I appreciate all the lovely reviews of the last chapter. Thank you so much.

In the far corner of her newly redecorated sitting room Cora sat at the roll top desk that had belonged to her father staring at a sheet of elegant stationary elaborately engraved with her initials but otherwise blank. She had taken Mr. Hutchinson's suggested to write a letter to her granddaughter, to tell her why she was searching for her, why she wanted to see her but how long had she sat here, pen in hand, unable to begin to write? She hadn't even been able to decide how to address her granddaughter. Dear Sybil? Darling Sybil? My Dearest Granddaughter?

It had been three weeks since she had met with James Hutchinson and although she had received an accounting of actions taken to date there had been no progress of their inquiry into the whereabouts of her granddaughter. But then, thought Cora as she lifted her face to stare out the window, how easy would it be to find a young girl that could be living in Dublin or Liverpool or, she supposed, anywhere in the world.

She had been embarrassed, no ashamed might be a far better descriptor, to admit to Mr. Hutchinson that she really had no idea where in son-in-law had gone when he left Downton. Had he gone to Liverpool to work in a garage with his brother? Once Ireland had gained her independence would Tom have gone back to Ireland? Or would he have decided on a clean break and headed to America or maybe New Zealand, a place that appealed to a great many Irish immigrants?

Outside the window the morning sky which had been a lovely blue peeking out among the clouds had become gray. Cora watched as the limbs of the trees, now full of summer green leaves, dipped and swayed as if dancing in the breeze as fat rain drops began to fall. Expecting at any moment a torrent of rain she was surprised that when it comes it is not slashing and angrily beating against the window panes. Instead this rain is much gentler, the type to …

She was glad when the rain finally came in hopes that it would cool things down. She had been in Yorkshire so long she had forgotten how hot the summer could be in Newport. Cora chuckled as she thought of how they had come here to escape the hot and stifling air of New York but she hadn't thought it that much cooler here in Newport although she would have to admit at least the breezes coming off the Atlantic brought some amount of relief especially in the evening.

Sitting on the terrace, sheltered from the rain by its tiled roof, Cora looked across the wide expanse of green lawn that stretched out towards the ocean lulled by the soothing sound of the soft patter of the rain as it hit the immaculately kept green grass. Suddenly a small figure dressed in white darted across the lawn causing Cora to blink her eyes as if to rid herself of this illusion. But as the figure stopped, stretched out her arms and raised her face towards the sky before running again only this time in a circle Cora realized it wasn't her imagination but rather her youngest daughter.

Cora stood up and walked towards the edge of the terrace. "Sybil!" she cried out but was momentarily stunned into silence when she realized the five year old was dressed only in her petticoat.

"Sybil!" she finally managed to call out again. "Get in here now!"

"But Mama" Sybil turned towards her mother "I'm having fun."

"You can have your fun here on the terrace" Cora replied.

Sybil edged towards the terrace. "But Mama I can't feel the rain on my face on the terrace."

Cora heard a chuckle from behind her. "Well dear she does have a point" Martha said as she came to stand beside Cora.

"You can't run around in the rain dressed only in your petticoat" Cora, ignoring her mother, said to Sybil.

Sybil stared at her mother "you want me to take off my petticoat?"

This elicited a bigger laugh from Martha. "Oh let her have some fun Cora. What's the harm in her running around in the rain?" Then looking at Cora she said "I'm sure at Downton Ladies don't run around in the rain but here let her be just Sybil not Lady Sybil. Then chuckling added "of course keeping the petticoat on."

Cora wiped away a tear that had fallen on her cheek. Maybe … if only … if she, they, had let Sybil be Sybil rather than Lady Sybil then none of this would have happened. That Sybil would be … Cora took a deep breath then stood up and walked across the room stopping in front of the art deco cabinet she had brought from Newport. She looked at the display of photographs that lined the top of the long cabinet, these photographs were all from that earlier time when it has just been her and Robert and the girls. Running her fingertips across several of them she stopped at one of Robert with Sybil fresh from a walk with Cairo or whatever that dog's name had been.

There was no doubt that Sybil's death brought the darkest time of Cora's life. It was a period of time that her grief left her barely able to function. The sedatives that allowed her to sleep didn't dull the wave of grief that washed over her each morning when she woke. She woke fearing the day or praying that she could just get through it until she could close her eyes again in hopes of forgetting. But she couldn't forget … her darling child … her beauty her baby … was dead.

