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The new housemaid, armed with a feather duster in one hand and carrying a pail in the other, was halfway into the bedroom before she realized the lady of house was still in bed. As one of the new day maids that is one who came up to the Abbey in the morning and returned to her home in the village late every afternoon, she came to clean the master bedroom each morning while Cora was having breakfast downstairs in the dining room so it was quite unusual to see her ladyship, dressed in a silk floral robe, sitting in bed propped against a mound of pillows looking quite pale.

"Beg your pardon ma'am" the young girl gave a slight bow. "I … I …" she stammered "I didn't mean to disturb you. I'll come back later." She had managed to take only two or three steps towards the bedroom door when, realizing her ladyship might be sick, she stopped and turned once again towards Cora. "Are you alright? Is there anything I can do for you or get you?"

"Some tea might be nice" Cora weakly replied. Then leaning forward said "would you ask my grandson Master George to come here."

It wasn't five minutes later that the bedroom door opened and George walked in. "Granny" he said in that joyful way he had but upon seeing his grandmother his smile disappeared. "It's a nice sunny day I thought you might want me to take you out to the garden but-" he walked around the bed to be closer to her.

Cora's wracking cough changed whatever George was going to say. "Shall I get the doctor Granny?"

Cora shook her head. "I want" her voice was slow and so soft George had to lean in close to hear her "get Isobel. I want to talk to Isobel."

Isobel's days of walking to the Abbey were long gone so George had taken a motor car to the village to get her. Isobel had lived long enough that very little surprised her but being summoned by Cora had managed to do so. Parking the motor in front of the Abbey's front door, George helped his grandmother out of the car, then holding her arm escorted her into the house and up the stairs to Cora's bedroom despite Isobel's gentle admonishments that while she might not be in shape to walk from the village to the Abbey she could certainly manage the wide staircase up to the family's bedrooms.

Cora was still sitting in bed, drinking a cup of tea, a tray beside her held a small teapot, a saucer and a plate holding several pieces of toast.

"Thank you for coming Isobel" the ever gracious Cora said "and thank you George for bringing her here but now I'd like to talk to Isobel alone."

George looked at each of his grandmothers, first at Cora then Isobel than back to Cora. "Of course Granny but if you need me I'll be in the library. I still have a few books to finish before my next school term starts." He stopped at the bedroom door "and I'll take you home whenever you're ready Grandmama but I understand we're having chicken pot pie for lunch and I know that's one of your favorites."

"So" Isobel, never one to beat around the bush, said after George had left, "shouldn't you have sent for the doctor instead of me."

"It's not medical that I asked you here. I want you to do something for me" Cora slowly got out of bed and with great effort walked the three steps to her vanity table. Wracked by another coughing fit she sat wearily down at the chair.

Recovering, she opened the bottom drawer and took out an envelope. George Murray had retired some years ago and his law firm was now in the hands of his son Jonah but for this Cora had decided to use the London law firm that was handling Harold's estate for her. "I need you to call" she pointed at the envelope "and tell him I want to make a will."

"Oh Cora surely you don't think-"

"As both of us know so well Isobel we can never be sure how long we have." Cora looked down at the envelope. "There's some things I need to know have been taken care of."

It was too taxing for Cora to talk much more so instead she had Isobel read what she had written. If being summoned by Cora had surprised Isobel what she now read was shocking but as Isobel digested it she thought it was very much in Cora's character. "I think it's wonderful what you're doing" Isobel said. "Now we need to get you to the hospital. There's a good chance you have pneumonia and today's there some wonderful drugs."

Isobel raised her hand as if to ward off any protests from Cora. "You" she held up the envelope "you want to see the fruition of these plans don't you?

Hugh O'Donnell stood on the corner looking down the narrow street, barely the width of two motor cars, lined with small attached two story light colored brick homes whose front doors opened directly onto the pavement. Many of the houses, with peeling or faded paint on the front doors and grimy windows, as well as weeds growing in the cracks in the pavements nary a tree in sight gave a general air of neglect. It once might have been a neighborhood that working men aspired to move their families in to but now had become a drab and cheerless place.

It had been two weeks ago that he had first come to this street which had once been the home of the Branson family. His knock at the front door of the address Lady Grantham had given his firm had been answered by a harried but kindly young woman with an infant in her arms and a toddler hanging on to her faded dress. Her flaming red hair, lively green eyes, and charming smile somehow seemed so out of place in this neighborhood.

