A/N: Although I initially marked this story as complete, I decided to write a second chapter to cover the family's visit to the fictional Barwick and the development of Tom's relationship with Madeleine. As I mentioned individually to several of you after the last chapter, the story is meant to convey my wish that could Tom move on with somebody likeable such as Madeleine, rather than it necessarily being her. It was rightly mentioned that there was absolutely no exchange between the two of them during the Christmas Special and I've not seen any firm indication that the actress has been employed for S5 (only that Bunting looks likely to be gone mid-series, hurray!). So it's just a little nudge in the direction I would like Tom's story to develop, but which will almost certainly be proved wrong. So this will be the concluding chapter. I'm going to wait and see what S5 brings before I decide what to write next. I'm doing some original writing at the moment so I'm busy with that too. Thanks so much for all the positive comments though, even if you're sceptical about the pairing. I really appreciate your feedback.
They wrote to one another throughout that spring of 1924, as tulips emerged in haphazard fashion across the lawn and the ancient oak brought forth new buds after its winter slumber. When he later looked back, Tom couldn't be certain what initially drove him to continue with their correspondence. As promised, he sent her the information Sarah had given him – the qualifications needed, the name of a reputable college in Eltham* which he had looked further into himself. It came as no surprise to receive a swift response. Madeleine's upbringing meant that a gracious reply of thanks would be forthcoming under any circumstances. But there was something in her letter – more expansive than a courteous note – which led him to pick up his pen once again. Her elegant script, adorned with the swirl and flourish which could only have been achieved through regular instruction from a female tutor, covered five pages in all. The ink colour shifted just a fraction on the second paragraph of page four, indicating that she had come back to it for a second session. She wrote a little about life in London – a lecture at the Planetarium she had attended with a friend, a new play at the Astoria, a party full of her father's friends. "So, so dull" she wrote and Tom smiled at the line of emphasis – she knew that he would have felt the same. But then she asked after Sybbie and George, enquiring about any outings they had enjoyed, whether they had new books in the nursery, where in the Estate they could explore now that the weather had improved. So it felt instinctive for him to write again and answer her questions. Any discussion concerning his daughter brought pleasure and the words fell naturally from his pen.
To begin with he described a walk in the woods in which Sybbie had pranced along a fallen log before slipping and landing face down in a boggy patch of leaves. She hadn't been hurt in any way and after seeing Tom's expression of relief, had squealed with laughter, intentionally repeating the process twice more until the front of her blue coat had turned almost entirely to the colour of brown sludge. Nanny had not been best pleased and despite his good humour after the outing, Tom could understand why. He could recall his mother's own cry of frustration under similar circumstances almost thirty years earlier – it was easier to be tolerant of childish antics when you weren't responsible for cleaning the coat afterwards. Tom was grateful for this aspect of his transition within the Abbey and found himself writing the same. The confession brought forth questions from Madeleine about his family – how many siblings, what were they doing now, what were his favourite pastimes as a child? It wasn't a one way exchange, she talked about her own family and the isolation of being an only child. Over the course of four months, Tom felt that he had come to understand her mind better than many of those he had served alongside downstairs and even the core sentiments of Mary and Edith. Like most of their class, they often kept their feelings hidden.
'But we do have feelings. And don't make the mistake of thinking we don't.' Tom smiled at the memory of Sybil's indignant declaration from the days when she had held the upper hand but he had forced her card when it came to acknowledging her strength of feeling. He had smirked with the satisfaction of knowing that the reaction meant that she cared, she had lifted her aristocratic chin a little higher in defiance and the journey had been conducted in subsequent silence. Tom paused from his current letter, sat back in his chair and his eyes crinkled once again at the recollection. With hindsight, he had been perhaps inappropriate to push her in the midst of her anxiety over Matthew's injury, but it had been the first tangible signal that he was right to stay and wait for her.
