Before Robert suspended it during the war, the servants' ball was usually held in the opening weeks of each new year. This year, however, Cora had determined to push it back by almost a month, well into February, to allow more time to prepare. She knew her plan was unconventional – after all, there would be no one to serve the punch to her guests – but also that war had changed people and circumstances enough that, at least this year, such an unusual invitation would be not only permissible, but welcomed. She had calculated correctly and was delighted that nearly every young man, and many of the women, that she invited accepted.
During these weeks and was Cora busied herself with the preparations for the ball, Mary's anger toward Sybil dissipated. Mary was still displeased that Sybil would break up the family, but as her own unhappy march toward matrimony pressed steadily onward, she found it increasingly difficult to be angry with Sybil for fighting to marry the man she loved. How her own life might be different today, Mary thought more than once, if she was possessed of similar strength of character and single-mindedness. She could not entirely forgive Sybil's little speech as they drove home from the Swan Inn, but she began to appreciate it for what it was: a desperate act from a woman on the verge of being denied her true love. No, Mary did not agree with Sybil's actions, but alone with her thoughts in the quiet of the night, she grudgingly admitted they were admirable.
Seeing Sybil returning to the house one afternoon – undoubtedly she had slipped out to steal an hour or two with Branson, Mary thought – the older sister fairly cornered the younger one.
"Sybil, might I have a word?"
It was phrased as a question, but Sybil understood a command when she heard one.
"I thought perhaps we might take a walk on the grounds. Will you join me?"
Another command. Sybil cast about as though for someone, anyone to save her from whatever her sister might have in store, then reluctantly fell in with Mary.
"You don't need to look so scared. We've argued long enough. I thought perhaps we should be friends again."
Sybil would have like to point out that she had no argument with anyone, that it was they who were arrayed against her, but she knew the harshness of the words she had spoken and so accepted this olive branch graciously.
"Thank you, truly."
"I don't agree with what you're doing and I can still hope that you'll change your mind. But as you're stubborn and unlikely to do so, I thought I should call a truce."
Sybil beamed. "Thank you, Mary. You're right, I am going to marry Tom. And I am sorry for what I said to you. I don't really believe…"
"It's not important and I suppose you were quite right to say it. I would have given you away that night, of course."
They walked silently through the mists, side-by-side but a world away from one another. Each woman's mind swirled with thoughts of their futures and the very different lives they would soon lead.
"I would like you to promise me one thing though. I know I haven't got much right to ask, but before you tell our parents I would like you to tell me first. So that I'll know and I'll be ready."
"I will, Mary, you and Edith both."
"I'm curious Sybil, you had Mr. Pamuk's story to hold me at bay, but what of Edith. Why won't she give you away?"
Sybil shrugged, but Mary bore into her with a look that suggested the topic would not die.
"She doesn't want both of her sisters to end with loveless marriages," Sybil said quietly, afraid of torpedoing the truce before it had lasted five minutes.
Instead of becoming angry, Mary laughed.
"Well she needn't fret about that. Sir Richard and I have plenty of love. Love of money, love of power, love of position. Our union will be far from loveless."
Peals of bitter laughter filled the air.
"But you don't love him," Sybil responded, quietly.
"No, I suppose I don't. But then I can't afford to wait for a man I might love. I've grown old during the war, my story is out there and, face it, Sybil, the one man I've ever truly loved is soon to wed another."
With these last words, Mary's calm bearing melted away and she began to sob, quietly at first and then as a wounded animal might, and as Sybil had on the night she had been taken from the Swan Inn. At first Sybil was too shocked to move, but as she regained her senses she moved toward Mary and drew her into her arms as their mother had done for them when they were small. She longed to offer words of comfort, but nothing came to her and, even had anything come, Sybil knew it would be inadequate to hold the waves of sorrow at bay.
Finally, after many minutes had passed, Mary drew a deep breath, withdrew a handerkerchief, and recomposed herself.
"Let's speak of me no further, darling. Let's speak of you instead, and of what you will do at the ball Mama has planned to reintroduce you to society. I trust you'll not show up with Branson on your arm."
Sybil chewed her lip nervously. "Of course I'll not show up with Branson, with Tom, on my arm, but the truth is that I haven't quite decided what to do. I'll not be running off to London, though; she wouldn't like that."
"She doesn't like that I'm running off to London either, but as I'm already engaged and the whole point is to settle you and Edith, she couldn't put up too great a fight."
"Edith thinks I should go and behave normally. Dance a few turns and then excuse myself."
"Mama will never allow that, but she could hardly object if you danced with Mr. Carson, or even Thomas. Mind that you don't dance all night with Branson, of course, or your secret will be all over London almost before the guests have even left."