My that's a long time ago she had said when he asked of the Bransons who had been living in this house in 1919 and he imagined she had only been a toddler herself then. We bought this house oh two years ago now she had added but from someone named Connel or Connerly or something like that. Then seeming in deep thought she looked up and down the street. The old biddy there, she pointed to a house across the road, was probably here then but good luck getting her to talk, right snippy she is. Too bad you weren't here a month ago the woman there, Mrs. Murphy a lovely woman, she said pointing to another house, she was here back then but she died a couple of weeks ago. Then as if a thought had suddenly came to her she said her daughter is clearing out the house and she'd probably know the people you're looking for.

At Hutchinson & Sons Hugh was known as "the bulldog" due to his tenaciousness and so Hugh found himself for the fifth time coming to the residence of the late Mrs. Murphy. The house of his interest stood out from most of its neighbors with a bright green front door that looked freshly painted, windows that gleamed and lace curtains hanging in the front bay window that were starched and bright white, he imagined at one time most of the houses on this street looked like that. This time he was rewarded when his knock on the door was answered by a woman looking a bit too prosperous for this neighborhood but her smile was warm.

"Sure I know Mrs. Branson" the woman she replied to his question. Her smile vanished as she looked at him guardedly. "And why would ya be wanting to know about her?"

"Actually it's really her granddaughter Sybil, the daughter of her son Tom, I'm trying to locate. The girl's grandmother in England, that is her mother's mother, has hired my firm to find the girl."

The woman stared at him as if not sure of what to say. When she finally spoke her voice was a bit gruff. "She's certainly waited long enough to find her."

"I can't argue with that" Hugh admitted. "But as I understand it the woman is old and wants to make amends before she meets her maker." His remark might have been not have been entirely truthful but he had been doing this job enough years to have a feeling for what people would respond to.

The woman emitted a brittle laugh. "Wants to settle her conscious does she!"

She turned and began walking down the narrow hallway. "Would you like a cuppa Mr.-" she turned around and looked at him "sorry don't remember your name."

"O'Donnell … Hugh" he said. "It's on the card I gave you along with the firm's information" he smiled at her "and a cup of tea sounds nice."

"Right" she murmured as she shook her head. "Sorry … it's just being in this house … I'm still upset about my Mam dying."

"Quite understandable" Hugh hoped he sounded sympathetic.

As she busied herself with filling the kettle and setting in on the stove, Hugh looked around the small kitchen. While everything in it was old and well worn it was obvious Mrs. Murphy had taken pride in maintaining her house. "Had she been sick long?"

"No … not at all. She … she" the woman sat down at the table as tears filled her eyes. "She was coming home from the store and someone knocked her down … left her there on the pavement in the rain." She wiped away some tears. "I had asked her and asked her to move in with us but she wouldn't leave here. Said this is where she'd come as a bride and raised her children and where my father died and" she shrugged her shoulders.

The shrill whistle of the tea kettle saved Hugh from having to make any comment. He silently watched as she refilled their tea cups.

He took a sip of his tea before asking "you grew up in this house so I'm guessing you knew the Bransons?"

"Aye. We kids were all about the same age. Always had a bit of a crush on Tommy but Tommy was destined to get out of here." She sat back in her chair. "Couldn't believe it when he came back with his English bride … well fiancé since they got married here."

"So you knew her?"

"Not well but I did talk to her some and I went to the wedding. Not many around here approved of her what with her being English and the daughter of …" she furrowed her brow as if trying to remember "don't really know all those English titles. But I'll give her credit she didn't put on airs or act she was better than us." She smiled "She was a lovely girl and it was obvious she and Tommy were in love."

Her smile suddenly vanished. "We couldn't believe what happened … when we heard about …" her voice softened "her dying." She looked down at her tea cup. "Terrible thing it was but I guess all too common back then."

"So when did Mrs. Branson move out of the neighborhood?"

"Oh it must have been about a year after … after Sybil died. Tommy needed someone to help with the babe and so she moved to England to be with them."

"Do you know where in England they are?"

She sat up and stared at him. "Oh they came back here years ago."

"Here in Dublin?"

She shook her head. "No. They live out on the coast. Own a small hotel." She smiled. "Mam would go out and stay for a week in the spring to help Mrs. Branson get ready for the summer season. And then again in the fall after the summer crowds were gone. She loved those weeks … sometimes the air here's so thick with smoke from the factories but out there it's clean. She loved those weeks not just for the fresh air and sunshine but being with Mrs. Branson made her think about when they were both young brides with young children and …" she sighed deeply.

