"Cora, dear, isn't it about time the girls were settled?" the Dowager Countess arched an eyebrow at her daughter-in-law, wondering how this woman had managed to raise three daughters none of whom was yet married. Sure, Mary was engaged to Sir Richard, but as the delays mounted, Violet began to think Mary might be 50 before she finally walked down the aisle.
"Well Mary is engaged to Sir Richard, Mama."
"I'm not speaking of Mary, dear. What of Sybil? I find it very strange that she hasn't got a beau. Or Edith? They're not growing any younger."
"You have to admit that most of the suitable young men are now been buried in France."
"Then they must find suitable older men. A woman without a husband! Well, I ask you, what is the point?"
"I should hardly force either of them to marry someone the age of their father."
"As I recall, Cora, Edith was quite keen on Sir Anthony Strallan. A pity that didn't work out – I imagine she won't have many other ardent suitors."
"Mama! I will not speak of my daughters in such a way! Please."
"Suit yourself, dear, but it's time to face the facts. Whatever Edith's prospects, there's no accounting for why Sybil isn't settled."
Although she hated to admit it, Cora had been pondering these same questions herself lately. Edith, of course, would be harder to settle but Sybil – bright, vibrant, beautiful Sybil – should be a prize for any man. Yet, whenever Cora mentioned some young man who might come to Downton for a weekend, Sybil became evasive and entirely disinterested. Cora would have to speak with her again, to make her understand that a young woman of her position was expected to marry, and the sooner the better.
Robert entered the room then and Violet turned her attention to her son.
"Robert, dear, I was just saying to Cora that it's high time you get your daughters settled."
Robert raised his eyebrows in response. Typically these matters were best left to his wife, and he would just as soon beat a hasty retreat, but he could see that Cora looked a bit brow beaten by his mother and so he stood still, waiting for more.
"Why not have a hunt, Robert, now that the war is over?"
Was she out of her mind? Granted, the guns had been silent for over a month, but men were still being mustered out and certainly it would be rather soon for any returned man to contemplate firing a gun.
"Really, mama, you can be so insensitive! The war has only just ended. It would be entirely inappropriate to stage a hunt this year."
"I don't see why not. We must all return to living properly, and the sooner the better in my book."
Robert could feel the vein at his temple pulsing in anger. This time he did not hesitate but parted immediately, leaving Cora to continue sipping tea with her mother-in-law.
While Violet sat in the drawing room advocating for urgent action to settle her granddaughters for once and for all, Tom was hunched over his desk putting pen to paper to his own family regarding the status of his relationship with Lady Sybil Crawley. He and Sybil had agreed that he would write the initial letter and then, after he had received a response, and provided that the response was not that the pair of them would be unwelcome in the Branson family home, Sybil would include a letter of introduction with his reply to the reply. He had spent most of the day at this task when he heard a light knocking at his door. It was Anna, bearing a message from Lady Grantham, by way of Mrs. Hughes, that Sir Richard would be arriving on the train that evening. Her official duties dispatched, Anna turned to leave before pausing.
"How are you, Mr. Branson? Really?"
"I'll not lie, Anna, I had hoped Sybil and I would be married by now and starting life in Dublin. We have waited so long…" his voice trailed off and he looked down.
"I understand Lady Mary has her reasons for not wanting to give us away, but what of Lady Edith?"
"I couldn't say, Mr. Branson, other than Lady Sybil seems quite certain that your secret is safe with her."
"She is the one who gave away Lady Mary's secret, though, isn't she?"
Anna hesitated, uncertain how much of her mistresses' business she wanted to share. Yet, it was clear he knew most of the story already and he would technically be joining the family, though not with their approval, of course..
"I'm afraid she is. But, Mr. Branson, after so many years in this house, you should know that Lady Mary and Lady Edith rarely behave as sisters. I believe many of us have enemies who are kinder than those two often are with one another. I really can't say why Lady Sybil believes Lady Edith won't give you away, but she does. In fact, I believe Lady Edith has been a source of support for Lady Sybil since, well since her return to Downton."
"Thank you."
"Have you written your mother, Mr. Branson?" Anna knew from both Lady Sybil and Mr. Branson that this was a task he dreaded.
"I have worked at it all day and I just can't seem to put it right."
"Perhaps you're making it too complicated, then. Just tell her the simple facts. You'll have time enough to fill in the rest later."
He was struck then by how wise Anna always seemed. Was it possible that she was the single force that kept everyone in the house functioning on the level? All three of the sisters trusted her explicitly, as did Lady Grantham, Mrs. Hughes, Mr. Bates, and he believed even Mr. Carson. She had supported William through the death of his mother and his struggles with Thomas, she had traveled to London with Mrs. Patmore, she had kept his and Sybil's secret for many years – to say nothing of Lady Mary's, and she had ridden on the fateful trip to the Swan Inn. How had he overlooked that it was she who allowed all of them to live and work as they did? Dear God, he thought, if you are a fair and just God, please allow this woman a long and happy life as the second Mrs. Bates.
"Thank you, Anna."