Tom sighed. He eased his position within the heavy, leather backed chair and it creaked softly as he shifted sideways. He swept his hair from his forehead. It needed cutting, he must get that seen to before they travelled to Barwick. His mind revisited another image of Sybil on that sombre morning in which she was riled and his heart had surged with hope. He thought too of Matthew who had become his friend and who he had mourned like a brother. The familiar slow weight of grief emerged within his chest, bearing down upon his heart and squeezing the air from his lungs like a drowning man. But as much as he was accustomed to the sensation, he had begun to learn how best to divert it. He blinked rapidly, sat up straight in the chair and took a large and desperate breath. As the air descended, he summoned up an image of Sybbie. He thought of their forthcoming trip to Barwick and conjured up a picture of Madeleine, her smile broad and eyes shining with welcome. He breathed deeply, thought again of his daughter and picked up his pen.
ooOoo
They received a formal, but joyous welcome at Barwick when they arrived on a sticky, humid August day, the travellers weary from their journey. If Lord Tyrrel and his new wife had any knowledge of Tom's origins and former profession, which of course they must he thought, then they gave no indication. Lady Tyrrel appeared no older than him and fell instantly in with the younger generation, linking her arm companionably through Mary's and appraising Tom with a lingering glance which he felt bordered on inappropriate. Her husband didn't seem to mind and encouraged her to 'enjoy some company your own age, my dear' before a look of relief that he could do the same was exchanged with his old friend, Robert and they disappeared together into the drawing room.
Rose was her usual effusive and ecstatic self. He could feel her straining like a puppy on a leash while the usual formalities took place, before she hugged Annabel with unrestrained delight and clapped her hands together suddenly at her first sighting of the figure behind. Tom hadn't spotted Madeleine when they first entered the hall. She stood several steps back from the family, discretely excluding herself from their welcome and only stepped forward after the conventions had come to an end. Swept up in Rose's enthusiastic greeting, she finally extracted herself from her friend's grasp and Tom felt an unexpected wave of disappointment when she simply held her hand out towards him and smiled.
"Hello, Tom. How lovely to see you again."
Inwardly he chastised himself for his foolishness. How could four months of correspondence compete with several years of female friendship? His instinctive reaction was wholly disproportionate and he forced a smile broader than was necessary.
"And you too Madeleine. I hope you had a pleasant journey?"
"It was perfectly pleasant, thank you."
It felt like a farcical exchange given the growing honesty within their letters and he imagined himself in a theatrical production, reciting his script. Once or twice in recent weeks, it had occurred to him that he may have imagined the extent of her beauty, perhaps his impression of her had swelled in proportion to their friendship and a sense of loyalty. But he could see now that he had not been mistaken and was prepared to state quite objectively that she was the prettiest woman there.
Nanny bustled past them, ushering George and Sybbie towards the stairs and struggling to contain their exuberance. Their initial excitement at the journey had made way for ill-temper as the humidity rose and boredom set in. But free now of the constraints of a car, they were eager to explore and resistant to Nanny's attempt to take them upstairs to change out of their travelling clothes.
Tom watched and wondered if he should step in to help. He could help diffuse the conflict, but knew that Nanny would not appreciate a public display of interference. Mary was now nowhere to be seen and George was whining "Mama" while he squirmed under Nanny's grasp. Sybbie turned her head towards her father but as she did so, Madeleine spun around on her heel and the two met each other's expressions head-on.
"Hello Sybbie and George, how lovely to see you here!" Madeleine exclaimed and Tom watched his daughter's eyes narrow in confusion before recognition emerged and a broad smile stretched across her face.
"Will you read me another story please?" she asked and Nanny quickly muttered "shush" and then "not now".
"Of course I will…" Madeleine walked towards the children while Tom, Annabel and Rose watched. "But Nanny's right. You should go and see your rooms first. There are lots of lovely toys to play with up there and then I'll come up a little later and we can read some books together."
"Okay" Sybbie replied obediently and George grinned while a spool of dribble glided slowly down across his chin.
"Crikey" said Rose, clearly impressed. "I wish I could do that, they never listen to me."
Annabel giggled beside her. "You're a child charmer, Madeleine. We'll have to bring you out whenever they are troublesome so you can work your magic."
Madeleine's cheeks flushed and the corners of her mouth twitched to imply that the compliment was well received. Diffusing her embarrassment with a laugh, she glanced shyly in Tom's direction.
