So, I'm not overly happy with this chapter but I wanted to get another perspective on the things that are going on.

Thank you to everyone who has been reading/following/reviewing - it's much appreciated.

Enjoy :)


19

Christmas was always a tedious affair, as far as she was concerned. This year, however, it was proving to be more trying than most. She sits stiffly in the wing-backed chair, still holding her cane to the side of her, more out of habit than for any real need whilst sitting down. She stares unseeingly at her son as he talks to her about farmers, or groundskeeping or some other such nonsense, in truth she stopped listening around the time that she realised the dinner gong was late in sounding.

"- and so, Mama, I think you would agree that –"

"I am terribly sorry, Robert dear; can you explain to me as to why we are not yet sat at the dinner table? Has Mrs Patmore gone on strike? Or have the allocated mealtimes, to which we have adhered since time immemorial, been altered without my knowledge?"

"Um – I – um-"

"Oh, do please stop spluttering like a fish out of water; spit it out, Robert!"

"Do forgive me, Mama; I shall go at once and discover what is causing the delay."

"Hmm, quite." Violet sniffs daintily and turns her head from her fumbling son as he makes a hasty retreat from the drawing room. Snow whirls in a frenzy outside the window, and the whole of the grounds, as far as she can tell, is thickly blanketed in the stuff. The wind howls angrily, rattling the windows and making the Dowager unconsciously shiver.

When the first warnings of the blizzard had been sounded, Cora had insisted that Violet come to stay until it passed. It had been three long, long, days since Violet had arrived and she was sorely tempted to brave the blistering cold and stomp her way back to her own house where she could sit in her own chair, sleep in her own bed, be comforted by her cats and, most importantly, eat her meals at a respectable time.

A scuffling noise brings Violet back to her immediate surroundings; she glares at the closed door, as though her intense gaze can penetrate the thick wood and scold the offending noisemaker on the other side. A soft giggle reaches her ears and Violet's frown immediately clears. She bangs her cane twice on the floor, bringing an abrupt halt to the goings on in the hallway.

"Come in here, immediately, young lady."

More giggles precede the entrance of Lady Sybil, dressed in her new lilac gown. Violet's eyes narrow at the youngster, assessing her attire for any signs of ill-usage. The Dowager signals for her granddaughter to rotate on the spot so she can further scrutinise. Once satisfied that Sybil is yet to ruin yet another beautiful frock with her rough-housing and blatant disregard for etiquette, Violet softens towards the child and draws her over to the chair.

Sybil happily sinks down onto the floor by her grandmother's feet, choosing to ignore the scolding look she receives for being so unladylike in her habits.

"Now, child, what was all that commotion about? It sounded like a horde of elephants were stampeding through the hallway."

Sybil giggles once more at her grandmother's ridiculous exaggeration; Violet allows herself a small smile at the sound as she pats the young girl on the head. Sybil leans into her grandmother's touch, resting her head against her bony knee. The youngster lets out a soft sigh which does not go unnoticed by the older woman.

"Something on your mind, Sybil?" she probes, not used to the child being so quiet and melancholy.

"Granny, why do we have to grow up?"

Violet chuckles at the unexpected question but sobers quickly when she sees the pleading look in Sybil's eyes.

"Well, I suppose it is just the natural way of things. If we did not grow up then we would all just be infants which would not be very practical now, would it? And, if we were all infants, for that matter," Violet continues, warming to the topic, "how would more babies even be created? The human race would have died out long ago, and then we would not even be having this conversation."

Sybil quirks her eyebrow at her grandmother, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"So, how are babies created?" she asks cheekily, enjoying the discomfort showing on her grandmother's face.

"Never you mind, young lady. You will not need to be thinking about that for a very long time!" she looks down her nose at the child with a mock-stern glare.

"Hmph," Sybil returns her head to its earlier position, "I doubt I will ever have any babies. Or marry."

"Now, why on earth would you think that?" Violet resumes stroking Sybil's glossy, brown hair. She worries sometimes about the child and her overactive imagination and her flouting of rules and traditions.

"I cannot see it," the child all but whispers. "I cannot see myself tethered to a man who would have no respect for my ideas and desires."

"Pray tell, what ideas and desires would be so abhorrent to such a man as your future husband?"

Sybil shrugs against her leg whilst she gently cards the material of her grandmother's dress through her fingers.

"Come on now," Violet probes," do not go all shy on me now, child."

"Well, I suppose…I suppose he would not think me capable of working as hard as him, or of making sensible decisions and choosing my own path?" There is a timidity as she speaks her thoughts out loud. Violet stops her ministrations, a frown creasing her brow as she tries to digest her young granddaughter's words.

