The clock is ticking – until the end of holidays, and until the end of this fanfic. I'm sorry once more for my tardiness, but I suppose that updates are better late than never. A huge thanks to all those who, eve n in my horrid neglect, have continued to review (*cough, cough * Davy *cough*) and to all of the new favourites and follows that appear in my inbox every morning :D
Sparki: I own nothing!
The stars shone in the velvet sky, alighting the night with their wonder. A wintry breeze, cold yet calm, blew its way, unhurriedly through the trees. It twirled across the grass, stroking each and every blade with its gentle fingers. The wind loved the winter.
Far below its tireless journey, the snow shone brightly beneath the moon's gaze – the purest of whites. It was maiden snow, the wind knew; yet to be sullied by the morning's murk. It was a sad thought, that such a perfect piece of winter wonder would be all but destroyed in mere hours. The wind gave a sigh.
Oh well. For those few, short hours, the world would remain a beautiful place. For what it was worth, the wind kissed the snow is passing.
Sybbie loved the snow. It was the best part about Christmas, she decided; much better than the presents, or the seemingly never-ending flow of food. No, it was the snow. And even though Christmas was still several weeks away, the white blanket that buried the grass, and tumbled slowly off the dark gravestones filled her with that same, unbridled joy.
Alone, the night was still. Every now and again, the breeze ruffled her dark hair. But Sybbie could not feel it. For her body had fallen asleep. Now, only her mind remained alert. Lying silently in the snow, the girl's still form was a single blotch of the flawless landscape. With shivering fingers, the little girl drew a circle in the white, wet dust. And then another.
"A magic circle," she whispered, smiling despite herself. She buried her finger beneath the cold, wincing only for a moment, before she was once again overtaken by numbness.
Would anyone miss her, she wondered? Would anyone notice that she was gone? A part of the girl hoped they would not. That way, she could spend the entire night alone, in the blissful, frozen silence. Closing her eyes, she sighed.
Through her darkness, she felt something brush her nose. Blinking, Sybbie glanced up, barely able to move her head. It had begun to snow. Taking a deep breath, the girl rolled onto her back. Wide-eyed, she gazed up into the blackness, now flecked with stars of white snow. She smiled as yet another flake landed upon her bluing slips. She parted her mouth, and felt the ice settle against her steaming tongue.
Come, Josephine, in my flying machine, going up, she goes, up, she goes…
The song, soft and eerie, ran through Sybbie's mind. As she lay alone, shivering in the snow, she tried to remember where she had heard those words. But the pain in her head stopped all logical thoughts. Closing her eyes, she settled back upon the ground. She watched in silence as the snowflakes fell. They were like tiny white stars against the dark night's sky. Sybbie smiled, her blue, blue lips cracking as she did.
"C-Come, Jose…phine, in my fl-flying m-machine…," she uttered, her voice shaking and broken.
God, if you really do care about me, then please… help me find her.
Thomas ran through the streets. He pushed past the people, never noticing their dirty looks of indignant grunts as he bumped them. One fellow even growled at him, "Slow down, yer fool!" But Thomas didn't hear; he just kept running.
The snow that collected in and flowed from the dirty gutters made the ground treacherously slippery. As he rounded the corner, Thomas' boots skidded across the damp cement. He gripped the nearby lamppost tightly, managing to hold himself steady. It was only then, standing still in the night's frozen air, that he noticed the biting pain in his side. He'd run non-stop from the inn, and now, his slowly ageing body groaned in protest. Pressing a hand to his waist, Thomas gazed miserably down the street. In the darkness, it looked so much longer; all the streets did. At night, the city just seemed to stretch on and on forever. Thomas hung his head in despair.
Oh God, she could be anywhere…
"She left a note," Mrs. Hughes had told him. "For little George. It said that she was going to London, to find her father, and that he mustn't try to follow her." Despite his building panic, Thomas gave a small smile. A snowflake landed upon his nose. Surprised by its sudden icy brush, he glanced up. Another landed on his collar, and another tangled itself within his dark lashes. Thomas blinked the snow away.
Once, Thomas had been lost in London. He'd been older than Sybbie; newly fourteen if he remembered correctly. Back then – so many years ago, it seemed – he'd been afraid of anything that moved. And almost everything in the city moved. If you walked them for too long, the streets would all too soon, become a twisted blur, Thomas as knew. As he stood, clutching the pole and waiting for the pain in his side to subside, he tried to force from his mind images of Sybbie lying dead in a gutter, or huddled alone, crying in an alleyway. Shaking his head, he pushed himself away from the pole, and stumbled across the cold pavement. When his fingers found the brick wall, he slumped against the hard surface. Thomas tugged at his tousled hair. Ebony locks fell in front of his eyes, but he couldn't care less.
"It's all my fault," he whispered, clutching himself. He wasn't there to look after her, like he'd promised he would be. He'd broken his promise, and now, Sybbie was gone. Gasping, Thomas turned his face to the dark sky, and as he did, he felt a tear run down his pale cheek.
"It's only a bit o' snow, my lad." Thomas spun around, wiping at his eyes. A woman stood quietly at his side. He stepped away, scowling at the intrusion. The old woman smiled up at his, her green eyes sparkling. "No need to cry about it." Thomas' frown deepened.
"I wasn't," he muttered, turning away. He brushed a hand over his eyes once again, and felt the tears on his fingers.