"She's a natural" he agreed.
ooOoo
Tom lay on his bed and opened a book. They had enjoyed afternoon tea and all taken a stroll around the lawn, but he felt like the proverbial square peg in a round hole and had excused himself shortly afterwards. Robert was clearly delighted to be in the company of an old friend and while they were both courteous and friendly, Tom knew that they would prefer to chat alone. He wasn't looking forward to having to intrude on their camaraderie again after dinner when they left the ladies at the table. Lady Barwick was dividing her time between Cora, Mary and Edith, while the Dowager had been resting after their journey. He had scarcely seen Madeleine since they arrived. The three younger women had disappeared towards the house only minutes into the walk and although he had strolled into the library and drawing room on his return, there was no sign of any of them. The situation made him feel equally irritable and uncomfortable. Naturally she would want to be with her friends, for whom she had been invited, but he had anticipated something more, without having any tangible reason for feeling that way. But it made his reasons for normally avoiding these visits abundantly plain. He had no natural companion beyond his daughter, around the conventions of Nanny's well-rehearsed schedule. He had no wife to accompany, no brother-in-law to settle in with for an afternoon's recreation, not even a dog to walk. He was alone and without the gratifying diversion of his work.
With a frustrated sigh, Tom placed his book by the side of his bed and stared at the photograph of Sybil which he had brought in his travelling bag. It was his favourite image, taken at Mary and Matthew's wedding - her hair newly cut and face awash with the glow that sometimes comes with pregnancy. Despite the shadow cast by their engagement when they left Downton, he could see the delight at being with her family once again. The contentment with her new role as wife and mother-to-be were matched with the stability of being back in her childhood home and the image it had provided never ceased to be alluring.
"I don't belong here, Sybil" he said quietly, shaking his head. "I really don't know why I came along."
Sybil's smile held firm and as so often when he had a dilemma, he indulged himself by imagining her response. 'To give our daughter a trip, to have a break from work, to help a young woman fulfil her ambitions'.
"Ah yes" he said loudly and swung his legs off the bed and on to the floor. He had brought along a journal for Madeleine, one published specifically for the teaching profession. He had seen Sarah with a copy once and taken note of the name. It had proved very tricky to obtain a single copy and he had found himself subscribing to twelve. If Madeleine was interested in the content, he would look into amending the subscription to her address in London.
Tom had no wish to uncomfortably press Madeleine about her interest in teaching, but he was aware that no discussion on the subject might lead to quashing whatever motivation she still held. It wouldn't be an easy route for a woman in her position, but he had made some enquiries about the qualifications she would need to be considered for a training course. Sarah had provided the initial information, but she had asked so many questions in return that he had kept the reason for his interest brief. She was never one to hold back on her opinions whenever her curiosity was raised and was eloquent in her disdain for the upper classes, having clashed with Lord Grantham and made herself generally unpopular when she visited the Abbey. In the end he had lied, which he loathed to do, and had told her that a cousin over from Ireland was looking to apply. He felt quite protective of Madeleine's ambition, even if it subsequently never came to fruition. Her aspiration to be independent and work was admirable, but he felt sure that Sarah would find the idea derisory. Inverted snobbery could be as unpalatable as the opposite and he had no desire to listen to it.
Sarah had left Downton at the end of the summer term. Her mother had died unexpectedly earlier in the year and she had decided to look for a position close to her home town so that she could help her brothers care for their father. Tom had been sorry in a way; they had enjoyed some interesting conversations over the past couple of years and she offered a pleasant diversion from aristocratic concerns around the dining table. But he had gradually come to the conclusion that his mother's earlier intuition may have been right; there had been indications in recent months that Sarah may have held higher expectations than the platonic friendship he thought they each enjoyed. Tom had expressed his regret that she was leaving, but she had expected something more - he could tell by the flash of disappointment which crossed her face and the subsequent brusque reply. They had parted with a chaste kiss on a miserable wet day and a pledge to write. So far they had exchanged one letter each and he felt no inclination to push for more. Her correspondence had been perfunctory and polite, but he felt none of the warmth he gained from those he received from Madeleine.
He took the journal out of his bag and placed it on the small table next to the fireplace. It was hardly something he could bring down to dinner, although he briefly amused himself by imagining the reaction of both Robert and the Dowager if he did. But he would try and find an opportunity to speak to Madeleine alone the following day and drop it into the conversation. He didn't want to force her to take the copy if her interest had now waned.
Glancing at his pocket watch, Tom decided that while a little earlier than custom prevailed at Downton, it was an acceptable time to call in at the nursery. With a renewed sense of purpose he made his way up the stairs.
"Da!" Sybbie exclaimed with delight and bounded up for their customary hug.
