Love and Freedom
Disclaimer: I don't own Downton Abbey.
If you look at my profile, you'll probably realize Cobert are my OPT for Downton. But, I love Sybil and Tom as well, and I hope to do them justice in this story. Nevertheless, I may portray Cobert (and Sybil's thoughts about them) a bit differently than you are used to.
Many thanks to pearlydewdrop for answering a couple of questions for this story that I couldn't find in my research.
Sybil Crawley inhaled the smell of the Irish Sea again. It smelled of salt and adventure, and she couldn't have enough of it. She couldn't believe she was truly on her way to Ireland. Her fiancé, Tom Branson, was even more excited than she was to be returning to his homeland.
"Just another couple of hours, Sybil and we will land!" he said, clapping his hands and grinning from ear to ear. His Irish brogue, which had become music to her ears in the last few months, sounded even better when he was so excited.
Sybil nodded. "And your Uncle Conner will meet us to take us to your mother's?" she asked, eager to discuss their plans again.
"Yes," Tom nodded, stray brown hairs flopping in the breeze. It made him look so much more natural than his "polished" look at Downton when he worked as their chauffeur, and her smile widened again. Everything in Ireland with Tom would be so much more real than the superficial life she'd been expected to live in aristocratic England.
No perfume or fancy cologne. No dresses she was expected to change four times a day or elaborate hairstyles she couldn't fix herself. Instead, Sybil wore her simplest dress and her hair in a smart braid. She would buy more clothing made of cotton and linen tomorrow in Dublin.
"Oh, Sybil," Tom took both of her hands to pull her closer. "I still can't believe it's finally happening."
Laughing, Sybil enjoyed the feeling of his warm body next to hers. "But you knew we would marry much earlier than I did. How many times did you insist I was in love with you while I still wavered?"
He chuckled in return. "There are only so many times you can insist on something you desperately want when you don't receive the right answer before a man starts to wonder if it's a bit unrealistic, after all."
"It was unrealistic, Tom," Sybil said more seriously this time as she stared into his hazel eyes. "But it was also right." Before she knew it, he kissed her softly on the lips.
Sybil blushed, aware of the other passengers on the boat. She'd grown up in a world that discouraged physical affection. Ironic, as the most emotional of her sisters, she'd always been told she was too affectionate, and it was something she needed to grow out of as she became older. But perhaps, now she didn't need to grow out of it, after all. Perhaps she should embrace it more.
Smiling, Sybil leaned in and gave Tom a small kiss in return. Warmth and energy flooded her body. "I'm glad it will only take three weeks to be married," she said, a bit boldly.
Tom's eyes grew in surprise at the comment, but his smile grew even wider, and he pulled her closer. "Me, too."
"Are you certain the Catholic vows don't require the woman to promise to "obey"? she asked, hopeful but not quite believing it.
Tom chuckled lowly. "I knew you would be interested in that," he said with a nod. "I went to my sister, Brigid's wedding before I left Ireland, as well as couple of buddies' weddings. None of them used 'obey.'" His smile transformed into an arrogant smirk as he added, "It's one way we're better than the Protestants."
Sybil nodded and felt her smile grow even larger if that was possible. It seemed that Ireland could give her everything. Love, equality, and a real life where she could make an even bigger difference as a nurse. Tom would do the same by writing for his paper and compel Ireland to become truly free.
OOOOOOOOOOO
The ship finally docked as they landed in Ireland, but Sybil and Tom had to wait as the first and second – class passengers climbed off the boat. She was eager to put on feet on Ireland, but Sybil had to become used to traveling in a lower class now. She wasn't going to be a rich, aristocratic lady anymore. She would soon be an Irish woman, married to a journalist.
She tried to wait patiently, but she sighed a few times. At least Tom was even more eager than her, leaning past the other passengers to see when they would be allowed to leave.
It felt as if they waited hours when they eventually climbed off, clutching their cases, and smiling at each other all the while. This was it.
"Tommy!" a deep male voice called, full of Irish brogue from the crowd. Tom turned toward the voice and immediately said, "Uncle Conner!" He quickly walked toward a large man with a mix of brownish and greying hair. Sybil hurried to catch up as they embraced.