"Sweet girl, it is your duty to marry well and raise a family; strong sons to carry on your husband's work. Your work will be to guide him, gently and subtly. To make suggestions in a way that make him believe they were his own bright ideas. You see, child, behind every successful man is a woman pulling the strings and making him look good." Violet feels a smug smile tug at her lips, but it quickly disappears as Sybil huffily gets to her feet and starts to pace back and forth in front of the fireplace.

"What about my daughters?" she asks, a touch of anger in her voice that Violet has never heard before.

"I beg your pardon?"

"What about the daughters I have? What will be my duty to them? To make them pretty and obedient? To raise them to smile and curtsy to a man who will think that he owns them even if they are the ones making him look good? Well, I am very sorry to say it Grandma," Sybil's voice is thick with unshed tears, "but I will not do it! My daughters, should I have any, will not think themselves inferior to any man; I will not allow it."

Violet, for once, finds herself lost for words. The passion in the young child is commendable, although she does abhor such blatant displays of emotion. Violet thinks back to her own youth: she had not been too dissimilar to the young girl at one time, she had even believed that she might run her own estate once. Time and experience, however, had sobered her up to the realities of life. Dreaming of being an equal player was all well and good, but the reality was that men and women were not even playing the same game.

"Sybil, my precious girl," Violet uses her cane to bring herself to her feet, moving a little unsteadily towards the area where her granddaughter is still pacing fretfully. "Care to tell me why this is playing on your mind? You have many years before this needs to concern you; and things may have changed by the time you have become full-grown." She knows by the sceptical glance Sybil throws her way that the young girl believes this about as much as Violet herself, but she cannot be blamed for trying to ease her granddaughter's worries.

Sybil finally stops pacing, a heavy sigh leaving her looking despondent and defeated.

"It…it's all this wedding business, I guess," she finally confesses, before sinking dramatically onto the sofa. "Did you know that Mary has outright refused to marry Cousin Patrick? And that Mother and Father have told she will have to anyway?" Sybil's blue eyes are wide and uncomprehending, pleading with her grandmother to join her in lamenting the injustice of her sister's situation. Violet does lament it, truly she does, but she is also one of the loudest voices urging for the union to take place.

She wonders how she can possibly begin to explain to a young girl, a young girl whose mind is full of fantastical ideas about independence and autonomy for women, that in order for her and her sister's to have a decent roof over their heads and even the barest claim to their parent's wealth, then Mary will need to sacrifice her future happiness. Because Violet is under no illusions when it comes to what Mary will be giving up in marrying Patrick; the boy is sweet enough, and clearly in love with her headstrong granddaughter, but he lacks the fire and passion that Mary would relish tangling with. He would roll over and give her anything she asked for, like a puppy just eager to please its master; Mary needs someone to push back against her, make her work for what she wants. Patrick, undoubtedly, will bore her to tears.

"Sometimes," Violet begins, sinking down next to Sybil, "sometimes, in order to get that which we most want, or even deserve, we must make sacrifices to make things happen. Mary…well, Mary will make that sacrifice so that you, and Edith, can continue to live the privileged life you are accustomed to. To ensure that Downton still has a competent Crawley at its helm. You see, surely, how important that is?"

"Grandma, Mary could run this place with her eyes closed, and she is Papa's direct heir. Why on earth should she have to marry someone to have what should be rightfully hers?" Violet finds that she cannot answer – her own husband had created such a watertight entail that left her precious, intelligent, capable granddaughters with no rights to not only the Crawley estate and wealth, but also their mother's. Violet could well see the injustice of it, had argued against the restrictions her husband had set, but her hands were tied; there was no point now in fighting against a lost cause.

The dinner gong sounds around the house and Violet feels a guilty sense of relief wash over her as she struggles to her feet once more, patting a still-reclining Sybil on the head as she begins to walk towards the door.

"All will make sense in time, child. Try to put it out of your mind for now; nothing good ever came from fretting."

Violet's appetite sours as she takes in the sullen faces of her family members; Sybil's harried expression, Edith's downright moody countenance and Mary's pinched, tired appearance, coupled with the terse, strained conversation taking place between Robert and his wife, all leaves Violet feeling annoyed and remorseful over their current predicament.

Violet has little chance to resume her conversation with Sybil over the following days, and before she knows it the snow has cleared, and she is finally restored to her own home. She feels no peace however, despite the relative calm and quiet of her house; Sybil's questions keep ringing in her ears, all day and all night.

Violet finds herself hoping that one day Sybil will see a world where women can inherit their family estates with no quibbles or restrictions, where they can make choices for themselves and stand on their own two feet with no judgements or mocking comments. Violet would not be surprised if Sybil helped to create that world and, despite it going against tradition and all of Violet's long-held beliefs, she cannot help the proud smile that tugs at her lips when she thinks of it.