Mary knew by the sound of the footsteps in the corridor that someone was angry and that thought was confirmed by the way Matthew opened the bedroom door a little too forcefully. Even before seeing that she was in the room, or that she was alone, he grumbled "You father is impossible."
Although she had finished dressing and had dismissed Anna, Mary had remained sitting at her vanity table mindlessly opening and closing the lids and rearranging the various jars and bottles she kept on her vanity. It was a typical morning for her, one of no importance, no activities to engage her mind or fill her day.
She creased her brows wondering what conflict had now arisen between her husband and her father something that had become commonplace between the Earl of Grantham and his heir. Since investing his inheritance in the estate, Matthew and her father were now often at odds as to how to best manage it.
She took a deep breath, ready to take on her undesired job as mediator between her husband and her father. She set the jar in her hand on the table and turned to face her husband who had quickly crossed the room and now stood staring out one of the room's large windows.
"What idea has he rejected now?" Mary asked.
"Idea?" Matthew asked quizzically before realizing Mary thought his irritation had to do with estate matters.
He shook his head. "No … no … this isn't about the estate. It's Tom."
"Tom?" now Mary was perplexed wondering Tom could have done, other than just being here of course, to upset her father.
"Your father thinks Tom should leave or as he so eloquently stated at breakfast 'he has to make a life for himself some time.'" Matthew turned to look out the window.
"Surely Papa didn't mean it … that Tom needs to leave now."
"The man's lost his job and his country and now he's just lost his wife. I can't believe how insensitive Robert is." While Matthew would never had sought Tom out as a friend, circumstances had intervened and he had come to view his Irish brother-in-law as such.
Matthew glared at his wife. "I think Robert has made his distaste for Tom quite clear … even when Sybil was alive. Now with her gone …" he shrugged.
Robert's words didn't hit Tom as harshly as Matthew took them. It had only been in the last week or two that the all-encompassing grief that had filled his every waking moment had lifted enough for Tom to even think a bit about his future. He knew he did have to make a new life for himself and he couldn't envision that life would be at Downton. But at the moment he was truly lost as to what he would, or could, do.
That night at Drumgoole Castle had cost him so much. After achieving what he had wanted for so long, Tom had thrown it all away leaving his life as much in ashes as that of the once imposing castle. Once the shock of his inglorious return to Downton had worn away he had applied for numerous jobs with newspapers all over England but the few responses he had gotten were negative. He had come to the realization that no English newspaper was willing to hire someone like him. Sybil of course had thought he just needed to keep trying but now without her any optimism he might have had was gone.
Entering the bedroom that had been hastily converted into a nursery for his daughter, Tom was surprised to see his mother-in-law sitting on the nanny's bed leaning over Sybil who laid on the bed wiggling her arms and legs at the sound of her grandmother's voice.
Tom was aware that Cora visited the nursery since the nanny that Cora had insisted on hiring had told him so yet this was the first time he had found her here. He hadn't wanted a nanny, that wasn't how he and Sybil had been planning to raise their child but he had come to realize he couldn't spend every minute of his day with his daughter. Tom had relegated the nanny to most of the mundane housekeeping chores of taking care of an infant such as the laundry or preparing her bottles while he tended to her needs like holding her as she drank her bottle or rocking her to sleep.
"Sybbie precious" Cora cooed in her soft voice as her hand playfully patted the infant's belly.
Tom had barely seen Cora in the past few weeks as she had remained mostly sequestered in her bedroom. Other than himself, no one had taken Sybil's death as hard as Cora and, like himself, he knew she blamed her husband for taking away any chance they had had of saving her. Looking at Cora playing with baby Sybil he saw that although she was noticeably thinner the color had returned to her face, her eyes were no longer red rimmed and glistening with wet tears. She looked genuinely happy to be playing with her granddaughter and Tom glimpsed of how Cora must have been with her own daughter.
Sensing Tom's presence Cora turned her head toward him. Her face beaming with love she said "I think she's starting to recognize her name."
"You called her Sybbie not Sybil" Tom commented as Sybil's hand grabbed one of Cora's fingers.
Cora smile deepened as she looked down at her granddaughter. "It's the same but different. Somehow I think Sybbie fits her."
"Sybbie" Tom repeated as if memorizing a new word.
He moved the rocking chair closer to the bed and sat down. Smiling, he looked at his daughter and quietly called "Sybbie."
He reached over and patted the top of Sybbie's head. "Is that what we should call you … Sybbie" he cooed causing the infant to turn her head slightly as if trying to see her father. "I think I like that."
Keeping his hand on Sybbie's head still so full of dark brown hair, he looked at Cora "Did you ever call Sybil that?"
The smile on Cora's face quickly vanished replaced by that unmistakable look of sadness. She shook her head slightly as she very quietly replied "No."
For a moment Tom and Cora seemed lost in their own thoughts until Sybbie's loud gurgles broke through that sudden rush of sadness causing them to look at her. Neither could help breaking out in smiles at the wiggly infant.