She departed and, infused with the good sense and confidence Anna bestowed upon him, he set to his task again, completing his letter in one go.
Dear Mother,
Happy Christmas! The shops here are as empty as those in Dublin, but I hope to bring some scarce goods when I return to Ireland this spring. I am afraid that what follows will come as a bit of shock to you, but please believe me when I write that I have never been happier.
I will return home with Lady Sybil Crawley, youngest daughter of the Earl of Grantham for whom I have worked since I sailed for England many years ago. I love her unconditionally and am honored to report that my love is not unrequited. We plan to be married in Ireland as soon as the banns are read. During the war she worked as a nurse and would like to continue this work in Dublin.
I hope to obtain a position as a journalist before we sail, which we plan to do come spring. I hoped that she might live with you until our marriage. I will take a room near to the family home until such time as we are wed and can live together.
I am sure this news is a shock, but I hope we may both count on your love.
Your loving son.
Tom
The Dowager Countess's words nagged Cora throughout the evening hours and into the night. As she and Robert slipped into bed that evening, she couldn't help but suggest that perhaps his mother was right and it was up to them to take a more proactive role in seeing to their daughters' futures.
"But, Cora, we can't possible stage a hunt. And I don't see how we could arrange anything else. It's hardly the season the balls and it would appear such poor form."
"What about the servants' ball, Robert?"
"What about it?"
"Well, we've promised to hold one now that the war is over. Surely we could invite a few additional guests. It could mark a return to the old way of life."
He had agreed that the servants' ball would return now that the war had ended and it was also true that certainly no one would object to doing as his wife suggested. Reluctantly, he approved the plan; it was the least he could do, given his other decisions that winter regarding the Christmas holiday.
Throughout the war, Robert had done his utmost to uphold the traditions that had passed to him through the generations. A grand tree stood proudly in the main hall, fresh garlands wound their way up the stairs, and candles flickered gracefully in many a room. It had been but a small way to maintain a degree of normalcy throughout the grinding months of war. Now that the war had ended, however, so had the need for the pretense that some aspects of life could continue unchanged.
Now, for the first time in his life, Robert ordained that a tree would not rise and gifts would not be exchanged. Beyond the emotional reasons – that he was wrung out for the years of senseless loss and felt too adrift in the world to face the merriment of Christmas – there was a practical side. After a year of rationing, it would be nearly impossible to procure the gifts and trimmings that made Christmas what it was. He would rather celebrate not at all – or nearly so – than in the subdued manner that would have been necessary. So it was that Christmas 1918 was an understated and mild affair, capped by a simple but elegant dinner. Lady Rosamund and Sir Richard came by train from London, along with Lavinia's father, whom Isobel and Matthew knew, but the rest of the family met for the first time around the Christmas table.
As the meal wound down, Sybil excused herself with a headache. She made her way quietly to the garage, where Tom waited for her. The night was cold, but he felt certain she would come to him that night and, with Anna's assistance, he'd even succeeded earlier that day in making off with an extra portion of Christmas pudding so that they might share some small celebration in the quiet of the garage.
"Happy Christmas, Sybil," he beamed as she entered into the garage.
She did not hesitate but strode directly into his arms, wrapping her own about him as they shared a kiss.
He spun her around so that she could see the places he had set and she squealed with delight as she had upon learning that Gwen had got the job as a secretary. Having eaten more than usual at dinner so to distract herself from the conversation around her – something about a ball, perhaps, but it made no sense – she was not hungry, but dug in tidily to avoid disappointing him.
"I'm afraid I've not got any gift for you this year, Tom. I could find nothing in the shops."
"You may consider that you have agreed to become my wife gift enough for this Christmas, milady."
They talked into the night and then finally, as they heard the faraway toll of bells definitively proclaim the end to Christmas, she rose to leave. Taking his hands into hers she kissed him lightly on the cheek.
"Happy Christmas, Tom. And next year shall be even happier."
As he watched her leave he longed for the day they would be together openly and that he could her hand in his for all of the world to see.
Had Sybil not excused herself early that evening, she would have realized that the talk about a ball was in fact plans for the servants' ball, which included inviting any number of friends, not least most of the surviving younger male members of their set in the hopes that Edith and Sybil might yet make a match. Sybil did leave, though, so it was left to Edith to deliver the news before breakfast the next morning.
"Sybil, do you have a minute?" Edith asking, closing the door firmly behind her before Sybil had the opportunity to respond. Sybil nodded.
"Last night after dinner Papa announced we shall have the servant's ball again this year. It will be … different than in previous years. Mary has decided she will be in London that weekend and of course Cousin Matthew certainly won't be able to dance. I don't know about Lavinia. And, of course we don't have footmen like we used to."
Sybil sensed that Edith was nervous and this rambling was a way of accommodating her nerves.
"Why that's not so very different, Edith. Is that all?"
Edith looked at the floor, studying the pattern in the carpet.
"No, I'm afraid not. They've decided to invite a few, a few, gentlemen, Sybil, in the hopes that you and I might be settled sooner rather than later."
Sybil blanched and she felt her stomach turn.