"I don't expect it will be a secret too much longer."
"No, I suppose not." Mary sighed. "And will Brans, will Tom, attend the ball that is to serve as his fiancée's reintroduction to the remaining eligible men of the aristocracy?"
"It's not quite settled, but I believe so, yes."
In fact, it was very settled, but only as of yesterday morning. After listening to her fret about the blasted ball for the better part of two weeks – perhaps she could take ill or he could take ill, or, or, or – Tom had finally decreed that they would both attend.
"Short of needing a hospital, your mother will not see you miss her ball, Sybil. You will attend and so will I."
She had tried to argue then, how she didn't want to dance with other men, or how difficult it would be for him to watch her dance with one man after another who had designs on her future.
"It won't be any harder than the years I spent not knowing who you were dancing with, wondering if you might return one weekend engaged, or wondering how I would face the morning with any hope that you loved me gone, I can tell you that."
Sybil could raise no argument to that.
As the ball drew closer, Cora became increasingly agitated that everything should be just so. Among her various decisions was that Edith and Sybil were to have new frocks. There should be nothing too elaborate, of course, and she would oversee their attire herself this time; there would be no repeat of the harem pants fiasco. This decision made, she organized a trip into town for following morning. The fabrics in the shop were rather limited, but the dressmaker did have a few new patterns and had even begun to dabble in the ready-to-wear styles that were emerging on the continent. In fact, while she had nothing at hand for Edith did have two frocks that fit Sybil perfectly and in the half-mourning colors Cora preferred for that first ball.
Sybil tried them both, repeatedly, but the women could not decide between them. There was a day, Sybil thought, when her mother would simply have purchased both frocks, and in fact she was somewhat surprised that she didn't. Perhaps she still felt the need for wartime restraint, or maybe it was the simple fact Cora hoped society women would be in full color by the time of the next proper season. Sybil professed to like both dresses, Edith preferred the first, and Cora the second. After she had tried each of them for a third time, Edith spoke.
"Perhaps we need a man's opinion. It's too bad we don't have a man to say which he prefers."
To the surprise of both sisters, their mother seized on this.
"Why Edith, you're absolutely correct! Fetch Branson and tell him he's needed to once to offer his opinion on which frock Lady Sybil will wear for the servant's ball."
Had she not been so relieved to have a solution, any solution, to the interminable fittings, Cora might have seen the look her daughters exchanged. She did not, however, and a moment later Branson appeared with Edith. She had told him hurriedly that he was to select Sybil's frock for the ball and seeing his eyes widen and a grin spread across his face, Edith said, "I see I was right to tell you the circumstances outside the shop. You'll give yourself away if you enter with a grin like that!"
It was with his most serious expression that he entered the shop and in an even voice that conveyed none of the emotions churning inside him intoned, "Lady Edith said my opinion is needed on a frock, your ladyship. I'm not much with frocks, of course."
"It's quite simple, Branson. Lady Sybil will try first one and then the other. After you've seen both, you're simply to say which you prefer."
He found it very odd that the three women – and the dressmaker who stood to one side – needed him in order to accomplish this simple task. But, his newspaper long since read and the opportunity at hand to publicly assess the normally off-limits Sybil in public, he readily accepted.
Sybil happily modeled both frocks for him and he restrained himself from commenting that they were remarkably similar and that it couldn't possibly matter which one they selected. The dresses fitted her beautifully, another fact that he kept to himself.
"Your ladyship, I prefer the first one," he said, directing him comments to Cora. He did not trust himself to speak to Sybil without giving them both away and Lady Grantham was the next logical choice.
Edith was delighted that he liked the same frock she had preferred and as the three women climbed into the car for the ride back to Downton she hesitated.
Once she was certain her mother would not scold her for dawdling she said quietly, "I preferred that one as well, Tom," then quickly took her place in the car.
He winked at her and smiled, again pleased that Sybil was not entirely alone as she prepared to marry him.
The day before the ball Mary left for London.
"I'm counting on a full report when I return, Sybil," she said rather sternly.
"I'm sorry you'll not be here, Mary."
"In a way, so am I, but this is better."
It was better Sybil knew, in no small part because Matthew and Lavinia had announced only days earlier that they would attend. Matthew could not dance, of course, but the future Earl and Countess would be on hand to enliven the atmosphere and converse with the staff at the home that would one day be theirs.
Sybil rarely asked Anna to help her dress or style her hair these days, but as the hours ticked by and her hands grew increasingly unsteady, she asked if Anna might assist her.
"Milady, you're nervous!"
