The first weeks, before and while the banns were even read, had been the most difficult. Tom had begun work as a journalist immediately, leaving her alone with his family for the long hours between breakfast and dinner. Sybil spent her days searching for work as a nurse and learning the tasks that would be the backbone of her life as a middle class wife. Patiently, Mrs. Branson taught her to wield a needle and thread to darn socks and mend shirts, to turn vegetables into stew, to press linens and wash pots. Mrs. Branson had been stunned by Sybil's complete inability to perform even the simplest tasks, but she supposed the girl was a quick study and eager to please so she continued with her lessons while wondering how her son had managed to find such a wife. And the way she spoke of nursing! Mrs. Branson had tried, gently at first and then more firmly, to make her understand the extent to which the hospitals were run by the Church, but the girl simply would not listen, insisting on striking out more afternoons that not to seek employment.
During these weeks, Tom wrote endless copy on the constantly evolving situation in Ireland. In early 1919, the successful Sinn Fein candidates had refused to take their seats in Westminster and instead constituted a Parliament, the Dáil Éireann, in Dublin, which was in effect the beginning of the War for Independence. As he and Sybil were sailing for Ireland, the Dáil was appointing its ministers, including Éamon de Valera as President. Obviously, the newspaper had not hired him to report on boat races and women's fashions. If Sybil had not fully grasped the inherent dangers in the situation, his mother had and pleaded with him to be careful. She was no more eager to be faced with a bereaved aristocratic fiancée than she was to be faced with burying another child.
Tom had expected to have the banns read the first three Sundays they were in Dublin and to be married in the fourth week. It was not until he was back in Dublin proper that he realized this was no more possible than it was for them to wed in Ripon: Sybil was not Catholic and could not be married in the church. Furthermore, friends, family and now, colleagues, alike had expressed disdain that he would marry an English woman. He did not tell them that, technically at least, she still bore the title 'Lady.' Tom had no doubt that once they met her, they would warm to her, and wisely determined to delay the wedding until his circle might know her better. This delay also had the double advantage of allowing time for Tom to find a proper flat where they could live once they were married and for Robert to agree that Mary and Edith could travel to Ireland for the wedding.
The day neared, those of Tom's friends and family who were not won over completely by Sybil at least warmed to her nicely, and Robert agreed that Edith and Mary could travel together for the wedding, so long as they stayed no more than week in Dublin. So it was that Sybil's older sisters came to disembarking from an overnight ferry one fine, spring morning. Sybil waved an enthusiastic hello from her place on the docks as Mary and Edith descended the gangway. Edith offered a small wave in return while Mary nodded her acknowledgement. Tom had gone to no small trouble to arrange to greet the Crawley women rather than attend one of the political meetings that were his beat. He had been nervous about seeing them again, particularly Lady Mary, but he smiled warmly all the same.
"Good morning, Lady Edith, Lady Mary," Tom said kindly as Sybil hugged her sisters. "Did you have a nice journey?"
"Not especially, no, and it is dreadful to travel without one's maid," Mary responded coolly.
"Mary's in a bad temper this morning because she was rather green on the boat," Edith chimed in.
Tom hailed a cab and directed the driver to one of the finest hotels in the city. He stayed at the hotel long enough to see that Mary and Edith were properly settled into their rooms, and then took his leave of the women.
"Are there always so many soldiers, Sybil?" Edith asked as soon as Tom had left.
"I'm afraid so," Sybil said, then added, hastily, "but they won't bother you; you've nothing to fear."
"But they might bother you?" Mary questioned, before changing her mind.
"Really, Edith, must you ask so many questions? I should like nothing better than a bath and a rest and I can think of nothing else until I've done so," Mary spoke in her most imperious tone, ringing for the maid to draw a bath and, in doing so, dismissing her sisters.
"Shall we take a walk, Edith? The flowers are lovely right now."
Edith and Mary enjoyed the parks and gardens while Mary bathed, rested and, quite probably, sulked in their room.
"How are mama and papa?" Sybil asked.
"Papa is angry and mama is sad. They're as to be expected, really. Sybil, we hear every day that a real war is afoot in Ireland. Are you still quite certain about marrying Tom and living here?"
"Oh, Edith, must we have this conversation again? I am completely, completely certain. Papa did not agree for you to come only in the hopes you might yet change my mind, did he?"
Edith laughed. "No, I think if he'd felt there was any hope for that he might have come to do it himself. It's only all of the soldiers…I had no idea. But if you're certain, then we'll speak no more of it."
"How is Anna?" Sybil asked, "And Mr. Carson and the others?"