"Miss Murphy do-"

"It's Mrs. Byrne. Orla."

"Orla do you know exactly where they are?"

"It's-" she sat back and closed her eyes. "It's one of those towns south of here." She shook her head as she opened her eyes. "Not Dun Laoghaire but close by there … all those towns seem to run into each other."

She sighed. "Too bad you didn't come a few weeks ago. Mrs. Branson, Tommy and the girl came to Mam's funeral. Hadn't seen them in quite a while but with so many people I didn't really have a chance to talk t much to them. Tom's still handsome and kind and his daughter-." She closed her eyes as she shook her shoulders. "At first I thought I was seeing a ghost. Tom's wife was a real beauty and Sybbie, that's what they call the daughter, is the spitting image of her Mam."

She gave a smile that lit up her face. "She's lovely like her mam too. So many people just said what a wonderful person mam was but Sybbie told me a delightful little story about one of my mam's visits. Said they'd miss having her come stay with them."

Orla stood up and took the tea kettle off the stove and filled Hugh's empty cup without asking. "Sorry I don't have any biscuits or bread but I've cleared out all the food first thing."

"Just tea is fine." He took a sip of his tea. "Can you remember the name of the hotel?"

"It's-" she stopped as she looked around the kitchen. "Mam had a picture … not a photograph but a watercolor that Sybbie did." She stood up. "Let me see if I can find it. We took everything off the walls but I know it's something I'm saving not just because it meant a lot to me mam but it's pretty."

He heard the opening of drawers and boxes as she rummaged around in the sitting room. He was beginning to think she wasn't going to find it when he heard her yell "AHA!"

Orla held out the small framed watercolor to him. "She's quite talented."

He had to admit it was quite lovely but it wasn't of the hotel itself. Orla sensed his disappointment "it's the view from the back garden at the hotel. She loved that view. But I guess it doesn't help you much."

If he studied it would he be able to tell where it was? The vegetation, the curve of the sea in the distance, the rooflines of the houses between the hotel and the sea might be of some help in determining where it was.

"As I said Mam loved it there, loved the smell of the air and I seem to remember the name of the hotel had something about the air. It isn't The Sea Breeze but something like that."

He left with the watercolor, after swearing on his mother's grave to return it to her, as well as Orla's suggestion that Father Keelan from the local church might know where Mrs. Branson lived since she did sometimes return there for services.

Sometimes things just suddenly come together and after weeks of fruitless searching here in Dublin as well as in Liverpool, Hugh O'Donnell had finally found the young Sybil Branson. Father Keellan had no idea where Oonagh Branson might live but he knew she often attended St. John the Baptist Church in Blackrock. It was just Hugh's luck that the main priest there was on holiday (something surprising to Hugh since he never thought of priests taking holidays) and the doddering priest in attendance stated Mrs. Branson ran The Sea Air Inn or maybe it was called The Salty Air Inn.

It took three full days for Hugh to find The Salty Sea Inn. It was a pleasant looking place, a pale yellow two story affair with wide windows, a portico in front flanked by two barrels full of colorful blooms leading to the wide sea blue front door. There was an annex on the left side set that sat back a few feet from the main building. A car park, large enough for four or maybe five motor cars, took up the front instead of a garden but there were large bushes awash in pink blooms in both corners and the whole area was separated from the street by a low yellow wall.

The Salty Sea Inn hadn't always looked like this. In fact there had been a general air of neglect about it when Tom bought the place. It had taken a great deal of his savings to buy it but Tom thought with some work it would make not only a great home for him and Sybbie and his mother but would provide a good income. With coats of fresh paint, refinished wood floors, new curtains (made by Mrs. Branson), and a good cleaning the place no longer looked sad and tired and fit only for those down on their luck.

Hugh parked his motor car on a side street a few yards down from the inn where he had a view of the front door and those going in and out. He had been there watching for three or four hours before a young girl had come out of the building. There was no doubt she was Sybil Branson. His dilemma then was how to approach her.

With clear blue skies, a warm sun and the air filled with the scent of the brininess of the sea, the promenade was busy with Dubliners enjoying the fine summer day. Dressed in wide-legged dark gray pants and a lighter gray cotton polo shirt, sitting on one of the many wooden benches that lined the promenade Hugh blended in as just another Dubliner enjoying a day at the seaside. But he wasn't sitting here just soaking up the sunshine for from that bench he had a clear view of Sybil, or Sybbie as Orla Murphy had called her, selling meat pies and fruit tarts from a wooden cart. Business had been brisk and as lunch time had faded into late afternoon Sybbie was wrapping up her business.