"It's so good to see you again," Tom's uncle said as they withdrew. He looked at Tom more closely for a few moments. "You look more like Jim all the time."
"Really?" Tom asked, sounding confused. "People always say Kieran looks like Da did."
Tom's uncle shrugged. "Perhaps, but your eyes, your nose… it's like looking directly at my brother."
Tom nodded without smiling, and Sybil wondered what had happened to his father. Through all their many talks which grew more and more personal over the last year, he'd never mentioned his father at all. She was beginning to wonder if that was deliberate.
Then Tom's eyes met hers, and they both knew it was time to introduce her his family. He carefully walked next to her and said firmly, "Uncle Conner, this is my fiancée, Sybil Crawley." Then he placed his hand in hers.
Uncle Conner studied Sybil intently for several moments, as if he wasn't certain what to think of her. Eventually he shook his head and sighed. "Well, hello Lady Sybil." His eyes made it clear she shouldn't be here.
She'd known Tom's family would struggle to accept her from the moment he'd suggested they marry, back when she'd tried to convince herself he was just a friend. Now Sybil decided the best way to handle it was to remain friendly no matter what. With a bright smile, she held out his hand. "Hello, to you as well. And please, call me 'Sybil.' We are going to be family, and that kind of thing doesn't matter here, anyway."
Uncle Conner sighed again, but he shook Sybil's hand. "Do you both have all of your belongings? We should get going to Eileen's soon."
Tom picked up both of his cases, and Sybil clutched hers tightly. "We're all ready, Uncle Conner."
OOOOOOOOOOO
Sybil felt foolish as she walked along the streets of Dublin next to Tom and following Uncle Conner. Of course, Tom's uncle, who had worked all of his life at the docks, didn't have a motor. Why had she thought otherwise? Perhaps because she had spent the last five years associating Tom with motors.
Her body wasn't prepared for so much walking. The farther they moved, the more her legs ached. And for some reason, her stomach as well. It was ironic that as snobbish as Papa could be, he might be better suited for this hiking, as he often strolled around the estate on foot. Sybil usually chose the motor, especially as she became closer and closer to Tom.
She bit her lip to keep from groaning. No sense in proving Uncle Conner right the first day she was here. Sybil would become used to this. She was supposed to be here.
As they moved, Tom pointed several landmarks. "There's the primary school, where I learned to read… and the textile and clothing store… there's my best friend, Aaron's flat when we were growing up… "
Sybil did her best to focus on his excited voice and not her sore legs and aching stomach as the continued walking.
OOOOOOOOOOO
Finally, Uncle Conner opened one of the many doors, and the three of them stepped into a long hallway and a stone floor. Clothing hung on lines everywhere they could see. Sybil's heart pounded hard in a way that had nothing to do with all the walking as he knocked on the second door to the left. This was it.
"Eileen?" he called as he knocked. "I've brought Tommy home with his… friend."
The door opened, and there stood a plump woman with grey hair. She appeared to be about Cousin Isabel's age. "Tommy!" she said, her entire face lighting up as she saw her son. "It's so good that you've come home." They embraced for several moments. "Come inside," Eileen Branson said.
Tom picked up his cases again and did just that, while Uncle Conner and Sybil followed him. She looked around, surprised by the splash of color. At Downton, they house had a lot of soft colors. Light blues, greens, and gold, although there were some deep reds as well, especially in the library. Here the floor was covered with scattered homemade rugs of a deep green and the chairs were bright yellows.
Meanwhile, Tom sniffed the air and said, "Nothing says coming to Mam's flat on a Friday night than the smell of fried fish."
Uncle Conner laughed as well. "I guess some things never change."
"Nor should they," said Eileen Branson's voice, already in the kitchen. "I will make proper Catholics* out of you two yet."
The kitchen was also decorated in bright greens and yellows, with a yellow table and green cabinets. It was smaller than the dining table at Downton, but large enough to serve for several guests. Tonight, it had clearly been set with four people in mind. "It is so nice to have a dinner for my family," said Mrs. Branson from the stove. Turning around, she dished the fish onto four wooden plates. Then she cut a few pieces of bread off the end of a loaf. "I should have made a new one today, especially as Tommy has come home, but I am afraid time got away."