"Anna is scared, but she believes in Mr. Bates' innocence and believes the magistrates will judge him so. Mr. Carson is still rather in a state of shock, I believe, from recent events. With Lavinia dying, you and Tom leaving, and Mr. Bates arrested, to say nothing of his own scare with the flu, he's hardly had a chance to catch his breath. None of us has, really. But, Carson has hired Thomas to serve as footman again, so at least he's not got to polish the silver himself anymore! Mrs. Hughes sends her love. It's odd, really, but she never seemed especially surprised that you left Downton. Do you suppose she knew about you and Bran, I mean, you and Tom?"
"I couldn't say," Sybil lied, falling back on her old reflex of hiding all aspects of her relationship from all parties.
"Do you like life in Dublin, Sybil?"
"I do, quite. It's very different to live in a city than to live in the country. Perhaps it's no different from the seasons we spent in London, although I'm afraid I don't have strong memories of what life was like then. And, of course, it's very different not to have maids and butlers and the like. I'm learning to do all sorts of things for myself now, Edith, simple tasks like mending clothes and pressing them, scrubbing out pots and making stews…" she laughed.
"I must sound rather like a bore, but I am enjoying these things. I still hope to find a position as a nurse, of course, but until I do I think it's well to learn these things. I want to be a proper wife."
She paused after this last statement and blushed, afraid that perhaps her sister would be insulted. After all, she had just implied that any woman who could not replace a button or do the washing was not a proper wife. Edith simply nodded, however, taking in the changes in her sister, the confidence and purpose, the sense of fulfillment that hung about her, and wondered how her life might have been different had she, too, become a nurse in the throes of the great war.
Several days later, Lady Sybil Crawley finally became Mrs. Tom Branson and sealed it with a kiss before the small audience of Tom's mother and siblings and her own sisters. She regretted that her parents were unable to witness this happy occasion and said a small prayer for them that they might all be reconciled once more. Her hand shook as she signed the register, inking the name Sybil Branson for the first time. Mrs. Branson had labored over a small but beautiful cake, begging ration coupons from virtually every person of her acquaintance to buy the eggs, sugar, cream, and flour that she needed. Eating this cake, Tom could not help but think of the cake Sybil baked on the eve of her departure for York and wondered if she, too, was remembering how she snuck him a slice on one of her mother's fine china plates. They drank punch and real coffee with the cake sitting in the small but cozy Branson family parlor. Following cake, Tom and Sybil would see Mary and Edith onto their boat for the evening crossing to Liverpool before enjoying a meal in one of Dublin's restaurants and retiring, together, to their new home.
"Give my love to mama and papa," Sybil requested as the sisters parted and Tom saw to their trunks.
"Good bye, Sybil. Good bye, Tom," Edith responded.
"Take care of her, Branson. Don't let her get her fool self killed in this Irish war," Mary instructed as they left, before adding to Sybil, "I hope you'll be happy, Sybil. I can't possibly see how, of course, but I hope you will."
Despite Mary's comments, Tom and Sybil enjoyed themselves mightily at dinner, with Sybil even trying her first mug of real, Irish ale. She made a face as she took a sip and Tom laughed heartily. Although he had planned a meal free from conversation about her family, noticing a faraway look in her eyes part-way through dinner, Tom couldn't help but ask, "Are you thinking about your family, Sybil?"
"I am, yes. Mostly I am thinking about Mary, though. She seemed so unhappy."
Lady Mary had never seemed to Tom happy by any definition. Although he and Sybil had shared many criticisms of her oldest sister throughout the years, he did not want to begin his marriage criticizing his sister-in-law. Sybil continued.
"Edith told me Mary has been wearing full mourning clothes. Edith couldn't understand how Mary could be mourning so deeply for Lavinia, but on the crossing from England, Mary told her it was a way of postponing her marriage to Sir Richard. She told him it would be inappropriate to marry while in mourning! Can you believe it?"
"I think I could believe almost anything you told me about Lady Mary," Tom said quietly.
Sybil laughed.
"She's managed to delay the wedding at least until the fall. Edith doesn't believe she'll ever truly go through with it."
"Would it really be so terrible if she broke with him? I understand the scandal, but is it really better for her to marry a snake like Sir Richard?"
Even Tom was surprised by what he had said, but Sybil just shrugged.
"She wants a position, Tom. You can't understand and I can't explain, but that's what she wants. She won't have one any other way."
"Sounds like a deal with the devil to me."
Tom could not help but wonder then how two sisters could be so utterly different from one another. Sybil simply nodded her agreement though and the rest of meal passed without any mention of the Crawleys.
