Chapter Two
1912
Sybil Crawley had flourished into a beautiful, talented and compassionate young woman. She took less notice of the social divide than her sisters, much to her grandmother's dismay, making very good friends of Mrs Hughes (the Housekeeper), Anna (the Head Housemaid and the unofficial Lady's Maid of the three girls) and Daisy (the Kitchen Maid and the only member of staff of her own age). She also talked a lot with William (the Second Footman), who had a brilliant sense of humour, when not under the close scrutiny of the butler, Mr Carson or the First Footman, Thomas, who she thought had a face like a back-handed behind when he wasn't plotting with her mother's Lady's Maid, Miss O'Brien, who shared his likeness for causing misery within other's lives.
She never now thought of the strange man who had appeared in the corridor on Christmas Eve night, nor of the promise he made to return. It was only when she returned to her bedroom after a day's riding that she even remembered that he existed.
When she entered the room, she was shocked to see a man in a ragged suit staring out of her window. She picked up a vase from her desk and hit the man over the head with it, shards of patterned ceramic flying in all directions. He fell to the floor, unconcious and she took a few silk scarves from her chest of drawers and used them to tie the strange man to her bedpost.
A couple of hours had passed when the strange man awoke to find himself tied up in what looked to be a woman's bedroom. And there was the woman.
"Where am I?" asked the strange man.
"Downton Abbey."
"I know that...where in Downton Abbey?"
"It's not important. I've summoned the police. They'll be here momentarily. You are breaking and entering, which is, as I am certain that you are aware, a criminal offence."
"Yeah. I was looking for a girl. Small girl, brown hair. Sybil."
The woman turned in shock to look the man right in the eye.
"Sybil Crawley?"
"Yes. What happened to her? Is she alright?"
"Sybil Crawley hasn't lived here in a lengthy amount of time."
"How long?"
"Six months."
The man laughed, an equal balance of amusement and disbelief.
"Noooooooooooooo, no. I can't be six months late, I said five minutes."
The conversation went on and on until the young woman finally decided to liberate the madman. It was only when passing a piece of architecture that the man realised her deception.
"Hang on, this piece was new here last time I came. But it's old now. At least ten...no, twelve years old. I'm not six months late, I'm twelve years late. Why did you say six months?"
"We have to go."
"Why did you say six months?"
"Come on."
"No, I don't understand. Why did you say six months?"
"WELL WHY DID YOU SAY FIVE MINUTES?" screamed the girl, whipping round to face him.
"You?" gaped the Doctor.
"Yes, it's me. I'm Sybil Crawley and you're late."
It was a shaky start to a beautiful friendship.