So I guess I lied about all the chapters remaining being about both S/T and M/M. Originally, this was going to be the opening scene of the final chapter, which does deal with both, but then the scene kept getting longer and longer and eventually grew into its own chapter and it's all Tom and Sybil.
The chapter is dedicated to history lady 24 and anyone else for whom Tom being able to play the piano is headcanon. I concede that Tom knowing by heart the songs he plays here is probably unrealistic, but I've taken artistic license as they are personal favorites.
Also, I'm having Sybil call Martha grandma, rather than grandmamma, which seems too old fashioned. I don't know if Brits use the term grandma, but Martha, I believe, would have chosen what her grandchildren called her. (By the way, I have nothing against Violet, I just love Martha-or the idea of her that emerged from the little we actually saw on the show.)
After this chapter comes the big fancy ball!
Tom
It was something akin to refuge that Tom was seeking when he walked into the parlor and found the piano. A Steinway grand, much nicer, of course, than the small upright in his mother's sitting room, where their neighbor Mrs. McMullen had sat with him for so many afternoons when he was growing up. He hadn't played in years, but he sat at the bench now thinking that of all the fine things inside this fairy palace—for that's what Downton Abbey felt like to him—this was the first that seemed welcoming. He would go as far as to say it offered a measure of comfort.
Not that Tom had endured anything too terrible at the hands of the Crawleys so far. Sybil's parents, Robert and Cora, had expressed concern about how fast things seemed to be moving, but they were kind for the most part, even if it was clear that their nerves were a bit frayed. That wasn't Tom's fault. The truth was that Robert and Cora had been ambushed. Independently of one another, all three Crawley daughters had decided to introduce their special someones to their parents on the same whirlwind weekend, during which the couple also happened to be hosting a 300-person fancy dress ball.
Each daughter's beau got his own separate audience. Last night, Robert and Cora, and their respective mothers, Violet Crawley and Martha Levinson, the latter visiting Downton from New York, had dined with Edith and Michael Gregson—an about-to-be-divorced newspaper titan of significant wealth and even more significant notoriety. Today, the foursome had devoted luncheon to Mary and Matthew and dinner to Sybil and Tom. Tom would have preferred not to be the last, though Sybil considered that an advantage. They'd have exhausted themselves of questions by then, she insisted, and would be so worried about the upcoming ball that they'd go easy on him.
He didn't see it that way. Gregson, for all his scandal, was among the most prominent and wealthy men in London. Matthew was not rich by any means, but he was the son of an upper middle class English family and a lawyer—something Robert would admire in him, given that he was of the same profession. There was also the matter of his name. Violet believed it was a clue as to an aristocratic forebear. ("Likely a younger son, not an heir, unfortunately for you, dear.") Tom, by contrast, was the son of an Irish car mechanic and his homemaker wife, and worked for a regional travel magazine. He'd have preferred to meet the family before they'd been shown two better résumés and family histories to compare his to.
Now that dinner was over, though, he could admit that Sybil had been at least partly right. The conversation had gone fairly smoothly and for the most part had been about the upcoming ball. Still, there were moments that put him squarely under the microscope. The low point was probably the first of these, when Violet, inquiring as to his lineage during the opening course, asked if his family name was likely to be found in any of "the usual registries."
The question caused Sybil to roll her eyes, "Really, granny!"
"It's just a question."
"Mum, the only lists my ancestors are likely to be on are any containing the names of fugitive Irish rebels."
This made Sybil and Martha laugh and let Tom know he had more than one ally at the table.
There was also talk about the book. To his favor, Cora and Martha were big fans of it. Robert, who admitted to never reading novels, didn't have much to say. Violet, a traditionalist of the highest order, considered it a bit too anti-establishment.
"You're a fine writer, Tom, but I couldn't help but empathize with the poor girl's parents," she said, "and I am astute enough to deduce that that was not where you were hoping the readers' sympathies would end up." She'd been looking down her nose at him as she spoke, but the expression on her face was not an unkind one.
He smiled back and responded, "No, I'm afraid it wasn't."
Once dinner was done, everyone moved to the drawing room for drinks, and it was from there that he had escaped. He'd been gone only a few minutes, but he knew he should return soon lest Sybil start to think he had gotten lost (again). Instead of getting up though, he put his right hand on the keys and played the first notes of Beethoven's Für Elise, the very first piece he'd learned to play. Only a couple of measures in, he withdrew his hand quickly, hearing footsteps approach from behind. It was Martha. He moved to stand, but she lifted up her cane and pointed him back down to the bench.
"No, no, no. That thing hasn't been so much as dusted off in years. Someone should make sure it still works." Having made it across the room, she motioned for him to slide over and sat down next to him. She narrowed her eyes at him and then smiled, putting him at ease.
"I like you, kid, and I'm here to tell you, don't worry about Robert and Violet. They act like your regular high and proper aristocrats, but once you get to know them, inside, they're a jar of puddin'."
It was easy for Tom to see why she was Sybil's favorite.