"I wanted to tell you this morning before you had a chance to hear the news from anyone else."
"Thank you, Edith. Whatever shall I do?"
"I think, Sybil, that you should behave as though everything were perfectly normal. It's only dancing and it's not like you haven't danced with men before this. You can dance a few turns and perhaps beg off. Or, if mama insists that you stay, make light conversation with each one and no one will think anything of it."
Sybil felt that she might be physically ill, but she knew what Edith said was correct. Unless she was prepared to announce her engagement to Tom Branson before the ball, which she was not, there was nothing else to be done.
"Thank you, Edith."
"I just want to know, Sybil, why did you never tell me yourself? The way you told Mary?"
"I never told Mary. She happened upon us one afternoon and drew her own conclusions."
It was Edith's turn to blanche as she imagined what her younger sister might have been doing with the chauffeur to allow Mary to draw such conclusions. Sybil quickly realized this and laughed.
"It wasn't anything like you're imagining, Edith. We were only having an argument, which Mary recognized for what it was: a lover's quarrel. Not that we were lover's mind you," here she laughed again, "only two people very much in love who hadn't quite figured that out yet."
"I hope you'll be happy, Sybil. Your life will be, well it will be different, but I imagine you already know that."
Sybil nodded.
"Edith, will you do me one favor?"
Edith, so unused to be taken into confidence or asked by anyone to do a favor was eager to oblige.
"Would you tell Tom about the ball? I don't think I could bear to see his face when he learns I'm to dance with all these men."
Thus, Edith found herself in the garage on a late December afternoon. Branson was working on the engine when she entered and he slid out from under the car quickly hearing a woman's footfall.
"It's only me, Branson," Edith said, for although he tried to hide his disappointment, he did not entirely succeed.
"It's nice to see you, Lady Edith, how may I help you?"
She struggled with where to begin and cast her eyes about the garage for a place to sit. They fell on the small table where he'd arranged the Christmas pudding the night before and he gestured for her to sit.
"Branson, Sybil has asked me to speak with you."
His brow furrowed and she fretted that she was getting this wrong, this first favor her sister had trusted her to do, and she began to wring her hands.
"Is anything the matter with Lady Sybil?" he asked worriedly.
"No. And yes. Oh dear, I'm afraid I'm bungling this. Branson, I believe you know that we will hold the servant's ball again this year. It's to be in just a few weeks' time."
He nodded, suddenly feeling sorry for this awkward woman who had neither the cold dignity of her older sister, the warm grace of her younger one, or the beauty of either.
"You see, my parents have decided to change it this year. They've decided to invite … to invite several friends, several young men. They believe it's time Sybil and I were settled and, as the season won't be for many months yet, I believe they're hoping to hasten the process."
He was speechless, but rose from his seat and began pacing.
"I've spoken to Sybil and I think the best thing will be for her to go along with their plans. She's told me of your plan to sail in the spring, and I don't believe it will help either of you for her to create a scene now."
She waited for a response, but hearing none, she continued, her confidence growing.
"Branson, she's asked me to tell you because she couldn't bear to share the news herself."
Here he nodded, grateful at least that nothing was seriously wrong with Sybil. Of course, he would have preferred to hear the news from her, but he could understand how she would struggle to deliver it.
"Thank you, milady. Unfortunately, I believe you are correct. Of course I don't like at all, but I agree that for now the best course of action is to do nothing at all."
After a moment he continued, "May I ask you a question?"
"Certainly, Branson."
"I understand from Sybil that she had a bit of, uh, information about Lady Mary that she used to ensure her silence. But I don't understand why you have agreed to not give us away. I'm grateful, of course, but I've been wondering…"
She looked embarrassed and was silent for a moment before she responded.
"I had a mind to give her away as we drove to find you. But when I saw the way you looked at one another, I knew I'd never forgive myself if I ruined it."
She dropped her voice and spoke more quietly and more seriously.
"I have seen what it looks like to enter into a loveless marriage, that's Mary of course, fierce and irritable whenever Sir Richard is around, but now I see what it looks like to enter into one based on love. I should only hope that one day I shall be so fortunate as to follow your and Sybil's example."
He was surprised to feel a hard lump in his throat and was forced to swallow twice before he could trust himself to speak.
"Thank you, milady, truly. We're both very grateful and I hope that you shall be lucky when you marry, Lady Edith."
"If you're to be my brother-in-law, Branson, I believe it would quite alright if you called me Edith. Of course, you mightn't let others hear that."
He smiled that the levity had returned to her voice.
"In that case, perhaps you'll call me Tom."
Now it was her turn to smile, for she had always liked him and was pleased to feel that she had her own bond with him now.
"I should be leaving in a moment, Tom, but before I do, is there any message you wish me to carry back to Sybil?"
"Only that I am pleased she has such as sister as yourself to keep her counsel. She is – we both are – very lucky. It lightens my load to know that entire family might not forsake her."
"I don't believe I could do it myself, but if this is the life she wants, then I can but hope the two of you will be happy."
Edith rose from the table then, secure in the knowledge that she had accomplished her task better than even Sybil could have hoped.