When a hand came to a rest upon his shoulder, Thomas started. He found the woman standing once more close to his body, her weathered hand gripping his coat. Thomas pulled away. "What do you want?" he snapped, brushing an angry hand down his arm. The woman was undeterred by his harsh tone. Slowly, she pointed a single finger at him. "What do you want?" Thomas narrowed his eyes.
"What do you mean?" he found himself venturing. The woman smiled.
"Even a blind man'd know that something weren't right," she tutted. Thomas looked at her doubtfully. The woman held his gaze, an expectant sheen in her eyes.
"I'm looking for a little girl," he told her finally. "Dark curly hair, and dark eyes – alone. Have you seen her?" Thomas knew that the chance this old woman had passed Sybbie was slim, but he couldn't stop himself from asking.
Even though he'd expected it, when the woman shook her head, Thomas felt something cold and sharp stab at his heart.
"No," she replied apologetically, "I 'aven't." Thomas lowered his gaze.
"But the good Lord 'as." Thomas' head shot up, and he fixed the woman with a questioning look. "What do you mean?" he asked, furrowing his brows. The old woman smiled, and turned away. Thomas watched, wide eyed, as she shuffled down the snowy street, and after a moment, disappeared into the night.
For a long while, Thomas stood by the brick wall, studying the place where the woman had stood, and turning over her words in his mind.
But the good Lord 'as…
"The cathedral," Thomas muttered. He stepped away from the wall. "She's at the cathedral."
Sprinting through the snow, Thomas knew that Sybbie could be anywhere. But Saint Peter's cathedral was one of the few places that he knew Sybbie knew. So, on he ran towards the church.
Please God, if you're there…
"Sybil?"
The girl closed her eyes. In her silence, the snowflakes continued to fall. Why do the snowflakes fall, she wondered? The footfalls, hurried and worried, sounded distant. Perhaps they wouldn't find her.
"Sybil?" The cry again, closer now. Eyes closed, Sybbie felt a body, tall and warm, fall beside her.
"Sybil! Oh, God, Sybil!"
It was Thomas.
It was Thomas.
He had come searching for her. With a shallow breath, she opened her eyes. Thomas gazed down at her, his eyes wide and frightened. He had such blue eyes; Sybbie had never noticed how very blue they were. Absently, she reached out a hand, reaching for those little pieces of summer sky. Without a word, Thomas captured her trembling hand in his own.
"I'm so cold," she whispered, gazing up at him. For a moment, she thought he might smile.
"That's because you're lying in the snow, you silly chook!" he huffed, exasperated. Stooping lower, he reached an arm beneath her, and in one, swift movement, lifted her small trembling body from the ground. Wet snow clung to her gown, but Sybbie barely noticed. Closing her eyes, she wrapped her arms around Thomas' neck. The lights of the cathedral threw flickering shapes upon the pair as they stood, hugging one another as the snow fell silently about them.
"I thought I'd lost you," Thomas whispered, as he hugged the little girl close.
"I t-though you were g-gone," Sybbie stuttered, her teeth chattering despite Thomas' warmth. "I thought… that I would n-never see you again." She clutched him, and promised herself that she would never let him go – never again, for as long as she lived.
"I'm sorry," Thomas uttered. "I'm so sorry." Slowly, he turned his face to the heavens, and smiled as the snowflakes kissed his face.
Thank you. Oh, thank you!
"Now…" Carefully, so as not to hurt her, Thomas shifted Sybbie's small form, so that he held her in the crook of one arm. He met her gaze, frowning seriously. "Do you think you can hang on for a ride?" In response, Sybbie lay her head against his shoulder, and nodded.
"Thomas?" she whispered.
"Yes?"
"Could we go and see Papa? P-Please?" Thomas smiled, and nodded.
"Yes." He gazed ahead. "But first, I think we should go and find Alfred and James." He shot the little girl a pointed glance. "They've been looking all over for you."
Sybbie nodded quietly, and let her eyes fall closed.
The three men sat in a warm, comfortable silence. The train journey back to Downton seemed to last an eternity, but none of them minded. Jimmy and Alfred sat together; Jimmy's blonde head resting upon the cool glass of the window, and Alfred leaning against the compartment's door, with his long legs stretched out across the floor. Both of them were asleep. Thomas smiled, and glanced down at the little girl, slumbering with her head upon his knee. Sybbie's eyes were closed, but they fluttered every now and again. Thomas couldn't help but wonder what she was dreaming about.
He'd telephoned Mrs. Hughes, and he could still hear the relief in her voice as he told her that Sybbie was safe. The men had decided amongst themselves that they would not tell Tom Branson of his daughter's late-night adventure, and had managed to convince a half-conscious Sybbie to do the same. The hospital visit had been short, but sweet; Tom and Sybbie had sat together, both of them wrapped in blankets, and sipping on steaming drinks. Thomas had listened as Sybbie spun a tale for her father of her terrible fall outside the hospital that had ended with her face-down in the snow. Thomas was silently impressed by the little girl's thinking, even in her half-frozen state.
"Are we there yet, Thomas?" Slowly, he shook his head.
"Not yet, Sybbie," he sighed. Gazing out the window, Thomas gave a great yawn. He frowned, but where she lay upon the seat, Sybbie giggled softly.
"Do you know something?" she whispered. Thomas looked down at her.
"What?" The girl smiled.
"That's the first time that you've ever called me Sybbie."
Reviews, please :D Constructive criticism, as always, is welcome – although, maybe don't worry so much about the blatant shutdowns… ;)