Mary's voice unexpectedly cut in from the doorway to his right. "I was wondering when you might arrive. I'm afraid we are both a poor substitute today."
He frowned with incomprehension as he reached down to where Sybbie was now encasing his legs with her arms.
"For what?" he asked.
Mary walked forward, eyebrows perfectly arched. "Don't you mean, for whom?"
"Do I?" He gave a little shrug and lifted Sybbie up into his arms. "I'm sorry but I'm afraid you've lost me with this one, Mary."
His daughter provided the answer while she wriggled in his grasp. "Madeleine has been reading me and George lots of stories."
Mary tipped her head in Tom's direction. "It seems that she is quite the success with our children. I came in at the end and she had them practically eating out of her hand. Who knows what she might be able to get them to do?"
"Eat green beans?" Tom suggested and laughed when Sybbie emitted an inevitable "Bleugh!"
"Oh good, she's fallible" Mary said and took hold of George's outstretched palm. "I was beginning to wonder. Nanny tells me she read to them one time at Downton too, did you know that?"
He nodded. "Yes I took her up to the nursery."
Mary paused and she stared at him intently. "Did you now?" she said and Tom felt a hint of unwelcome suggestion within her tone.
"Yes. I did. She asked if she could come up with me to see the children and I saw no harm in it."
"Of course there's not" Mary replied with a crisp smile.
"And she'd told me that she'd like to spend some time with the two of them while we're all here together."
"I see. Back at Downton?"
"Pardon?" Tom wasn't clear what Mary was asking.
"She mentioned that while she was staying with us at Downton?"
"No, in a letter." Tom replied before he had considered the implication of his reply. There was no reason to conceal their correspondence, but for reasons he had never cared to explore, he had not mentioned it to anyone and even Rose appeared to be in the dark. He felt himself begin to flush and without understanding the reasons why, became aware of his heart beating unusually quickly.
"I…." he muttered feebly and let Sybbie gently back down to the ground. "She wanted some information…"
Madeleine's ambition was not his to share and his mind raced for a suitable explanation. "…about dogs"
"Dogs" Mary repeated and he saw the corners of her mouth twitch.
"Yes, she's thinking of purchasing a puppy you see and she asked me for some advice."
Mary paused. "But you've never owned a puppy, have you?"
"No" he admitted. "But I've spent a lot of time with Isis."
Mary looked at him expressionlessly for a moment. "Well then, it all makes perfect sense" she finally declared until she was unable to contain her amusement and gave a wide smile.
"I don't see what's so funny…." Tom said crossly and rubbed a hand across his brow in an effort to try and disguise his fluster. Sybbie, sensing her father's unease, began to hop from one foot to another and tugged at the corner of his jacket. "Da…" she said and gazed up at him with concern.
Mary bent down and kissed the top of her son's head before moving across the room to do the same to Sybbie.
"Goodbye darlings" she said sweetly. "Be good and I'll see you downstairs later."
As she walked towards the door, she leant to lightly touch Tom's elbow. "It's a new dawn for us both, Tom" she said and when he looked at her, any hint of mockery had disappeared.
"I really don't know what you…." he protested but Mary was already at the door. She flashed a smile and her eyes followed Sybbie who was now bending down to pick up a doll from the floor.
"She's very lovely" Mary said before swiftly exiting the room and Tom was not at all certain who she meant.
ooOoo
"You've been avoiding me!" came a playful cry from behind them shortly after they had begun their afternoon stroll. Before he had any time to react, Sybbie swung around and tore her hand from his.
"Madeleine!" she shouted with delight and ran the few paces back along the stony path to join her.
Madeleine held her arms out to greet Sybbie, then without forewarning, grasped her hands, turned swiftly on her heel and rotated, allowing the little girl's feet to lift from the ground before she deposited her safely back down.
"Again, again!" Sybbie squealed happily and Madeleine obliged twice more in each direction until she declared herself 'quite dizzy' and with a glance towards Tom, asked if they could all walk together.
"Of course" he replied with a polite nod of the head and Sybbie happily stood between them, holding a hand of each.
"We're looking for dragonflies and ladybirds…" he explained by way of starting the conversation "…it could be a very slow stroll."
"I don't mind" Madeleine replied smiling and met the little girl's gaze. "I'll look too, perhaps we'll see some butterflies as well?"