"I'm sorry there's no meat pies and only one cherry tart" Sybbie said to the dark haired man who stood before her.

"That's fine" Hugh replied. "I'm really here to talk to you."

Sybbie stopped wiping the cart and warily looked at the man before looking to her left and right ensuring she was within shouting distance of help if need be.

Reaching into his pocket Hugh pulled out his business card as he said "I'm here about your grandmother."

He had barely gotten the word grandmother out when a clearly alarmed Sybbie cried "Gran … something's happened to Gran!"

"No … no" Hugh tried to sooth the young girl "it's about your other grandmother … you maternal grandmother."

Sybbie's alarm now turned into confusion. "My other grandmother" she whispered.

Hugh nodded his head. "Yes Cora Crawley from Downton."

Sybbie surprised him by go back to her work closing up her stall. Her head bent downward as she folded several cloths she said "I can't imagine what business you have with me, I don't know Cora Crawley."

"That's just it Sybbie." He set his business card on the cart. "My firm was hired by her to find you. She wants to meet with you."

Sybbie glanced at the card but said nothing.

"She's authorized us to give you 5,000 pounds and to pay for your travel to Downton and to-"

Taking a step back and crossing her arms, her chin held high, her voice defiant she interrupted him. "She thinks I can be bought for 5,000 pounds does she."

"I may have worded that wrong" Hugh began "I understand there is an inheritance from her family in America and that's just-"

But again Sybbie didn't let him finish whatever he was going to say. "If she's so all fired to meet me why didn't she come here instead of sending you?"

Surprised by her defiance Hugh responded "She's old and ill and is currently in the hospital." When Sybbie didn't make any comment he added "maybe this could explain better than I'm doing." He set an envelope on the cart.

Ignoring the envelop Sybbie instead picked up her cloth napkins. "I'm not interested Mr. …" she picked up the business card "O'Donnell."

Sybbie's earliest memories were of sitting in the kitchen while her Gran cooked. If she was lucky it was something sweet like biscuits or cakes and Gran would let her lick the bowl. She was probably only four or so when she had started helping her Gran, maybe retrieving a bowl or spoon or stirring, then as she aged the tasks had become more difficult until she cook bake and cook almost as well as her Gran. But what little Sybbie liked most was the conversations the two would have while they worked.

So just like those earlier times Sybbie sat at the kitchen table helping her Gran but unlike those times she had been quite mum.

Gran had just put the pan of cottage pie into the oven. "So" she turned towards her granddaughter "are you going to tell me what's been bothering you?"

"Maybe we could sit out in the garden" Sybbie said as she opened the back door. The house was high enough on a hill that from the garden they could look out over a few roof tops to the Irish Sea. It was a view that Sybbie never tired of and she had done quite a few watercolors of the scene which hotel guests often eagerly bought.

While Oonagh Branson sat down on one of the two benches Sybbie remained standing, looking out to the sea. "A man came to see me today" Sybbie finally said. She pulled a card out of her pocket and turned to give the card to her grandmother. Oonagh noted the Hutchinson & Sons Enquiry Agents in an elegant script and raising her face to look at her granddaughter she said "well?"

Sybbie took a deep breath. "Apparently my grandmother Crawley has decided she wants to meet me."

James Hutchinson wondered if it had been a mistake to send Hugh O'Donnell to meet with Sybbie Branson. Hugh was good at sifting through records and had an uncanny ability to get information from people but considering the age of their quarry this had been a rather delicate situation and Hugh wasn't the most tactful of men. He wasn't bothered that Hugh had talked to the girl alone, after all she was eighteen and, James reasoned to himself, she was old enough to make a decision on her own. With no contact with her mother's family all these years and surmising that the Crawleys had not been the most welcoming or pleasant to Tom Branson, James couldn't help but wonder if her father had poisoned her against them.

It had just been by chance that as he had driven onto her street he saw Sybbie walking down towards the village. Hugh sighed as he looked down the pier to where Sybbie Branson seemed to be taking a leisurely stroll. He watched as she stopped now and again to talk to one of the fisherman. At the edge of the pier was a long bench and as she sat down James thought this would be the right moment to approach her.