"Don't worry about it, Eileen," said Uncle Conner.
Meanwhile, Sybil realized she'd been standing in this woman's presence for several moments, and Tom's mother had yet to acknowledge her. Nor had she acknowledged Sybil when she'd first opened the door. She took a deep breath and stepped toward her future mother – in – law, while meeting Tom's hazel eyes again, hoping he understood.
Tom immediately nodded. "Mam, this is my fiancée. Sybil. Sybil this is Mam."
Sybil smiled and held out her hand. "I'm very happy to meet you." She had no idea what to call this woman. Mama had always called Granny "Mama" as well, so is that what she should call Tom's mother? Or would the woman be offended by that and prefer to be called "Mrs. Branson?
Tom's mother slowly shook Sybil's hand, but she didn't smile at all.
OOOOOOOOOOO
"Don't tell me you've forgotten how to say grace, Tommy," Mrs. Branson said, shaking her head as Tom picked up a piece of fish after they all sat down.
Tom placed the fish back on his plate with a sheepish grin. "No, but I'm afraid I don't say it as often as you'd like me to, Mam." With that, he made the sign of the cross.
Sybil lived in a world where everyone ate dinner at precisely eight o'clock. If Granny were visiting, they all waited until she took the first bite. But saying grace before meals was not something she was used to doing. In fact, she wasn't used to praying anywhere but in church. Nevertheless, it was obvious she was expected to pray here.
She made the sign of the cross along with everybody at the table. Mrs. Branson said, "Lord, we thank thee for this meal of family and friends. We thank thee especially for brining my son home safely, and we ask that you bless his new job opportunity. Amen."
"Amen," Sybil echoed with the rest of the table.
The bread was rather hard, and Sybil wasn't used to the taste of fried fish, but it felt so good to finally sit down and have food in her stomach that she didn't mind. As they ate, Tom discussed their plans. "…Yeah, I'm going over to the Saturday Herald office on Saturday morning," he said to his Uncle Conner with a nod. "And Sybil wants to stop by the hospital to see about a nursing job there."
Sybil nodded, exchanging an excited look with Tom at how their lives were beginning here. She loved how large his eyes grew as he talked about their new life together. "And I need to buy some new clothing, too," she said, eager to start living like a middle – class Irish woman.
"Well, it sounds as if you have everything planned," Uncle Conner said with a nod, but his voice indicated it would never work.
Sybil continued smiling.
OOOOOOOOOOOO
When the meal was finished, everyone stood up, thanking Eileen Branson for the food. Tom's mother looked at the dishes for a moment before she suddenly turned to Sybil. "I don't suppose you know how to wash dishes. It's just that Tommy's home for the first time in years, you know. I'd really like to spend more time with him. And I rarely see Conner anymore either…"
It was an innocent request but given the woman's additude toward her and the look on her face when she asked, Sybil had a feeling it was intended to be a "test." Tom's mother wanted to show that Sybil was useless, because she couldn't, or wouldn't wash a few dirty dishes.
She wanted to laugh. Did Mrs. Branson have any idea how many things Sybil had washed at the hospital? Things that would make many people gag. But instead, she smiled brightly and replied, "I would be happy to do so."
Mrs. Branson couldn't hide the surprise on her face, but she nodded and said, "the pot of hot water is right on the stove."
She tried to focus washing the fish off the plates and the tea out of the cups. But the three people talking in the other room was difficult to ignore, especially as it became clear they were all speaking about her.
"… know you said she'd been a nurse, Tommy, but I still don't think she knows what she's getting into," Uncle Conner's voice said.
Sybil scrubbed the plate with extra vigor, determined to prove them all wrong.
"Tommy, you were always the smartest of my children," Mrs. Branson's voice said. "You can read better than any of us, and I was so proud when you wrote that you had an opportunity to work as a journalist." Sybil nodded, as she felt the same way. From their first conversations, she knew Tom was incredibly clever, and he would become someone important. He was on his way now.
"… now you bring home that Kitty O'Shea of a woman!" Mrs. Branson screamed.
Sybil stopped scrubbing. She didn't know who Kitty O'Shea was, but Mrs. Branson obviously intended as a huge insult. Reminding herself that she'd expected this, she began scrubbing again.
