. If only she knew how untrue that was... he knew it must seem that way, when he was the man's biggest advocate, but what she failed to see is that all of this was for her. "I don't love him, Tom!"
"He's the one for you," Tom pleased, ignoring how much it hurt him to say such a thing. As much as he loved her, he knew they were never meant to be. Only in his wildest dreams would she ever consider him as a romantic partner... so he had to push for someone he trusted would be able to love her even a fraction as much. "Trust me and give him a chance."
"No. No, he isn't," Mary spat, firm and resolved. "And if you want to redeem yourself in my good graces, you won't give him a chance either. You'll leave him be and you will let me get on with my life."
Sybil arched an eyebrow. "Well?"
"Well what?"
"Well, how are you feeling?" Before she could respond, Sybil added, "Because you look like you want to scream."
It was only then that Mary realized her hands were balled into fists. "Suppose I do," Mary said, uncertain if she was merely entertaining a hypothetical or acknowledging the truth. She had mixed feelings about what she had seen.
"But why?" promoted Sybil, trying to get at something, wearing a knowing smile.
"It's just— It's just so infuriating, how he was planning to be a martyr about it!" She burst out. "It's ridiculous— I barely even knew Henry, and yet he was convinced I was madly love with him!"
Sybil seemed amused. "I'm sure you remember that love makes you do stupid things," she said drolly. "It doesn't always make you think rationally. Sometimes you do things or say things you normally never would. You cannot even think straight."
Mary could certainly remember how that felt. "Yes. I do remember."
Sybil gave her a smile. "So I'm sure we can give Tom a few allowances for behaving foolishly."
Mary couldn't help but let out a laugh. "We can."
August 12, 1925
"This is so precisely not the way to win me over!" hissed Mary as Tom chase after her. Henry's sudden reappearance had given her a shock— he supposed that was to be expected. Still, he had thought (or, rather hoped) she would be happy to see him again.
"Will you just get off your high horse?" He asked her as they reached the final step.
"Why are you interfering?" Mary exclaimed, clearly frustrated.
"Because I love you and want you to be happy!" The words came out of his mouth before he could stop them. It was the truth and yet he found himself paralyzed by fear, waiting for her response. Did she understand what he meant— what he truly meant? Judging by her prolonged silence, he felt as though she must know now.
Mary managed to dispel those fears by exclaiming, "Well, you've got a bloody odd way of showing it!"
"Well, I take it this is me you're fighting about?" Tom hadn't even noticed Henry's entrance. Still, he was relieved for it nonetheless.
"Yes, it is. And you can dig yourself out, because I've had enough." Without another word, he stormed away, heart beating fast.
When he returned to his bedroom, he flopped onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling. Keeping secrets wasn't his speciality; he should have known at some point he wouldn't be able to contain it any longer. Tom let out a groan, reaching for a pillow to bury his face in. Obviously, she hadn't realized what he truly meant, but what would happen the next time he was carried away by his feelings?
Except there wouldn't be a next time. Henry was here now and they would make up. Mary would be Mrs. Henry Talbot in no time and all this could be put behind them for a while. Tom reminded himself of this as he prepared for dinner, mentally preparing himself for what was to come...
But when he walked into the library to join the family, Henry Talbot was nowhere to be found. When he asked after him, Cora said, with a touch of sadness, "He had to go home."
Tom felt as if a rug had been pulled out from under him...
He loved Mary, with everything he had... but Lord knew that she didn't make life easy.
Mary remembered that morning all to well. She hadn't realized how long her silence had been following his exclamation, but she remembered thinking back to that dream, the dream that had started it all...
She supposed her former self was right. He did have a funny way of showing it. Maybe it was ridiculous but Mary felt her frustration ebb away. It was charming, in its way, how determined Tom was to make sure she would be happy. Noble, even.
"You're awfully quiet," Sybil finally remarked.
"I have a lot on my mind," said Mary. "But I'm ready to see what's next."
August 13, 1925
Bertie and Edith were mere specks in the distance. After the shock at breakfast, he had retreated to his room before informing Pratt that he would be leaving Downton immediately once he had a chance to speak with Edith. Tom had watched as Andy carried his trunks down the staircase, loading them up into the back of the car. He felt an ache in his heart for poor Edith, who had come so close to happiness. "He'll miss his train," he said to Robert, his companion as they watched the couple... or rather, as Tom suspected, the former couple.