Standing beside the bench looking out to the see he said "It's a beautiful view."

She raised her brow as she turned to look at him, just as quickly she turned back to face the sea. "Aye."

"I imagine this is a good spot to come and think."

"More so when there's no one disturbing you" she quickly responded to which James couldn't help but chuckle. The girl did have moxie as the Americans were fond of saying.

"A few days ago you talked to my employee Hugh O'Donnell."

Sybbie gave an exaggerated sigh. "Is your plan to keep bothering me until I agree to meet … her."

"No" James softly replied. "It's just that I think you made such a snap decision and I just want you to be sure."

When she shrugged her shoulders in reply to his asking if he could sit down on the bench, he took a seat leaving a couple of feet between them. "I can't imagine what you're feeling or thinking. I don't know what your father has said to you about your mother's family. Lady Grantham has given me some indications of what happened but of course that's strictly from her viewpoint. But I can say she seemed genuine in her regret as to what happened and in her desire to meet you."

"And it's only taken her 18 years to decide to find me." He was surprised at her bitter tone.

"Actually I asked her that, why now, why after all these years. It was obvious that she was broken hearted at your mother's death and even after all these years that grief remains maybe not overtly every day but it's still there. My impression is that she was a woman of her time something that's probably hard for us to understand but I think she's just now learning to assert herself."

"You wouldn't take this letter when Hugh met you but I'd like you to reconsider. It's from your grandmother and it may give you a better explanation." He laid the sealed envelope on the bench. "I know you were surprised when Hugh met you and your answer was a hasty one. It's not my intent to influence you one way or the other but I'd like to think that whatever decision you make is one you've given thought to. If you decide not to meet Lady Grantham I will tell her so. As I've explained to her I will not tell her where you are if that is your wish."

He stood up. "I've come to Ireland to attend my cousin's wedding in Sligo. I'll be back here in five days and I hope you'll meet me again to tell me whatever you've decided."

It was a full moon and through the open curtains moonlight bathed Sybbie's bedroom in a luminous glow. Finishing brushing her short curly hair she set her brush down on the chest of drawers her hand touching the intricately carved box that she used as a jewelry box. Not that she had much jewelry, a couple of necklaces, several bracelets, a silver ring, mostly rather cheap pieces that appealed to a teen except for …

She opened the box and touched the soft velvet pouch.

"Isn't it a bit late for you to be sitting out here?" her father said as he sat down beside her on the bench in their back garden.

"I'll be eighteen in a few hours Daddy."

"Will ya now!" he teased.

"Oh Daddy" she playfully tapped him on his arm.

"Then I guess it's a good thing I have this" he said as he handed her a small white box tied with blue ribbon.

She carefully pulled off the blue ribbon and found inside the box a black velvet pouch. Inside the velvet pouch was a pair of purple sapphire earrings and a matching necklace, the stones sparkling in the moonlight.

"Oh Daddy!" Sybbie enthused. "I've never seen anything so beautiful!"

"I don't have much that belonged to your mother" her father said. "Your mother wore these on our wedding day."

He looked out at the distance toward the sea which sparkled in the bright moonlight. "There's not a day that goes by that I don't think of her. How could I not when every time I see you I see the most precious gift she gave me."

Sitting on the floor in front of her open armoire she pulled out a metal box hidden beneath some sweaters and carefully set it on the floor. The square box, two inches in depth and eight inches square, held what Sybbie considered her treasures. Opening the lid her hand reached to the bottom and pulled out a flat envelope that contained several photographs. She knew the photograph she wanted was the largest one and it was beneath the other photographs.

Carefully holding it, she stared at her mother on her wedding day, an image that glowed in the moonlight flooding Sybbie's small bedroom. She saw the radiant smile and the glossy black hair pulled back in a low chignon, and of course she saw the dangling sapphire earrings and the matching necklace.

Robert had been here for the best part of an hour and was ready to leave. His hand brushed her forehead. "I'll be back this afternoon" he said as his hand stroked her cheek.

She surprised him by grabbing his hand. "Robert" she said. He thought her voice was still too soft. "I …" she tightened her grip on his hand. "I've had a will written."

He was stunned by her words. Will! How could … surely she wasn't … "Cora you needn't think of such things now. You're on the mend, you're going to be fine."

"Promise me Robert you won't fight it."

"Cora-"

"Promise me you'll give her what should have been Sybil's. Promise me Robert."