A/N: Thanks to all for the reviews of the last chapter. As a way of coping during this hard time I posted a couple of more lighthearted chapters to other stories but was pulled towards this story to write an update. I'm anxious to hear your thoughts on this chapter and hopefully you won't be disappointed in what I've chosen for these characters.

May 1929

Making her way to the garage, Mary dodged the puddles that dotted that gravel drive. She rubbed her hands on the sleeves of her deep purple coat as if to ward off the unexpected chill that lingered in the damp May air. Several times during the night she had woken and could hear the rain lashing against the bedroom windows. She had hoped to wake to sunshine, the rain having sputtered out, but instead it was a light drizzle that she saw through the dining room windows while breakfasting. Now as she made her way to garage it had finally stopped but the air was still damp and looking up at the grey sky, which portended more rain, she wondered, if just for a moment, why she was still going there this morning.

But she knew why she was still going … she wouldn't … couldn't … take the chance of missing him. It had been four years since Tom had last come to the village, four years since he had told her he was moving back to Ireland, four years since he had asked her to sometimes leave flowers on Sybil's grave which she had dutifully done each of the past three years and would do so today. For her it wasn't a chore because somehow she had come to find comfort in visiting their graves.

As she drove down the long gravel drive and then past the two stone pillars that guarded the abbey's entrance she told herself it was foolish of her to think he would come here today. These past couple of years they had exchanged letters three or four times a year. Even Sybbie wrote regularly after her birthday and Christmas to thank her for the presents Mary so carefully chose and sent to her in Ireland. A smile crossed Mary's lips as she thought that those letters had progressed from simply drawings with a scrawled Love Sybbie to short missives as Sybbie had learned to write.

There had been no hint in the letter Tom had written shortly after the new year that he would come this year. Mary told herself she was being foolish to think this year he would come especially since he had a new life now, a new life with … she shook her head. She may not have realized it that first year she had unexpectedly found him at Sybil's grave until he told her of the significance of this particular date. And this year … today was ten years since that pitiful wedding in Ireland.

She had to step carefully on the wet stone walkway that led from the Church gate to the graveyard, a task made harder by the bundle of flowers, wrapped in burlap, that she carried in her arms. She paused and took a deep breath before rounding the corner of the church. He wasn't there. The graveyard lay still and quiet before her for with the trees having awoken from their winter slumber, their canopy of leaves muffled the everyday sounds of life occurring just on the other side of the cemetery's stone walls.

As she always did she went first to Matthew's grave. My love she spoke quietly as she touched the stone marker which felt cold and damp. You're probably wondering why I'm here on a day like this. She chuckled as she looked up at the sky. I've changed so much Matthew … you changed me.

Her voice, barely above a whisper, Mary spoke to him a few more minutes before moving on to the next grave.

Unlike Matthew's grave where the ground was hard and grass had grown over it, here there was still the faint outline of a grave in front of the large stone square marker. There she laid some more of her flowers including among the barely open buds of white peonies a scattering of violets. What else would I bring you Granny? Although it had been more than six months, Mary thought it still seemed odd to be here. I still sometimes think we can't go in to dinner yet because you're not there.

It began drizzling as Mary arranged the flowers at Sybil's grave. With her umbrella shielding her from the rain, Mary stood with her right hand laying flat on the top of the tomb. It's been too many years.

"I can't believe in such miserable weather I find you here." The sound of his voice took her by surprise for she hadn't heard his footsteps but she didn't turn around.

"Ah but she wouldn't call it miserable weather. Not the girl who never met a rain puddle she didn't want to stomp in, who'd sit for hours watching rain drops slowly cascade down a window or who'd hold her face up to let a warm summer rain caress her face. How else can the flowers grow if it doesn't rain she'd say." Mary turned around to face her brother-in-law.

His laughter was deep and in return she found herself smiling. "It's good to see you Tom."

He took the three or four steps towards her, then tilting his umbrella back, he leaned forward and kissed her cheek. Oh how different this meeting was than that first one here when he had been wary and his face was a study in grief.

He looked down at the flowers she had just put in the permanent vase. "You still bring them here."

"Of course" she replied. "I've come to find it comforting to come here and to …" she looked down at the ground "to talk to them." Then looking up at him she added "and now with Granny …"

Tom looked past Matthew's grave to where the Dowager Countess was buried. "She contacted me."

"Granny?"

He chuckled. "Not from the grave but I wouldn't put that beyond her."

"There are some things that even Granny can't do" Mary lightheartedly replied.

"I guess it was a month or two before she died. She sent me a long letter and a box of things that she wanted Sybbie to have."