Sybbie nodded with a grin and immediately crouched down to inspect a blade of grass. Madeleine placed a hand to the top of her wide brimmed summer hat and peered down over the little girl.
"Anything there?" she asked. Sybbie frowned and shook her head, then crawled three paces forward for another inspection.
"And I'm not avoiding you." Tom added, his gaze firmly on his daughter and missing the mischievous grin which flashed across his companion's face.
"Only I've scarcely seen you beyond dinner" she said, reverting to a more solemn expression.
"Well you seem very occupied with Rose and Annabel, I'm surprised you've noticed." His words were uttered more sharply than he had intended and Madeleine's eyes widened. In an effort to diffuse the impact, he cleared his throat and smiled. "Which of course is to be expected. I know you've all been looking forward to seeing one another. Rose has scarcely talked of anything else for the past few weeks."
"Well Rose does take her fun very seriously indeed" replied Madeleine and Tom laughed.
"That's true." Their attention was diverted by Sybbie holding out a finger along which a small ladybird was strolling, so they each bent their heads to better see until only an inch or so apart. Tom could smell the sweet scent of her skin and felt curiously unhinged; a once familiar ache arose in the base of his stomach as he felt his legs sway just a little.
"Are you alright?" Madeleine asked and he felt himself revert to formality again, shaken by the unexpected desire.
"I'm quite fine, thank you. I didn't eat much breakfast this morning, I should have forced myself to eat something else. It's a warm day…" he waved a hand helplessly in the air, avoiding her gaze in fear that she may recognise the unexpected emotion underneath.
Her reaction took him by surprise. "Sybbie" she declared. "I'm going to hold your Da up so that he doesn't faint to the ground." She slipped an arm through Tom's and he felt his body stiffen at the informality of gesture. "And I'm going to feed him one of these sweets that I've brought out in my pocket. Do you think he might like one?"
Sybbie stood abruptly to attention in front of her, apparently unconcerned by Tom's welfare but smiling sweetly, her eyes fixed firmly on the front of Madeleine's dress. Regular instruction of good manners prevented her from making a direct request but her silent longing needed no explanation.
Madeleine held out a small white paper bag and glanced towards Tom. "Lemon sherberts, is she allowed?" He nodded and smiled while Madeleine whispered. "Have two, but take care not to bite them. You must suck them so they last a long time." Sybbie nodded solemnly and with her gift safely enclosed within a fist, skipped a few paces away to enjoy them.
"And you?" Madeleine asked, holding out the bag and Tom nodded his thanks, popping one into his mouth and savouring the sweet tang of lemon as it tickled the back of his tongue.
"And I'm not going to faint" he added, certain that she had only been teasing, but wanting to reassert his composure.
"You looked a bit woozy"
"I'm fine" he said firmly.
"Do you want to go back into the house?"
He shook his head. "No, I'd prefer to stay here with you if I may?" Her broad beam of pleasure brought forth another wave of longing and he blinked rapidly, fearful of even contemplating the possible consequences.
He cleared his throat. "I've brought you a teaching journal" he said determinedly, wanting to re-direct the conversation. "It may not be of any interest, but I thought…"
"Oh I would, thank you!" she exclaimed. "That's so thoughtful of you."
He gave a stiff smile, carefully monitoring his reaction while she continued. "I'm so grateful to you for going to the trouble of sending me all the information. I've been looking into gaining some form of qualification next year so that I could consider an application to a training course in the future. There's a very respectable college in Kensington which offers evening classes."
"Have you mentioned it to your father?" he asked cautiously.
She turned her head away from him to gaze at Sybbie. "No, not yet. I think it's best to wait until I turn twenty-one in November and then he can't actually forbid me from doing anything."
"Do you think there will be consequences?" he asked gravely and heard her sigh.
"He won't like the idea at all. None of it. I mean, I won't tell him everything to begin with, there's no need to rile him when I may never be accepted to college anyway. But he will inevitably tell me that it's unnecessary for a woman to gain any form of qualification."
"No education is ever wasted" Tom added and Madeleine turned once again to face him, her face unusually sombre.
"You see, that's why you are so much more of a gentleman than my father will ever be, Tom. You believe in emancipation and that women in our society have more to offer the world than simply hosting parties and bearing children. I know that I could do something truly worthwhile and that it would give me far more satisfaction." She paused in thought and a tiny frown crossed her face. "Even though I must confess that I do enjoy parties now and again and it's not that I have never entertained the thought of having a child."