"Let him miss it. He can catch the next one. What happened?" Robert demanded.
Tom hesitated. How could he begin to explain it... especially without casting her in a bad light? He was certain that once Mary came to her senses, she would be ashamed of her actions, but knowing her, she probably felt justified right about now. Edith had poked a nerve and Mary had sank her claws in.
"Mary thought Edith had told him about Marigold," he finally told Robert, resigned.
Robert gaped at him. "How did Mary find out?"
"Mary is not stupid," Tom pointed out. As horrible as her words had been, Tom wished Edith had just told both her and Bertie about it sooner... though judging by the way Edith was holding herself, he was certain she regretted not telling the latter.
"No. And she's not always kind, either," Robert said, frustrated and irate. Tom knew that he had been one of the people most excited for Edith, glad to finally see her happy at last... only to watch it crumble away before his eyes. He supposed if he were to watch the same thing happen to Sybbie, he would be devastated as well. "Was it really a mistake?"
No. He remembered her smug smile, the way she had looked at him with a satisfied look in her eye. It was a mistake— but it hadn't been an accident. "What difference does it make?" Tom asked, resentment mounting.
He loved her. He did. But she didn't make life easy— not for him, not for Edith, not for the rest family. And even though he loved her, he wasn't blinded enough by it to conceive that she had somehow done the right thing. He loved Edith too, much like the sister he had never had, and he hated seeing her in pain. When Bertie finally left them, looking very near to tears himself, Tom spied Edith sitting on the bench, crying.
It was that image in his mind when he entered the office, finding Mary hiding away from everyone. She was in the wrong and she knew it, only for whatever reason she felt determined to cast the blame on Henry Talbot and Edith. It was what prompted him to say, in the height of his anger, "You're a coward, Mary. Like all bullies, you're a coward."
He hoped his words had gotten through to her— and that she would apologize. Still, it was clear that she wasn't going to listen to him now. Tom stopped at house briefly, writing down a letter to the one person in the Crawley family who might be able to solve this mess, and left to post it in the village.
However, Tom surmised that perhaps Mary hadn't taken his advice when he saw a familiar car driving down the road, a blonde figure in the front seat. The horn honked and Tom hurried to the window.
"Are you in a rush?" Edith asked. It was then that Tom noticed Marigold was in the backseat, gnawing on the ear of her teddy bear.
"Not particularly. Why?" Tom was half dreading her answer.
"I need you to come with us to the station. Then you can drive the car home," Edith explained, Tom's heart sinking.
"Where are you going?"
"Up to London," said Edith, which he supposed made sense. "I haven't said goodbye to anyone and I can't bear to look at Mary."
"She's unhappy," he found himself saying. It almost seemed hypocritical, after the way he had scolded her in the office, but it hurt to hear someone speak ill of her. "I think she regrets what she did."
"Not as much as I do," said Edith with a humorless laugh. "And, for your information, before I left we had the row we all knew was coming." Tom was half grateful he hadn't been there to witness it. "I'm not sorry. At least I'm just sorry we didn't have it years ago."
"Bertie may come round," he offered, hating to see her so sad.
She shook her head. "I don't think so. He might have come round about Marigold. In fact, I'm sure he would've done. But I tried to trick him and he won't come round about that."
He was afraid she was right. Still, he knew Bertie loved her. Maybe, once he sorted Mary's love life out, he could attend to fixing Edith's. "Would you like me to talk to him?"
"No," she said with a melancholic smile, "but I love you for asking. We should get going."
Mary was astonished that he had bothered defending her after she had ruined Edith's engagement. Based upon their heated argument that afternoon, Mary would have suspected that his feelings towards were quite negative... but then again, that was before she knew he loved her.
It was so odd, having that knowledge now. All their interactions were colored by it... there were depths to Tom that she couldn't have possibly fathomed even a month ago. She thought she knew him better than anyone else but clearly she had only scratched the surface. Still, it didn't change how she felt... not really.