"Was there a necklace and earring set of amethysts?"

"Is that purple gemstones?"

Mary nodded.

"Yes" he replied.

"I wondered what had happed to that set. I feared Denker had taken them."

"There was also some other jewelry and some trinkets like a couple of porcelain boxes, a beautifully carved box, a set of those Russian nesting dolls."

At the mention of the dolls, Mary quirked her brow but didn't say anything and Tom didn't seem to notice.

"And a few other things but it was the letter that most moved me. She talked mostly about Sybil" his voice quivered. "I wish …" His voice trail as he thought of the words Violet Crawley had written him.

I despaired at Sybil's childhood antics and feared she would never grow into the young lady I expected. While I might not have wanted it or desired it, unlike many of my class and time I can recognize the need for change and I realize that it was me that needed to change and not Sybil.

"I wish I could have met with her one last time, to …" once again his voice trailed off.

I have always been so practical with no inclination for whimsy but somehow Sybil was so able to grasp both.

Her letter had warmed his heart in her descriptions of her granddaughter. He wasn't really surprised at her words for he knew that family meant everything to Violet. What had surprised him was her warm words for him.

I am glad now that in those years Sybil needed someone to talk to, someone to listen to her, someone to accept her for who she was, you were there.

"She also wrote that she had added 25,000 pounds to the fund that she had set up for Sybbie."

"25,000 pounds!" So that was where the money had gone. The lawyer reading her will had been very coy, saying something about the Dowager making a donation that Violet preferred keeping private.

"I know that surprised me too."

"No … no … I don't mean …" Mary looked at him. "It's wonderful Tom. I know you'll use it wisely for Sybbie."

"It will help pay for university when the time comes."

"You're determined she'll go to university."

"I want her to have the choice."

He took a step to stand beside Mary and placed his hand on Sybil's tomb.

"Since I haven't been able to come here I go to the church where we were married every year on this day and light a candle." He ran his hand along the cold stone. "I take Sybbie with me. That first year … I took her to the church and told her all about that wonderful day her mother and I married. Then I …" He turned his head, his eyes getting that faraway look as if he were actually picturing an image. "I remembered that Sybil told me that when she was young how much she enjoyed afternoon tea as that was the only time the family ate together."

He looked back at Mary and told her the story of how he came to take Sybbie out to tea after their first visit to the church. "It's become quite our tradition and I had to promise I'd take her when I get back home."

"You should have brought Sybbie with you, there's some lovely tea rooms around here."

"She's in school now and besides I-" he stopped as fat raindrops began falling on their umbrellas.

"I have my motor car" Mary said "how about we go somewhere for lunch?"

"That sounds good Mary but could you give me a few minutes alone with Sybil first."

She waited away from the rain in the church vestibule. On the few occasions these days when she came to church it was always full so it seemed odd to be alone here and the quietness was eerie. Tom's few minutes turned into twenty minutes before he opened the church door. "Sorry" he said "I just … well I guess I had more to say than I realized."

"It funny how we come here to talk to them" she replied.

"Actually I often go to the beach near my house, especially at night, to talk to her. I once told Sybbie that when she wants to talk to her mother to look at the sky and pick out the brightest star and that would be her mother."

Tom looked at Mary and chuckled. "Do you know what her reply was?"

Mary shook her head.

"She looked quite thoughtful and then said to me 'but Daddy what if I want to talk to her during the day?'"

Mary laughed. "Now that sounds like something Sybil would have said."

It wasn't a tea shop they went to but rather a pub with a timbered ceiling and large windows that looked out onto a garden colorful with spring blooms. On a summer day it would have been ideal to sit in the garden but today the plush velvet seated booths were inviting.

On the drive here their conversation had been light with Tom inquiring of George, Henry, Cora and Edith, and Mary of Sybbie. They talked of Tom's work which had brought him to Manchester the day before and Mary was pleased to hear that he was writing for a number of newspapers. They talked of the weather and spring plantings and how the estate was doing.

Tom waited until their drinks, ale for him and red wine for her, arrived before taking out a photograph. "You've been very patient not to ask or mention …" He handed her a photograph "this is Aoibhinn."

"Gracious! Ay veen!" Mary repeated. "You have no idea how much time Mama and I have spent trying to figure out how to pronounce that name."

Tom chuckled.

Mary picked up the photograph and stared at the woman who Tom had married back in the fall of 1927. When Tom had written them to tell of his marriage Mary assumed the woman would be a copy of Sybil. Why she thought this she wasn't sure since Henry looked nothing like Matthew but somehow she thought Tom would want someone that reminded him of Sybil. Yet the very pretty woman in the photograph looked nothing like Sybil. She couldn't be sure, since the photograph was in black and white, but her hair was much lighter, not quite blonde but probably a very light brown and surprisingly to Mary was not in a short bob that was so popular these days but was pulled into a low loose bun. The eyes were definitely blue. She was slim and standing next to Tom she was almost as tall as him.