Tom reached across to pat the arm which entwined his. "You could do all three" he said gently. "Teach, host parties, have children. And many other things besides."
"My father would be horrified at the thought" she said sadly. "And yet, I don't think he would cast me out. I'm his only child. I'm all he's got now and even though he can be avaricious and derisory at times, I know he loves me. As I love him regardless."
"You know I'll offer you as much support as I can, don't you?" Tom said earnestly. "I mean, I know I'm far away, but you'll always have a friend to help you if things get difficult. Either way, even if you decide not to apply, or if you change your mind and want to do something different. Just know that you have someone who believes you can steer your own course."
She watched him as if transfixed, a hint of pink forming at the edge of her cheeks. "Thank you" she said. "For everything."
Before Tom could even consider his next response, he felt a small hand tug at the side of his trousers and looked down to see Sybbie staring up imploringly.
"Da…" she said with no hint of discretion. "Am I allowed to have another sweet?"
ooOoo
A dance concluded their stay at Barwick. Lord Tyrrel and his wife invited the local nobility and the event offered stark contradiction to those who believed that their way of life was coming to an end. Plates groaned under the weight of rich foods, the very best champagne was topped up by a collection of uniformed staff and the band – specially picked to cater to all tastes and generations – was summoned from London.
"They've played at The Palace twice" Rose whispered to Tom, her face awash with excitement while they stood at the edge of the ballroom, watching Lord and Lady Barwick step on to the floor to signify the start of the dancing.
Tom smiled and held out his arm. "Well if they're good enough for the King of England, then they're good enough for me. Would you care to dance?"
"Absolutely!" she replied and tugged at his arm in her haste to join in.
The advantage of such an ostentatious and well attended display, Tom later reflected while he stood and watched the enthusiastic participants, was that he could hide in the shadows. So often the subject of curiosity by those he met nowadays, he was grateful for an opportunity to conceal himself within the crowd.
Mary appeared at his side and glanced at him appraisingly. "Are you going to ask Madeleine to dance?" she asked and he was taken aback by her directness.
"I was going to ask you to dance actually" he replied but any hope of diverting her line of thought was in vain.
"Oh you don't need to worry. I've got lots of people wanting to dance with me, I'm in high demand. You should ask Madeleine, she's being hounded by Lady Barwick's younger brother who's a frightful bore." She paused in thought. "Although you may want to ask poor Edith as well. She looks as if she's lost a pound and found a farthing."
"I think she's got a lot on her mind at present" Tom replied defensively. He found Mary's condescension towards her sister rather unpalatable at times.
Mary turned her head and gazed at him coolly. "Well I don't see what. It's quite clear by now that Michael is dead and the magazine practically runs itself."
"You and I both know that grief can't be so easily dismissed, Mary. She needs a little empathy from those of us who have had experienced it ourselves."
"Yes well…" Mary looked away, unwilling as usual to concede. "It's time for all of us to turn our grief around. We have to think of the next generation."
"I never stop thinking of the next generation" Tom reminded her and her expression softened.
"I know."
Mary stared across the dance floor, seemingly blind to its participants – flushed faces and laughter, snatches of conversation, a cacophony of heels beating across the wooden floor.
"Do you ever find yourself asking Sybil for advice?" she asked slowly, turning her head towards Tom with an expression unusually tentative. "Even though she's no longer here?"
"All the time" he replied, thinking of her picture by the side of his bed and his frequent musings.
"I find myself asking Matthew whether I should choose Tony or Charles. Rather odd given the circumstances, don't you think?"
"He was always a good man to weigh up an argument. I was often glad of his judgement."
She gave a tight-lipped smile. "Matthew understood my mind better than I knew it myself.
Tom paused. "Has he given you an answer yet?"
"Yes. I just haven't entirely come around to his way of thinking yet."
Before he could respond, a young man appeared before them – slim, pencil thin moustache, dark blond hair parted just a little off centre, a nose which had almost certainly once been broken. He was sweating profusely. Tom didn't recognise him, but Mary smiled and politely spoke his name.
"May I have the pleasure?" the man asked with the over-eagerness of youth and Mary tipped her head while Tom took his leave.