And that fact was startling enough. Mary blinked, purposefully ignoring the smirk on her sister's face. "Please don't gloat, Sybil darling," Mary said wearily, facing her.
"What is there to gloat about? You haven't admitted to anything yet," she replied innocently.
"And I won't admit to anything," she said pointedly. "Yet."
"Well I'm afraid you haven't much time left," Sybil replied. "There's only two more left."
Only two? It didn't seem like much at all. It might sound bizarre but she had grown comfortable inside Tom's mind. She found herself wanting to know what he thought about everything and everyone— and, selfishly, herself.
"Would you like to see them one after other? No interruptions?"
Mary hesitated. "Are they good memories?"
Sybil smile. "Very good ones."
"Alright, then," Mary agreed resignedly.
December 31, 1925
The temperature was cold but Tom didn't feel the chill. The house, packed full of wedding guests, had made it almost stifling. "Golly, this is nice," Mary breathed.
Tom nodded, leaning against the house. "It was a bit warm."
"I'm surprised you wanted to come out here with me. I thought you might want to make sure that you were with Miss Edmunds when the clock struck twelve."
Confused, he turned to face her. "What do you mean by that?"
"For a kiss, of course." A kiss? What was she talking about? Mary had been acting strangely all day and this was just another thing to add to the list of odd things... unless... could she be jealous?
A few months ago, Tom might have been fully convinced that it was out of the realm of possibility. But now... it wasn't impossible, not in his mind, not after the kiss they shared that fateful evening. Tom had replayed it over and over in his mind, treasuring it even though it could almost certainly be deemed a failure. She'd said she didn't want to marry again; he could respect that. But when she said things like that, with such a bitter tone... it made him wonder.
"Oh, forget it!" Mary exclaimed, her cheeks changing color rapidly. Perhaps it was the cold... or perhaps she was embarrassed.
"Why on Earth would I want to kiss Miss Edmunds?" Tom asked, trying to stop himself from laughing. Seeing her like this... well, it was unlike anything he had ever seen. He couldn't help but find it amusing that he would have eyes for anyone but her.
"You seemed to be getting along with her," Mary said, seeing ruffled. "And I suppose she's reasonably pretty enough... not to mention she seems awfully sweet on you."
Reasonably pretty... Tom had to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing, but the conclusion she drew made him chuckle outright. "I'm sure that's not true."
"It is! I'm not blind, you know. I can tell when a woman is attracted to a man. And you seemed to be appreciating her attentions," Mary said, her tone almost as icy as the air surrounding them.
Oh, Mary, he couldn't help but think. "I can assure you, Mary, that I've no interest in Miss Edmunds. She's a nice woman, but..." He paused. Confessing the truth would frighten her away, but he need to phrase it delicately. Finally, Tom said, "I'm not the right sort of man for her."
Mary let out a noise half way between a laugh and sigh before saying, "Well, that's a relief."
Tom turned to face her, astonished. Could it be... was she really... "What do you mean by that?"
"Nothing," she said with little conviction as she met his eye. Tom felt like he was drowning as he looked into her eyes. For a moment, nothing else matter but them. Maybe it was foolish... but Tom felt certain that she felt this too. He wasn't naïve to think she was in love with him, not quite yet, but there was something there between them.
"Ten!" The partygoers began to chant inside, their voices sounding a million miles away as they stood outside in their own island. "Nine!"
Tom knew it was now or never. If she felt what he felt (and he was almost certain she did), the time for the truth was now. "Mary," he started, never feeling so afraid in his life. "Please don't run—"
The guests inside interrupted him with an enthusiastic: "Eight! Seven!"
"—But I think we should... we should be honest with one another—" I need to be honest with you— because I love you. And I don't like keeping secrets from those I love.
"Six!"
Mary interrupted him with a, "Yes. Let's." As the guests chanted, "Five!" The gravel crunches beneath her feet as she stepped towards him, so close that he could feel the warmth emanating from her body.
"Four!"
"Mary," he said, voice shaky. He felt like all the air had been robbed from his lungs. "I know what you said—"
"Shut up."
That... had not been what he was expecting. Tom was robbed speechless.
"Three!"
"What?"