"She's very pretty."

"Aye she is although I have to admit I didn't notice that at first."

"You didn't notice how pretty she was?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "I wasn't really looking or thinking in those terms. I'd go into the shop for the morning newspapers and we'd talk about the latest news. Some mornings she'd fix us tea and I lingered there far longer than I intended or realized as we talked. Soon I found myself looking forward to getting the newspapers."

"And then one day she was talking and I was looking at her and it just hit me how beautiful she was." He smiled sheepishly before taking a sip of his ale.

The sound of rain pelting against the large picture window captured their attention. They sat in companionable silence with both looking at the rain.

Tom finally broke the silence. "Do you remember that last year I came how you talked about wanting companionship, wanting to get married again?"

She nodded her head. "And I remember you weren't at such a point yet."

"To be honest I wasn't sure I'd ever be. I didn't go out looking for someone it just seemed to happen without my even realizing it. It seemed so odd when one day I looked at Aoibhinn and thought I wanted to see her outside of this shop."

She reached out and took hold of his hand. "I'm happy for you Tom and I think Sybil would be too."

What a loving couple the waitress thought as she brought their meals to the table. Mary pulled her hand back from Tom's while Tom looked up at the waitress and smiled. She set Mary's poached salmon in front of her and then said to Tom "I believe sir you had the shepherd's pie."

Mary watched in amusement at the way the girl looked at Tom. Why had it taken her so long to realize how handsome he was? And that appealing cocky grin of his … no wonder the waitress was practically falling all over him.

"All that looks perfect for a day like today" Tom said.

"Another ale sir?"

"That would make it heavenly!"

Mary wanted to snicker. Shouldn't he have add 'me darlin' in that Irish brogue of his. How had he managed to avoid the clutches of women all these years? Then again … she looked at his bright smile which lit up his face and the fringe of brown hair that fell across his forehead … he hadn't looked this happy in a long time.

He reached in his pocket and pulled out another photograph and handed it to her. It wasn't one of those stiff posed photographs but rather one taken without either Aoibhinn or Sybbie seeming to realize it. Sybbie was pointing at something unseen, a broad smile gracing her face, the wind blowing her dark hair.

Mary was quiet as she fingered the photograph. "She looks so much like Sybil" her voice was soft almost as if she were talking to herself.

Tom nodded his head. "And I'd venture to say acts a lot like her at that age too."

"Curious, talkative, always on the go."

"That's Sybbie."

Mary looked back down at the photograph. Aoibhinn with wisps of her hair having escaped from loose bun looked lovingly at Sybbie "The two of them seem relaxed with each other."

"Sybil adores Aoibhinn and Aoibhinn is wonderful with her. Not surprising that she's good with children since she was a nanny for a number of years. Her last job was for an English family that lived on a tea plantation in Ceylon."

"My Heavens! Ceylon! However did she end up there?"

"She was working for a family in London and saw an advertisement for a job in Ceylon and wanting adventure she decided to apply. She was there for about six years when she decided that she was ready to return to Ireland and help her uncle with his shop."

Tom picked up the other photograph. "The family in Ceylon had three little boys so I'm sure she'll be able to handle this one."

He handed Mary the photograph of a three month old baby. "This little guy is Rian Tomas Branson. My son."

The skies were still grey but the rain had stopped by the time they finally left the pub late in the afternoon.

"This works out well since I need to catch a train to Liverpool" Tom said as the two stood on the sidewalk outside of the pub. "I'm staying tonight with my brother and taking the early morning ferry to Dublin in the morning."

She stood with him on the covered Ripon railway station platform. "These visits are too short Tom."

"Maaarry"

"I just wish we could see Sybbie again."

"I'll bring her back one of these days. I'm not sure-"

"I know Tom, now that you have a wife-"

"It's not that Mary. Aoibhinn understands about Sybil and wants Sybbie to know Sybil's family."

Any further conversation was impossible as the train nosily entered the station. Tom picked up his overnight bag, then kissed Mary on the cheek. "None of us know what the future holds Mary. I'll write and Sybbie will write and someday we'll be back."

He stepped back and the grin left his face. "Part of my heart will always be in that graveyard in Downton. I think you can understand that."

She nodded as the train whistle blew.

She stood on the platform watching the train disappear. She wiped away a tear and then turned and left the station.