He walked to the back of the room to set down his empty glass and to his left could see Edith and the Dowager seated on the far side, engaged in solemn conversation. Just as he was about to move towards them, he observed Madeleine and Annabel standing close by, smiling while they watched the band. Annabel leant towards her friend, cupping a hand over her ear and Madeleine turned towards her, her face alight with mirth.
Tom stood and watched, transfixed for a moment by the image of youthful pleasures and felt envious of their unfiltered happiness. The amusement of others is often seductive, untouched by misunderstanding or exclusion. Without warning, a swell of emotion caught in his throat. Sybil's image then briefly arose, but she was not the cause. He was simply accustomed to the connection.
He took two steps forward with the intention to first speak to Edith, but the movement caught Madeleine's eye and she met his gaze, her face displaying immediate, unconcealed delight. Annabel turned around and with a light touch of her friend's arm, moved away.
"Are you enjoying yourself?" Tom asked once he had moved to join her. "Would you like to dance?"
She held out her hand with a coy smile. "I thought you were never going to ask"
He held her self-consciously, willing their usual familiarity to return. All of his senses were heightened – he could smell summer fruits and lemon in her hair, feel the curve of her waist beneath thin silk fabric, hear gentle breaths close to his ear. His heart increased its beat and his skin felt sensitive in a way he had almost forgotten – as if somebody had tapped him all over and reactivated a current which he thought would lie dormant for ever.
"Are you enjoying the evening?" he asked in a stilted tone and she looked at him sharply, as if aware that something was amiss.
"Yes I am so far. But Tom, I keep meaning to ask you…"
"Yes?"
"Are you an uncle yet? Is there any news from Liverpool?"
All at once, he felt at ease again, the subject matter shifting to something more tangible. He had told her in a letter of Kieran's impending fatherhood.
"Not yet. As far as I know. I'm hoping there'll be a letter waiting for me when I return to Downton."
"But does he know you're here? Might he telephone with the news?" She asked the question so innocently, but he summoned up an image of his brother on a telephone to the Butler at Barwick and couldn't supress a grin.
"It's not really his style. I'd imagine our mother will pass on the news as soon as he thinks to tell her."
The band had switched to something more up-tempo and in unison they came to a halt, stepping off the dance-floor. All of a sudden, Madeleine grasped Tom's elbow.
"Quick, let's move out of the way. Lady Barwick's brother Ernest is heading this way and I can't face another conversation about fishing rights in Derbyshire."
They weaved in and out of high-spirited guests until Madeleine was satisfied that they were sufficiently out of reach. The high ceiling of the ballroom gave way to gabled windows at one end, within each one a small seat covered in unexpectedly worn blue velvet . Madeleine sat down and tugged at Tom's sleeve to join her.
"If I can persuade my father to hold a dinner for my twenty-first birthday, would you come?"
He was thrown immediately off-kilter. "What, come to London you mean?"
"Yes. Rose would come too, of course." Her gaze was fixed to the floor.
He could feel his heart pounding once again while the myriad of chatter and music surrounding them dulled to a muffled whisper, as if a door had suddenly closed.
"Well…I…um"
She raised a gloved hand to her forehead and he saw her cheeks redden. "I mean, only if you wanted to of course, please don't worry if you don't."
"I…well, I'd be honoured of course. But are you sure that your father would be happy with the invitation?"
She spoke so softly at first that he had to lean forward in order to hear her, but there was no mistaking the sentiment.
"I want him to meet you, Tom. I would like him to get to know you."
Her eyes drew his gaze, wide with expectation, the corners of her mouth lifting just a little –excitement tinged with fear. She didn't speak further but her expression took him tumbling back to Downton's garage more than five years previously. Sybil resplendent in black and gold, her eyes bright, words escaping from her lips which would snatch them both from stability and send them hurtling into a new life. Adventure, freedom, hope and happiness all bundled up together – their short, tumultuous escapade together bringing more joy and grief than he had ever known.
'You're my ticket'. Sybil had wanted more than Downton with its aristocratic expectations and now Madeleine was looking to make a similar journey. The comparison was raw and left him trembling, irregular breaths emerging with a sharp, gasping urgency.
"Excuse me please" he managed to say, rising unsteadily to his feet and holding a hand out towards the wall to stabilise shaking legs. "I…I…"
Her expression of crumbling hope was more than he could bear. "I'm sorry, I don't feel very well" he muttered and didn't look back, stumbling blindly around the room with guttural sounds of apology to those he bumped into along the way. He was close to the ballroom door when he heard Edith call out his name, her voice ringed with concern.