It was also a time that almost ended her marriage. For weeks she couldn't stand to look at her husband for in her grief she blamed him for the death of their precious daughter. It was Robert who had brought that horrid doctor into their house. With his fancy name and title he thought he knew more than Dr. Clarkson, who had known Sybil all her life for he had brought her into this world, but Robert had listened to him, believed him. Maybe, as she soon learned, Sybil would have died no matter what, but he had taken away any chance, no matter how small that chance might have been, that she had.

Cora fingered the photographed, tracing Sybil's outline and then Robert's, both looking so happy, their smiles wide and unposed. Her finger lingered on Robert. It had been so hard to forgive him. Although it had taken her quite some time she had finally forgiven him for she knew in her heart that Robert would never have knowingly endangered Sybil for she was as precious to him as she had been to Cora.

Cora set the photograph back on the cabinet and walked to the window. The rain had stopped and now the leaves glistened in the sunlight. Looking down at the ground she saw a rabbit hop out from the woods. He paused on the lawn, looked around as if trying to decide which way to go, before hopping out of sight. She opened the window and the room was suddenly filled with that fresh scent of a recent rain.

She glanced over at her desk. James Hutchinson's words rattled around in her head. There have been times when the person we find does not want contact. She knew forgiveness is a hard thing. What if her granddaughter could not forgive her?

Little more than 250 miles from where Cora was standing in her sitting room, across the Irish Sea in a small seaside village Sybil Branson stood outdoors behind a wooden table selling meat pies and small fruit tarts. It was that most glorious summer day that is all too rare in Dublin with a cloudless blue sky, a warm sun, and a faint breeze blowing off the Irish Sea that kept the day from becoming too hot. It was the type of summer day that lured Dubliners to leave the city for the nearby coast, made so easy by the tramlines, to stroll along the seaside promenades basking in the sunshine or for the more adventurous to wander barefoot along the sand, dipping their toes in the cool water that rushed ashore before ebbing back into the sea or for a few hardy souls brave enough to endure the cold water to swim or paddle around the Irish Sea.

All that sun and sea air contributed to a hunger many satisfied by downing fresh fish and chips or steamed clams and mussels but some also found their way to the stalls and tables such as the one manned by Sybil. A long dark blue apron covered most of the girl's pretty floral print dress and a straw bonnet with a wide brim and decorated with a dark blue ribbon shielded her face from the sun. There was nothing fancy about the cotton dress but it was cool and comfortable on this sunny day. Underneath that straw bonnet the full dark wavy hair was fashionably cut to just below the chin. It was a very good day for by early afternoon all the meat pies were gone as were most of the fruit tarts and Sybil was sure the few remaining tarts would be sold as people began their trips back in to the city.

"Syb! Syb!" a breathless Roisin O'Meara, Sybil's closest friend, called out while waving a folded section of a newspaper in the air as she practically ran towards Sybil's stall. Reaching the stall Roisin stopped to catch her breath.

"Have you seen this?" she managed to gasp as she continued waving the newspaper in the air.

"You're waving it so fast I can barely see what it is" Sybil replied.

"This!" Roisin exclaimed as she handed the paper to Sybil. It was the section of the newspaper where people paid a shilling or two to announce events such births or marriages or maybe deaths alongside offers of miracle cures or palm readings and other personal notices.

"What do you want me to look at Ros" a baffled Sybil asked.

"This!" Roisin exclaimed as she pointed to an announcement she had circled in blue ink.

Sybil's eyes widened as she began to read

SYBIL BRANSON

Please contact

A stunned Sybil looked up at Roisin. "Certainly they can't be looking for me."

"You're Sybil Branson aren't you" Roisin tapped her foot.

"Why would this" Sybil looked down at the newspaper "this inquiry agent be looking for me?" She shook her head. "There must be other Sybil Bransons."

"Maybe you're a witness for something" Roisin shrugged her shoulders.

Now it was Sybil's turn to sound exasperated. "Witness for what?" She sighed. "The only thing I've witnessed is Kathleen Dooley kissing Michael O'Hara behind that bush in Mrs. Quinn's back garden but I hardly think that warrants an inquiry agent wanting to speak to me." She looked again at the newspaper. "No there must be some other Sybil Branson."