But her heart warmed from head to toe when Tom's voice fired back, "Sybil is nothing like Kitty O'Shea. She's always supported me, even before we became a couple, and now she's my biggest champion. She has far more in common with Countess Markiewicz." She did know who Countess Markiewicz was. Tom had told her she was a wealthy lady who'd fought tirelessly for Irish freedom in the last few years, even earning her one of the first seats in the Irish Parliament, the Dail.
The woman was quickly becoming one of Sybil's heroines. That Tom compared her to Countess Markiewicz to his mother meant more than she could explain.
"Sybil," Tom voice suddenly said from directly behind her. "I'm sorry you heard that. I know my Mam would struggle, but that she screamed like that while you could hear…"
"Don't worry, Tom," she said, turning to face him. "Do you really think I'm like Countess Markiewicz?" She looked deep into his hazel eyes, loving the tenderness she saw there.
"Definitely," he said leaning in for a kiss. It tasted like love and sparks of fire.
"Who is Kitty O'Shea, anyway?" she asked as they withdrew. She gazed even more intensely into his hazel eyes.
Tom shrugged. "She was the mistress of an important Irish freedom fighter in the nineteenth century. Apparently, Ireland may have been liberated then, but the scandal of his involvement with O'Shea was too much."
Sybil's heart dropped to the floor. She knew Mrs. Branson didn't like her but…did she really think Sybil was committing adultery with her son? "Your Mam doesn't think that I'm already married, does she?"
Tom placed his warm arms on her shoulders. "No, Sybil, of course not. She just thinks you'll ruin things for me. We'll just have to prove her wrong. We can prove them all wrong. After all, you've already convinced your father."
Her heart exploded as he once again demonstrated the trust, he had in her. In them. The trust he'd had from the very beginning. "I love you, Tom," she said for the first time.
Saying it shouldn't be that big of a deal, considering she'd already agreed to give up her family for him if necessary. But from the look on his face, it meant everything to Tom. "Oh, Sybil. I love you so much," he whispered, making it sound even more intimate.
Just then, Uncle Conner appeared in the kitchen, breaking the moment. "I should be heading home. It was nice to meet you… Sybil," he added with a nod at her.
Sybil smiled in return. She would win their acceptance yet. "I should finish these dishes," she said to Tom, pointing to the sink. Especially considering if she waited too long, the pot of hot, soapy water would become cold.
And as Sybil didn't yet know how to use the stove in order to warm it, she preferred to finish the dishes soon.
OOOOOOOOOOO
Waking up with a smile on her face, Sybil knew the next morning she would gain the acceptance of Tom's family. After all, this was exactly the life she wanted. And today, she and Tom would take their first real steps to achieving that, by obtaining jobs and new clothing. Perhaps they'd even be able to look at some flats for the two of them to live after they were married.
Sybil dressed herself simply, lacking the fancy precision her former maid, Anna would provide. Nevertheless, she felt proud that she could perform such duties on her own. In fact, she headed for the kitchen, ready to ask Mrs. Branson if she could help with breakfast. Downton's cook, Mrs. Patmore had once told Sybil her eggs were fantastic.
She carefully stepped around Tom, who was still sleeping on one of the living room rugs. Sybil had felt bad last night when he said he would sleep on the floor. It had never occurred to her, but of course Mrs. Branson's flat only had two bedrooms, and she and Tom couldn't share a room before they were married. But of course, Tom insisted she sleep in one of the beds, like the gentleman he could be.
Mrs. Branson was already mixing ingredients on the stove.
"Good morning," Sybil said brightly. "I thought you could use some help with breakfast. I'm quite good at making eggs."
Mrs. Branson turned around and snapped, "While we don't usually make eggs for breakfast here. Just oatmeal." With that, she returned her attention to the food and the stove.
Walking further into the kitchen, Sybil took a deep breathe and said, "Then would you like some help with that? I am a quick learner, and I need to know how to make a lot of dishes for Tom.""
Mrs. Branson stared at her with a scowl on her face for a few moments before she said, "Well the oatmeal doesn't need much work now, but I had planned to make a new loaf of soda bread so Tommy could take a piece or two for lunch today. I suppose…I could try to teach you that."