"My stomach" he said loudly and turned his head, one hand placed over his belly to help amplify the excuse.
He staggered along an oak panelled corridor, aware of blurred shadowy figures in his path, lurching sideways to avoid them.
"Are you alright sir?" a voice asked and he raised a hand before escaping into the hallway and up the staircase. Once safely in the guests' corridor he began to run, unconcerned now by the thought of witnesses to his distress. The doorknob slipped out of his grasp and he quietly cursed, sweat emerging from every pore as the door crashed loudly against his bedroom wall. With a moan, he reached out for Sybil's photograph.
"Oh my love, forgive me" he whispered and sat on the edge of the bed with it in his hands, his shoulders shaking with fear and anguish. A sense of betrayal hung in the air; he had held fast to the idea that he could never love again, nor consider forging a life with somebody else. Marriage vows were sacred and although death had parted them and offered him release, he had only ever entertained thoughts of remaining alone. Mary needed companionship, he did not. His daughter brought him contentment and until now, that had sufficed.
Yet he felt something for Madeleine, he couldn't deny it any longer. It was more than close friendship, or the fondness he sometimes felt for Rose or even Sarah. Madeleine triggered reactions within his heart and body which were comparable only to those he had experienced with Sybil. But there was none of the reckless passion he had once known with his wife. His heart was now too cautious for inconsequential love. Broken by abandonment and loss, it could heal but never return to the same form. He was a different man, but by the same measure, Madeleine was not Sybil.
Tom took a heavy breath and forced his eyes open to gaze once more upon the photograph. "I will never stop loving you" he whispered, but as he did so his mother's words from the previous year echoed within his mind.
'I dare say there'll never be anyone quite like Sybil for you again, but that's not to say that you can't find a form of happiness in the future'.
During the previous few months, Tom had been aware of the change within him. He felt a brightness of spirit, an optimism for the future which had been absent since Sybil's death. To begin with he had convinced himself that time was beginning to slowly heal and that the warmer months always brought forth a sanguinity which was absent during the long, cold winter. Sybbie was growing up and as her speech evolved, he found himself further enjoying their conversations and longer excursions away from the Abbey. None of these issues were now inconsequential, but he understood that they were underlined by something more distinct – the possibility of a brighter future, a happiness similar to that he had unexpectedly lost.
Sybil's image stared back at him, her smile intact. There was no suggestion that she was passing judgement. Lightly he placed the tip of a finger beside her face and sighed. If their fates had been reversed, what would he have wanted for her? If he had been killed before he had a chance to flee from Ireland and Sybil had been saved by the surgeon's knife, what wish would he have expressed? Most likely she would have remained at Downton with their daughter for the same reasons he still found himself there, but would he expect her to remain alone? Painful as the idea was, he knew that he would want her to be happy, to share her life with somebody who respected and loved her in the same way. He was not a selfish man. The plight of one should not extend to others.
A wave of shame arose as he thought about Madeleine downstairs who had found the courage to extend an invitation which could not be misunderstood and must now surely be feeling the weight of rejection. He had encouraged her and the strength of his reaction had been unnecessarily cruel. He wouldn't blame her if she had now changed her mind entirely. Would she feel a lifetime of competition against a woman she would have no opportunity to overcome?
Tom rose to his feet and with trembling hands placed the photograph back on the table beside the bed.
'What do you think I should do, love?' he asked and thought of her sister's similar contemplation. There was no misunderstanding; he stood on the precipice of a decision which could not be reversed. This was not the time for half-hearted measures; a hint of possibility or request for more time. Madeleine deserved better.
A shuddering sigh escaped his lips and he raised his hands to cover his face. Seconds passed and the air around him hung heavy with the weight of contemplation. Then he stood tall and let his arms drop down beside him.
He had made his decision.
A/N2: I'll leave you to decide for yourselves what you think his decision should be!
*Avery Hill College in Eltham opened in 1906 and offered teacher training courses for women (it's now part of the University of Greenwich). Most applicants were from lower middle class families, there were very few upper middle class, or upper class women who taught in the 1920s. As applicants would generally be expected to have at least three years of secondary schooling behind them, someone home schooled like Madeleine would have to gain certain qualifications before being in a position to apply.