AN: This chapter takes place during episode 3x04. As always, please leave a review if you enjoyed it or have any suggestions for me. I really want to improve my writing, so I'm very open to hearing your thoughts!
In the end, Sybil managed to find a room for the night at a seedy hotel near the ferry station. The concierge hadn't seemed surprised by her pregnant belly or her lack of luggage; Sybil imagined they must see all types in a place like this. He had even allowed her to use the telephone behind the desk, stepping away momentarily to give her privacy.
It was mainly for Tom's sake that Sybil placed the call to Downton. There was no reason to worry her family now, not after the danger had passed. Tom, however, would be absolutely sick with fear. Once he arrived at Downton, he would be relieved to know that she had gotten out of the flat safely. There was also her father's reaction to consider. Lord Grantham would be furious when he found out that Tom had left her alone in Ireland. Perhaps if he knew she was all right, he might go a little easier on Tom, though Sybil doubted it would be much help.
Alone in her shabby room, Sybil eased herself onto the bed, still in her clothes. At eight months pregnant, movement was becoming awkward and difficult – not at all ideal for being on the run from the police. Her ankles were sore and her lower back ached. At home, Tom would often run her a hot bath in the evenings, or stay up to rub her shoulders until she fell into a restless sleep. Lying alone in the lumpy hotel bed, Sybil missed her husband so acutely that tears burned behind her eyelids, threatening escape.
What has he done? she wondered, rolling awkwardly onto her side. Something illegal, there was no doubt; not if the police were after him. Sybil knew he was in touch with members of the IRA. There were nights when he had arrived home late, brow furrowed in deep thought. Other evenings, he stayed up long after she had gone to bed, sitting at the breakfast table and scribbling into his notebook. Perhaps she should have asked him for more detail, but in truth, she hadn't wanted to know.
Terrible things were happening in Dublin – murders, kidnappings, violent riots – and if Sybil was honest with herself, she hadn't asked Tom what he was up to because she was afraid of his answer. She couldn't bear to think of her wonderful, kind, generous husband as the type of man who would kill in cold blood or terrorize families. She had always supported his passion for a free Ireland, but she didn't really know to what lengths he was willing to go to make it happen.
Not murder, she told herself, willing it to be true. Let it be assault, or conspiracy against the crown. Let it be something I can forgive.
xxx
Tom's arrival in Yorkshire coincided with the rain. Unwilling to risk being spotted on the train, he had hitched a ride to Ripon on the back of a grocery delivery truck. Crouched in the frigidly cold cargo hold with the cases of canned beans and sacks of potatoes, Tom had been jostled, bounced, and tossed about for over a hundred miles of rough country road. As he finally climbed out of the truck in Ripon, a great fork of lightning had slashed across the sky. In moments he was drenched to the skin.
"Have ye got a way to get where yer going?" the driver asked him as he came around the back to start unloading his cargo.
"I'll walk from here," he replied, jamming his hat lower over his face. "Thank you for the ride."
The man grunted in response, already preoccupied with a heavy carton of onions.
Tom set off in the direction of Downton, deciding to cut through the forest to shorten the journey. It was a miserable walk, stumbling over sticks and rocks in the dark, rain streaming down his face. He could not stop thinking about Sybil back in Dublin, wondering where she had gone after leaving the flat. They had put aside an envelope of money in case of emergencies. Hopefully she had remembered to grab it from underneath the mattress.
She's all right, Tom told himself. Any other outcome was simply unimaginable; his mind rejected it, unable to bear thinking about it.
What would he tell her family? It would have to be the truth, of course. They would all know soon enough, once reports of the Drumgoole's misfortune reached the newspapers. Lord Grantham would be apoplectic with rage. Thinking of her family only magnified Tom's shame; he had proved all their worst fears to be true, after all. Sybil had married him despite their objections, and now she was pregnant and alone in another country, on the run from the police as the wife of a criminal. Even Tom, skulking in the bushes and covered in mud, with barely a shilling left in his pocket, could admit that no family would want this for their beloved daughter.
He walked for nearly an hour before finally reaching the gates of Downton Abbey. The grounds were deserted, though the dining room windows still glowed brightly in the darkness. Tom trudged through the puddles towards the house as if walking towards his execution. He knew his appearance would give them a fright: his shirt had torn on a patch of brambles, his shoes were leaking, and dirt streaked his trousers. But there was nothing more to be done; he had created this mess and now he would have to face it.
Standing on the front steps, Tom reached up and knocked.
xxx
Tom came downstairs to find the family convened in the library, still in their dinner clothes. Edith and Cora had arranged themselves on the sofa across from Mary and Matthew, while the Dowager Countess was propped up in an armchair by her silver handled cane. Lord Grantham paced by the fireplace, his agitation radiating off of him like a heat wave. All eyes were on Tom as he entered the room, wearing an oversized suit and feeling like a cad.
"Tom!" Lord Grantham boomed, his brows drawn down in an expression of displeasure. "What in God's name is going on? We had the most cryptic telephone call from Sybil –"
"Sybil called?" Tom's heart leapt frantically in his chest. "Tell me, what did she say?"
"Just that she had left the flat and would be here shortly," Edith piped in, her eyes as round as dinner plates. "She said that nobody had tried to stop her."
"Oh, thank God." Tom hadn't realized how deep his fear truly ran until it was suddenly gone. It was like there had been a vise around his chest, and now that it had been taken away, he could finally breathe properly again.
"Tom, what's going on?" Cora asked anxiously. "Where's Sybil?"
"I can explain everything." Tom took a deep breath. "But I think Sybil is all right. She should be here tomorrow."