She didn't look happy about it, but Sybil felt like dancing for joy. It was the first time Mrs. Branson offered any kind of assistance for her at all. A huge smile spread across her face and she practically sang, "I would love that."
Mrs. Branson nodded, still without smiling. "Wash your hands first. Then we'll need flour, sugar, salt, baking soda, butter, one egg, and a bit of milk." She gathered all the ingredients onto the table. "Put four cups of flour into this mixing bowl," she said, pulling out a large bowl.
That didn't seem too difficult. Sybil did so eagerly.
"Now a spoonful of sugar." Sybil did that as well.
"A pinch of salt and a pinch of baking soda." She tried to do that, but Mrs. Branson shouted, "Not like that! A small pinch, like this." Mrs. Branson demonstrated, although her method didn't look that different than Sybil's.
"Then we mix all the dry ingredients together," Mrs. Branson said. Sybil immediately picked up the spoon and stirred. "Don't spill the flour!" the older woman yelled again. "Here we can't afford to waste any food." She shook her head in disgust at her future daughter – in – law. Sybil desperately tried to stir it all together without spilling flour over the edges.
"Now we add the melted butter," Mrs. Branson said, picking up a small saucepan from the stove, "And mix that together." The older woman did so herself before Sybil could even try.
"Now beat the egg before mixing it in," Mrs. Branson said. Sybil's smile widened, knowing this was something she could easily do.
"Pour the beaten egg into the hole I've made in the middle of the dough," she then said, pointing at the middle of the large bowl. Sybil did so. "And the milk."
"Now we mix it all together," Mrs. Branson said, mixing it herself before Sybil could do anything again. "It should be kneaded to form a ball now, but you'll have to use your hands to do so." Although she seemed to expect Sybil to be disgusted at the thought, the older woman still sprinkled flour on her hands anyway.
Smiling, Sybil plunged her hands directly in the mixture. She reveled in using her own hands to make something for Tom. "Make certain it's not too sticky or too stiff," Mrs. Branson shouted as Sybil squeezed the dough.
Sybil's heart began to pound, despite herself. Her future mother – in – law was making her anxious. But she kept squeezing the dough.
"Good morning, Sybil, Mam," Tom's voice suddenly interrupted them with a smile. Sybil's heart leaped at the way he looked at her.
"Hello, Tommy," Mrs. Branson said, speaking far more cheerfully to Tom. "The oatmeal is almost ready for breakfast, and we're making some bread for you to take with you for lunch today."
Tom nodded. "We appreciate it, Mam."
"Now we put the bread onto this sheet," Mrs. Branson said, picking up the ball of dough and placing it on a flat pan. "And we make a cross in the dough, about an inch and a half thick." Finally, she placed the bread in the oven. "It should be ready in not quite an hour. Just in time for you to go to your interview."
Ay certain the newspaper will agree." Sybil nodded in agreement. He looked gorgeous, and she wished to touch his nice suit, but first she should wash her hands.
OOOOOOOOOOO
Sybil loved Tom's excited expression as they left his mother's flat. His eyes danced and his smile was wide. Everything was moving forward, both between them and for both of them. She smiled as she touched his clean greenish suit and smelled the soap from his freshly washed skin. "You look exactly like a proper journalist," she said with a nod.
Tom grinned, gazing at her as well. "And you look like a nurse." Then he took her hand and led her down the street, in the opposite direction than they'd come from yesterday.
Sybil hoped her legs would grow tired and her stomach wouldn't ache today, but she clutched his hand just as tightly, loving that he wanted to show so much affection on a busy street. Hand – holding in public was considered inappropriate in England, but she didn't care about that anymore. She was going to embrace the culture of Ireland.
Her other hand grasped the bucket with the bread inside it.
OOOOOOOOOOO
Standing inside the entryway of The Saturday Herald, Sybil wished she'd brought something to do while Tom interviewed. She hated to feel useless; it was one of the reasons why nursing had become so important to her. Could she offer the journalists tea? Would it be a good idea to ask?
She prepared herself to open the door several times when Tom finally swung the door open from the other side. By the scowl on his face, things hadn't gone well at all. It was a good thing Sybil hadn't offered any of them tea.