"I am, Anna, and I really must settle down. I won't even be able to walk down the stairs!"
"You've nothing to worry about. Remember, you can always join Mr. Bates and me in conversation if you need a few moments' escape."
Sybil knew that Anna would not dance much, not with Mr. Bates's condition, but it was a relief to know that the two of them would be there with a smile and a word of encouragement for her. Edith had made a similar offer, although Sybil hoped her sister would be spend the evening in conversation with their suitors. Poor Edith, Sybil thought. First her older sister created a scandal with Mr. Pamuk and now her younger sister would create an even larger one by running off with the chauffeur. Mr. Pamuk had been a foreigner and what happened was, well, scandalous, but at least he had been a wealthy and dashing diplomat and not an Irish servant.
As Anna smoothed the last of Sybil's hair into place, Edith knocked at the door.
"It's time to go downstairs. Are you ready, Sybil?"
She wasn't, but she also had no choice. Reluctantly she left her room and joined the receiving line. As a concession to the fact that this was the servants' ball, each servant passed through the line first, shaking hands or exchanging a few kind words with members of the family, followed by the guests. Such an arrangement had the effect of appearing to offer first respects to the staff, while actually dispensing with that duty first and allowing plenty of time for the guests to linger and exchange more than simple pleasantries with their hosts.
Finally the ball opened and Cora whirled by with Mr. Carson while Robert led Mrs. Hughes in a more demure turn about the floor. Immediately, Sybil was deluged with requests by the young men who had traveled to Downton principally to court her. Sure, one or two of them might consider a spin across the floor with Edith – she was the daughter of a grand family and would be settled with a fair dowry, no doubt – but Lady Sybil was the prize. With great presence of mind, she would allow no man more than one turn on her dance card, carefully alternating between the sons of the aristocracy and the servants.
"I didn't expect to dance with you, Nurse Crawley, and certainly not twice" Thomas had said, truly surprised when she approached him for a second time that evening. She was a fine nurse and he had grown to appreciate, if not entirely like, her during their years working under Dr. Clarkson.
"It's my honor, Sergeant Barrow," she laughed, before dancing off.
Thomas wasn't the only one surprised and soon it was her mother who had her ear.
"Sybil, darling, I fear you're being terribly rude to our guests. Please, dear, let's not dance anymore with the servants this evening and dance instead with the other young men."
Sybil did as she was instructed, dancing now with the men her mother invited. To each one she told the same story: she had been a nurse during the war, she loved her work, and she planned to continue even now that the war had ended. Working as a nurse had been acceptable – just – while the war was on, but certainly no well-bred man could contemplate a wife who worked now that peace reigned. Slowly they began to distance themselves from her, whispering amongst themselves at Lady Sybil's strange ideas.
Sybil was speaking with Anna and Mr. Bates when her mother approached, anger etched into her face.
"Lady Sybil! One of these young men just approached me to ask if it was true that you intend to continue working as a nurse even after the war is over! I assured him there's no truth to that, but whatever would possess you to say such a thing?"
Sybil raised her chin and met her mother's gaze. "It is true, mama, I do intend to work as a nurse."
Daisy and Mr. Carson had finished a dance and stilled to watch the unfolding scene, as did Mrs. Hughes and Tom.
"I will not entertain this conversation, Sybil, I simply won't."
"Well. I intend to work as a nurse and I will."
The music ended as Sybil spoke these last words and while they were quiet enough that the guests at the far side of the hall did not hear, most everyone else did. A hush descended over the hall.
The music started again quickly and, few options at hand, Sybil requested Mr. Carson share the dance with her. His expression was only slightly less angry than her mother's, but she would not be cowed into silence. While once she had hoped to retreat early, now she intended to be the last one on her feet. She could feel two dozen pairs of eyes upon her and Mr. Carson, but she danced now as though she were in the midst of the finest Mayfair ballroom. Slowly others followed her lead, the floor filling again with dancers, including Anna and Tom. Eager to no longer be the focal point for the entire room, Mr. Carson tapped the chauffeur's shoulder and asked if he might cut in. As Mr. Carson and Anna waltzed toward the opposite side of the room and Tom led her toward the other, Sybil felt a lightness she had not known in many months. She wished the music would continue forever, but it could not.
"Thank you, milady," Tom said with a bow, lightly kissing the back of her hand as they parted.
At that moment she would have liked nothing better than wrap her arms about his neck and kiss him before the entire assemblage. 'At least Lady Mary's scandal had been committed privately,' she could hear the guests saying as they left. The sound of these imaginary voices filled her head and she laughed, not caring who heard her delight.