"You think," Lord Grantham repeated in disbelief.
Tom had no reply. He stared down at his hands.
"Robert, get the man a chair," the Dowager broke in, her thin eyebrows raised. "There's no use interrogating him like a naughty school boy. Give him a moment to collect himself."
"Thank you," Tom nodded as Matthew jumped up to get him a chair. Lord Grantham had turned away, bracing his hands against the mantle in his restrained fury.
"Now, start from the beginning," Mary prodded, once Matthew had returned to the sofa.
Tom swallowed; his throat felt like sandpaper. "There was an attack on Drumgoole Castle, by the IRA. They turned everyone out of the castle. Lord and Lady Drumgoole, their son, and all their servants…"
xxx
Alone again in Sybil's childhood bedroom, Tom supposed he should be grateful that things hadn't gone worse. Lord Grantham hadn't turned him out, and Cora had even convinced him to go to London in the morning on Tom's behalf. Perhaps this mess could still be cleaned up.
Grantham must be smiling in his sleep tonight, Tom thought sourly as he climbed into bed. He had, after all, been proved right. Tom had failed as a husband, a father, and a provider. He didn't think Robert was an evil man, but he was certainly a self-righteous one. Robert wouldn't take pleasure in Sybil's misery, but seeing Tom brought low in her eyes would probably feel like victory.
Seeing their looks of horror as he described the scene at Drumgoole Castle had affected Tom more than he had thought it would. It had been easy to fool himself into thinking their actions weren't so bad when surrounded by his co-conspirators. They had egged each other, giving each other permission to air out their most radical beliefs, meeting them with approval and validation. There had been no voice of dissent in their tight-knit group. It had seemed obvious at the time: what was one destroyed castle, when compared to the decades of Irish oppression?
But now, as he laid his crimes bare to Sybil's family and watched the anger, fear, and sorrow flit across their faces, he knew he had done wrong. And, god, how he regretted it, though he would never admit that to Robert.
How would Sybil react when she learned of the terrible thing he had done? She was an innocent, who believed in the fundamental goodness of man. She believed in the fundamental goodness of Tom. How would she feel when she found out he was not who she thought he was?
Tom had never been who she thought he was. The Tom of Sybil's imagination was strong and brave, kind and compassionate. An honourable man, a worthy man. But Tom had always known the truth, that he was fallible and weak in so many ways. It was Sybil that was strong and brave, kind and compassionate, worthy beyond compare. She had tried to pull him up to her level, but he had stumbled and now they had lost everything. How could she look at him the same way, knowing what he had done?
Sybil believed in him, loved him, in a way nobody else ever had. He didn't think he could bear to lose her love.
Tom rolled over in bed, staring at the empty place where she should have been. They hadn't spent a single night apart since their wedding. Tom didn't know how he could possibly fall asleep without her feet pressed against his shins, her hair streaming across his pillow, her fingers brushing against his arm. He buried his face into the blankets, hoping there was still a hint of her scent trapped between the sheets.
But all he could smell was laundry soap.
xxx
Sybil's crossing had been uneventful. The morning ferry had been crowded and noisy; nobody had paid her a moment's glance, sitting quietly on the last bench as she stared contemplatively out at the grey water. In Liverpool, she caught the train to Downton, no longer worried about getting caught. As she had watched the familiar Yorkshire scenery flash by, her heart had begun to palpitate, as if sensing Tom's presence growing nearer.
She was desperate to see her husband. She was terrified to see her husband. She had left their home on faith, praying that he was worthy of it. If someone had asked her if she trusted Tom a week ago, she would have answered with an unequivocal and immediate yes. But after a night spent tossing and turning, wondering what he had done, she wasn't sure what she thought anymore.
The cab jerked to a stop in front of Downton Abbey and the driver jumped out to help her out of the backseat. The house was quiet and still, giving away no signs of the life that bustled on behind its thick stone walls. Sybil paid the driver with the last of the money Tom had left for her, crumpling the empty envelope into her pocket.
Once the car was gone, Sybil stood alone in front of her childhood home. The familiar surroundings were soothing on her frayed nerves. She had once thought Downton was the most beautiful place on earth, but that was before she had seen the rugged Irish coastline and rolling emerald countryside. Still, she took strength from the house. Nothing all that bad could happen at Downton.
Sybil tried the front entrance, expecting it to be locked. To her surprise, the heavy wooden door swung open. She stepped inside, letting it fall shut behind her. The main hall was empty, but drenched in warm sunlight that beckoned her forward. It smelled like lunch had just been served in the dining room beyond; the faint sound of cutlery clicking against porcelain was just barely audible.
There was the sudden thumping of hurried footsteps on the wooden floor, and then suddenly Tom burst into the hall, his hand clutching at his chest as their eyes met.
"Oh, thank god," he rasped, his face crumpling as he ran towards her, arms outstretched.
All of Sybil's misgivings faded away as she fell into his arms, clutching him fiercely against her. Tom buried his face into her hair, crushing her in his embrace. He reached up to cup her face, pulling her in for a searing kiss. Sybil could taste his fear and desperation, and the sweetness of reunion. A small sob bubbled up from between her lips and pulling back, she saw his own eyes swimming with tears.
"I'm so sorry," he choked out, his fingers running over her cheeks, her hair, her lips.
"Shh," she murmured, stroking his hair and sucking in a ragged breath. "It's all right."
And for the moment, it really was all right. Soon she would need to ask him what had happened, but for now, it was enough to just hold him close.
AN: Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a review. I will try to get the next chapter up in the next couple weeks!