"Shut up," Mary repeated, with no edge. In fact, he lips were curved upward. There was something softer in her gaze, something more like the Mary that liked to hide away from everyone. His anxieties began to fade.
"Two!"
Her hands, cool from the air, came to rest on either side of his face. Tom didn't mind; in fact, it felt like the skin beneath her hands was burning. She was so close... "Mary," Tom said softly. He couldn't believe this was happening.
"One!"
Tom swore his heart stopped beating the moment their lips met. It was like he was being consumed by fire. Though he'd had his fair share of kisses, nothing compared to this, not even the first one they had shared.
Determined to savor it, Tom deepened the kiss, hands falling to rest on her hips as she brought him even closer to her. It was then Tom realized that he wasn't on fire— he was drowning in her, and he didn't want to come up for air anytime soon.
March 3rd, 1926
Tom wasn't sure what time it was— only that it was still dark out. He must have fallen asleep...
Tom attempted to roll over to glance at the clock on his nightstand, only for Mary to groan beside him. "Mary?" He whispered, wondering if she too was awake.
Mary said nothing but rolled over in her sleep, her pale arm coming to drape over his bare torso, her head resting in the crook of his arm. Tom couldn't help smile softly at her. She looked so peaceful as she slept...
Tom closed his eyes, deciding that it didn't matter what time it was. He pressed a kiss to her forehead before readying himself to fall back asleep.
It may have been his imagination, but Tom swore he heard her voice murmur his name as he drifted back into slumber.
It hit Mary square in the chest. "That's the last one," Sybil informed her but Mary could barely hear her. Her mind was a million miles away...
When had it happened? Mary tried to pinpoint a precise moment but she couldn't think. It was bubbling inside her, much like champagne inside a bottle, threatening to spill over.
"Mary?"
I love him. Mary blinked again, eyes settling on Sybil's wallpaper. Oh, God, I love him.
It was Sybil's touch that startled Mary back into reality— or whatever this place was. "I take it you had your epiphany." Mary was only able to nod. "It's about time."
Sybil said it so glibly but Mary's mind was spinning. She was in love with Tom. Tom Branson. She loved Tom Branson...
She felt a combination of exultation and shock coursing through her body. "I won't make you say it," Sybil told her, smiling at her. "Because I know you aren't the most comfortable with your feelings. But I want you to listen to me: I need you to know that I am pleased for you, Mary. Really. I am." Her smile somehow lit up the already bright room. "I love you both very much and you have my full, unreserved blessing."
"Thank you," Mary murmured.
But... would he still want her? After the way she had treated him? She had been actively shoving him away for well over a month, insisting on secrecy... after the way she had run from him, would he want anything to do with her? She still had a hard time believing anyone in their right mind would want anything to do with her.
Sybil let out a lofty sigh. "I know there isn't much sense in telling you to stop being hard on yourself," she said, startling Mary. Was Sybil gifted with telepathic powers here. "So I won't bother trying. I'll send you along to someone who will make you see sense. You'll find him in your bedroom."
Who could— Mary's thought stopped before it really had a chance to begin. "Oh," she breathed.
Sybil smiled. "I am proud of you, Mary. Really. I am." She pressed a kiss to Mary's cheek before rising.
Mary wasn't sure what her sister was proud of, but the words brought tears to her eyes regardless. She didn't even bother to try and hide them. "We miss you every day, you know."
"I know," she said softly. "But someday we'll be together again. I promise." As a tear streamed down Mary's cheek, she said, "Would you mind doing me a favor once you return home?"
"Anything." It was the least Mary owed her after all this.
"Would you find Beeny and give him to Sybbie?" Mary was taken aback for a moment. "He is in a trunk in the attic, by the west window. The blue and red one."
"Of course." Mary wrapped her arms around her sister. It was so hard saying goodbye... at least this time it was a proper goodbye. Mary was glad she finally had the chance. "Goodbye, Sybil darling."
"Goodbye, Mary. Thank you for taking care of him." As they pulled apart, Sybil smiled. "Say hello to Matthew for me."
Mary blinked, another question on the tip of her tongue, but when she opened her eyes, Sybil had disappeared in thin air, leaving her all alone. The handkerchief was still in her hand.