"She's such a happy baby. I can't believe how much she has grown" Cora remarked as she once again playfully patted the infant's belly. "They change so fast."
"I'm already beginning to see some personality" Tom stated. "She'd much rather be there on the bed than in the bassinet."
"It's easier for her to see you" and as Sybbie grabbed one of her fingers "and for her to touch you."
Robert had retreated to his sanctuary. While Mary had her bench underneath the hanging branches of the large cedar tree, Edith had the rose garden and Cora had her own sitting room, Robert had the library whose shelves contained many rare volumes as well as fine first editions that would be the envy of any library and certainly matched or exceeded the libraries found in other estates.
Yet for him the lure of the room was not the massive volume of books it contained, in fact he had read very few of them and had no desire to read many more, but rather the room itself that appealed to him. From the richly paneled walls to the imposing fireplace to the wall of floor to ceiling windows with their panoramic views, the massive room capped with the elaborately paneled ceiling spoke of the generations of wealth and position of the Crawley family.
Robert didn't think it was a cold imperial room for the luxurious fabrics of the draperies, the fine tables and stuffed chairs scattered around the room and the plush red sofas arranged in front of the fireplace gave the room a homey feel that showed it was a room used by the family. The family gathered here for conversation or to meet with visitors and it was here that tea was served every afternoon and it was the place where Robert spent hours each day sitting at his desk conducting estate business and tending to his correspondence.
Robert set the invoice down on the desk and rubbed his eyes thinking it was too hard to concentrate on estate matters today. He wasn't foolish enough to not realize that they had to make some changes yet he was miffed about many of Matthew's plans and ideas. Sighing deeply he straightened up and looked out one of the large windows to the sweeping view outside.
He had positioned his desk in just this spot so he could view not only the whole room but also easily lift his eyes up from his work and look out the window. Yet it wasn't the view of the distant gently rolling hills that now caught his attention but rather a solitary figure pushing a large black pram across the lawn. Robert watched as Tom maneuvered the pram across the uneven grass until he was no longer in sight. As if he didn't have enough worries or problems with the estate, Robert now had to contend with the issue of Branson. He couldn't bring himself to call the man his son-in-law especially not now, not with Sybil …
He shook his head as if in doing so his mind would erase those thoughts of Sybil for he needed to think about the situation with Branson. The man did not belong here. He was a chauffeur, he shouldn't be sitting at his dining table or sleeping in one of the upstairs bedrooms. He wasn't one of them and never would be. Even Branson knew that thought Robert for Branson's remarks at breakfast this morning about not staying here showed that.
Robert's eyes drifted to the photograph that sat prominently on his desk. Like most of the family photographs this one had been taken by a professional photographer that Cora had hired, unlike almost all of the other photographs this one was a candid shot. Picking up the silver frame he saw an eight year old Sybil not quite looking directly at the photographer but rather at something unseen behind him that had captured her attention. Wisps of her hair had escaped the ribbon which had carefully been tied around her unruly mass of curls but what drew the viewer was that beaming smile that lit up her face with an unmistakable look of joyfulness mixed with more than a hint of mischievousness.
"Why do you keep that photograph on your desk?" Robert had been so engrossed in his own thoughts that he hadn't heard Mary enter the room.
Setting the frame back on his desk, Robert knitted his brows in confusion at Mary's question. "I have pictures of all my daughters here" he responded as his hand gestured toward the array of photographs framed in varying sizes and ornateness of silver frames adorning the desk and the table nearby.
Mary nodded her head as she glanced at the stilted and posed photograph of herself standing in her coming out gown and another one of an equally dressed Edith sitting in the elegant drawing room of their London town house.
She leaned over and picked up the photograph of Sybil. "No I mean why this particular one and not one of her older like at her coming out?"
Looking at the photograph Mary held in her hands, Robert smiled. "I just always liked that photograph. It so captured her … her liveliness … her exuberance … her mischievousness." His voice choked as he spoke his and his eyes clouded over.
Mary nodded in understanding for the photographer had done a great job in capturing Sybil's personality or at least those lovable traits and one couldn't help but smile when looking at this photograph. But Sybil had also been stubborn and willful and even devious. Wasn't the whole situation with Branson evidence of those traits? Yet, Mary quickly reminded herself, those traits had never been borne in maliciousness something that couldn't be said for herself or Edith.
When Mary looked up at her father she saw that he was no longer looking at the photograph but instead intently staring out the window. She turned her head to see what had captured his attention and saw Tom pushing the pram.
"Matthew says you're pushing Tom to leave."
Robert's voice didn't hide his irritation. "The man needs to get on with his life."
Sounding equally irritated Mary responded. "You need to give him time Papa. He's grieving."
"He's not one of us and never will be. He doesn't belong here" Robert retorted.
"And what of the child? Sybil's child … your granddaughter." Mary asked.
Robert closed his eyes as he sighed deeply.
Uncharacteristically Mary moved closer to her father and reached out to gently squeeze her father's arm. Mary quietly stated "He was Sybil's husband. She loved him Papa. Very much so and we need to remember that."