"They said they didn't need me!" Tom grumbled they left the office. '"Perhaps we could have used you if you'd arrived at the time of your original interview.' As if it were my fault your mother was very ill, and Lavinia died before I could leave!"
"Truly?" Sybil said feeling her own temper flare. "They blamed you for that? Because you are a nice person? I don't know what to say, Tom, I thought this was your chance."
"Well, I know I'm still meant to be a journalist, even if it isn't for The Saturday Herald," he said, spitting out the title of the newspaper. "But there are several other newspapers in Dublin that I can apply. One of them will be happy to have me." His face hardened into a determined expression.
Sybil smiled. One of the things she loved most about Tom was his persistence. Ironically, at one time she thought it was his most annoying quality. She'd even told Mary once, "He's frightfully full of himself," when Tom had tried to convince Sybil she was in love with him.
Now she took a step closer to him, gazing at his determined expression. "I agree. As I said, you already look like a journalist."
He kissed her in the middle of the street before she could react. Sometimes his affection really surprised her. "I suppose we should head to a hospital," Tom said when they withdrew. "George V isn't that far."
OOOOOOOOOO
"… But I am a qualified nurse," Sybil said to the head doctor at George V hospital. "I completed a training course in York in 1916 and performed nursing duties for the last three years at our village hospital."
Dr. Sloan raised his eyebrows again, so they almost reached the top of his bald head. "I am certain you did, ma'am, but once again, I need nurses that I can trust their abilities. Not nurses that were hired in their village hospital because of their father's position."
She felt like she'd been slapped. It had never occurred to her that Dr. Clarkson had hired her just because of Papa. The doctor had needed nurses desperately because of the war and had always complimented her work. Taking a deep breathe, willing herself not to unleash her temper on her potential boss. "Dr. Sloan, I assure you that I will do my job well, and if you give me a chance, I will show that to you. You are also welcome to call Dr. Clarkson, and I know he will provide me with an excellent reference."
Dr. Sloan sighed. "I am certain he would have, but once again, I need nurses I can depend, not posh 'great lady' nurses."
Her temper snapped. "If you would have given me a chance, I could have been the best nurse you ever had, but I suppose that won't ever happen." With that, Sybil left the hospital, slamming the door on the way.
She met Tom's eyes shaking her head. "He wouldn't even let me interview, Tom. Wouldn't even consider seeing my skills or calling Dr. Clarkson. Just kept referring to me as a 'great lady nurse.' This day was supposed to be the beginning of our new lives, Tom. And what do we have now?"
Tom's eyes flashed as well. "I wish I could tell him what a mistake he's making, Sybil." He took both of her hands and sighed. "But you can try another hospital or doctor's office. Just like I will try another newspaper. We will persevere."
Sybil nodded, loving his trust and persistence again. "And we have each other."
"That we do," Tom agreed. "We should eat some lunch." He pointed to the bucket she had held all morning. Nonchalantly, he sat down on the edge of the sidewalk.
Sybil hesitated for a moment, not used to sitting on the ground. But then she smiled and sat next to him. She pulled out the pieces of bread she'd made this morning and took a bite of one of them. It tasted rather like Mrs. Patmore's bread, except that it was a bit mushy in some places. "I suppose my bread didn't come out perfectly, either" she said as she took another bite. "I think it might be a little undercooked."
Tom took a bite himself and chewed. "It's not that bad, Sybil. This was your first time making this; you'll get better. I know how good you are at something when you try. I bet you'll become the best cook in Dublin eventually."
She took another bite of the mushy bread and nodded. Training for nursing had been difficult and working as a nurse was one of the most difficult things, she'd ever accomplished. But it was also one of the most worthwhile. So much that Sybil couldn't wait to find a doctor who would hire her in Ireland. Here, things would be difficult, whether it be cooking or finding work, but it was worth it.
"We will persevere," she said, remembering Tom's words from earlier. "Actually, could we stop at the telegraph office next? I did promise Mama I would send her a telegram that we arrived safely. She will be able to see that we'll persevere, too."
Tom nodded as he swallowed another piece of bread.
*Traditionally, Catholics were supposed to eat no meat on Fridays, and most consider that to be fish instead.
I hope to update this story twice a month, at least for the next few weeks, so I can post the wedding chapter in June.