Finishing dinner, Tom led her to the flat he rented and where her things had been brought earlier that day. As they walked, hand-in-hand, toward their new life he had to remind himself more than once that she was finally, truly his. He worried once what she would think of their new home, but when he turned the knob to reveal a warm and cheerful parlor and tidy kitchen just beyond, her joy was immediate. In the weeks since he moved into these rooms, he had taken pains to make them into a home, hanging pictures, stacking quilts, and, early this morning, even adding flowers, to them. Over the mantle hung a picture of Downton Abbey, in homage to her home and the place that led him to her. He had gone to no small trouble, photographing it himself and having the film developed and the image framed in the weeks since they'd arrived in Dublin.
"Tom, it's wonderful!"
"Do you really like it, Sybil?"
"Yes, of course. And the picture of Downton! It's beautiful! Wherever did you find it?"
"I took it myself. A reminder of home, for you, and of the place that brought us together, for me."
Sybil was moved beyond words at this gesture and would have stood frozen before the fireplace had Tom not redirected her attention to a small bookshelf in one corner. Glancing over the titles she realized he had brought all of his books, of course, but also purchased some that he knew to be her favorites from her father's library. Incredibly the emotion that rose within her at that moment was anger – anger toward her father who could not see that Sybil could search the earth and never find a man who would care for her more than Tom Branson. Quickly, however, the anger ebbed and gave way to unbridled joy. She squeezed his hand tightly in hers and reached up to kiss him in happiness and thanks.
After she had thoroughly delighted in the parlor, he gave her a cursory tour of the kitchen. Here, Sybil's first thought was to wonder if Tom knew how to use all of the various utensils she found there, for she certainly hadn't yet moved beyond a single knife for chopping and peeling and a large spoon for stirring.
He led her down a short hallway with one door on either side. Behind one was the bedroom and behind the other was that most rare and precious commodity for a Dublin flat: a bathroom. It was cramped and small, of course, with a tiny sink, toilet, and narrow tub, but it was theirs and theirs alone. The single little room meant rent that was double what they could have paid in a comparable apartment without a bathroom, but Tom had determined that sharing a bathroom with unknown neighbors was one sacrifice, and perhaps the only sacrifice, that he was not prepared to ask of his Sybil. As he watched her eyes widen and her hands clap together, he knew he had made the correct decision.
"Would you like to prepare for bed, Sybil?" Tom asked quietly.
She nodded a bit hesitantly.
"Mary pinned my hair for me this morning and the dress I wore for our wedding has more hooks than I know is practical. Can you help me with these?"
Other than keeping secrets and counseling on matters of the heart, Tom had never fully grasped Anna's role as a ladies' maid. He realized now that there was a very practical side to her job, at least so long as women continued to insist on such impractical attire.
"Certainly, milady, just tell me what to do," he jested.
She laughed, her nervousness dissipating, as she instructed him how to find and remove the pins from her hair and unhook the buttons along her spine. He fumbled initially, amazed at the weight of metal he removed from her hair.
"It's rather astounding that you can hold you head up with all these pins fastened into your hair!"
"It's not so bad when it's only pinned for dinner, but for an entire day, it does begin to feel very heavy."
After assisting her as requested, he turned his attention to his own attire, removing and carefully folding his garments that they might remain presentable one day more before Sybil would need to press them. He joined her in the bed then, whispering quietly, "I have waited six years for this," before he kissed her.
She awoke the next morning tucked snuggly against him, his arms holding her tightly to his side and his breath warm upon her neck. She stirred and he spoke as quietly as possible.
"Are you awake?"
She nodded, then rolled over so that she could face him.
"I have a surprise, milady. I thought you might like to see other cities in Ireland, so I've arranged a few days' journey for us."
"You mean a honeymoon, Tom? A proper honeymoon?"
"Yes, I suppose so."
"But how will we afford it?"
Now it was his turn to laugh.
"Compared to your father, we may be poor, Sybil, but we're really very middle class, especially by Irish standards."
"But how? I haven't even found a job as a nurse?"
"Sybil, I want you to work as a nurse because it is something you love. But it's not necessary in order for us to live. I make enough at the paper and, besides, I always told you that your father was a very fair employer, and he was. After years' in his employ, I certainly managed to save a tidy sum."
She felt foolish now, for it should have been obvious to her that they were not truly poor, particularly when he revealed that their flat included a private bath. She realized then how very much she had to learn still.
"Will you teach me about expenses, Tom?"
It was an unusual request from a woman. He knew from his years at Downton that Robert alone understood and controlled the finances of the great estate, but Tom should have expected nothing less.
"Women's rights begins at home, I suppose," he said cheerily, remembering some of the first words he'd ever heard the woman who was now his wife utter.
"Yes, yes, it does," she responded, leaning into him with a kiss.