Martha pointed to the piano. "Case in point. I bought this thing when Mary was six years old, so the girls could learn how to play, but none of them had the discipline. And Robert and Cora couldn't be bothered with making them stick with it. Edith did the longest, but even she only took lessons for three years. You?"
"Four days a week between the ages of 6 and 18, whether I wanted to or not."
Martha leaned in and whispered, "Your parents are made of stronger stuff."
Tom smiled widely. His first real smile in the presence of someone other than Sybil since he'd arrived there. He turned to look at the piano and put both hands on the keys.
"I really liked it at first, but I started losing interest around 13, so to convince me to stick with it, my Da told me it would help with the ladies."
"Smart man," Martha said. "Now, let's see what you got."
"I'm afraid that for all the practice, I'm not much of a player."
"I'll be the judge of that."
"Do you have a request?"
"Oh, whatever you like. I doubt you'll know anything fro my era."
Tom smiled, feeling emboldened by her encouragement. "Try me."
"Moxie! I like it. OK, handsome, how about As Time Goes By."
Smirk firmly planted on his face, never taking his eyes off of Martha, Tom began playing the classic song.
Her eyes widened. "Oh, well, well!"
He stopped with a laugh. "It's my Mam's favorite."
"Your people are clearly my kind of people, kid," she said. After a beat, she cleared her throat, then said, "From the top."
He looked back to the keys and started playing the song again, only to turn back to Martha in surprise—though never missing a note—when she started singing.
You must remember this
A kiss is just a kiss, a sigh is just a sigh.
The fundamental things apply
As time goes by.
And when two lovers woo
They still say, "I love you."
On that you can rely
No matter what the future brings
As time goes by.
Moonlight and love songs
Never out of date.
Hearts full of passion
Jealousy and hate.
Woman needs man
And man must have his mate
That no one can deny.
It's still the same old story
A fight for love and glory
A case of do or die.
The world will always welcome lovers
As time goes by.
Oh yes, the world will always welcome lovers
As time goes by.
When they finished the song, both Tom and Martha were surprised to hear enthusiastic clapping behind them. Without their noticing Sybil, Cora and Robert had stepped into the parlor, lured by the music, and had sat down without their entertainers' knowledge.
"You know, Martha," Robert said. "I believe the last time I heard you sing may have been in the last century."
"Well, dear," Martha replied, turning back to the room, "at my age, you can only bring out the instrument on special occasions, and I haven't had a decent accompanist in some time."
Cora, smiling warmly, said, "That was lovely, Tom. Sybil hadn't mentioned you could play."
She doesn't know.
He looked over to Sybil, curious as to her reaction, and saw her coming over to him with an expression that only he could read accurately as a cross between "That's brilliant!" and "What the hell?" She, not giving her ignorance away, put her hands on his shoulders, kissed the top of his head and turned back to her mother.
"He's a man of many talents," she said proudly.
Tom dropped his chin to his chest in mild embarrassment. Less for the compliment Cora had paid him and more for Sybil's innocent kiss. He'd come to discover that she was all too eager to engage in public displays of affection, and he was all too happy to oblige—except in front of her parents.
"He takes requests," Martha said, looking at him cheekily.
"How about a holiday song," Cora said.
"As long as it's an English one," Robert said.
For a moment, Tom wondered whether this was a knock against his being Irish. He was about to speak up, but Martha beat him to it.
"Why, when all the good carols are ours?" She said airly.
Just as she'd spoken, he felt Sybil lower her mouth to his ear and whisper, "This is a longstanding family Christmas feud."
"Your mother's gone home, Robert, so I'm afraid the Americans have you outnumbered," Martha said.
"I see two Americans, two Brits and an Irishman."
"You really think Ireland over here isn't going to side with me?"
Before Robert could answer—Tom doubted this woman ever lost an argument—Martha turned to Sybil and asked her granddaughter, "Do you still remember the words to the one your grandfather and I used to sing together?"
"I think so, but grandma—"
"Oh, you'll be fine," Martha said, waving her off.
To Tom, she said, "OK, kid, here's a real challenge. The song is Baby It's Cold Outside. Do you know it?"
"I do," Tom said nervously, starting to sense what Martha was trying to do.
"The music and the lyrics?"
Oh, boy. "Yes, but if you expect me to sing—"
"What?" Martha interrupted, crossing her arms and looking at him with a smirk. "You're going to tell me you're not much of a singer? You said that about the playing, and look how well that turned out."
He turned to Sybil with eyebrows raised as if to ask, "Are we really going to do this?"
She shrugged in response. They both turned to Martha, who said, "Well, don't look at me. Get going!"
With a sigh and a roll of her eyes, Sybil walked around to the side of the piano, presumably so she could watch Tom as they sang. Seeing her raise her eyes to him, eager not to let her down, Tom suddenly felt very nervous.
He put his fingers on the keys and started playing. The first line was hers, and she sang it softly and shyly.
"I really can't stay."
Bombs could have gone off and he wouldn't have heard anything else but her. The queen could have walked into the room at that moment and he wouldn't have noticed. How I love you, Sybil, he thought, then, quickly remembering that it was his turn, he sang.
"Baby it's cold outside."
I've got to go away. — Baby it's cold outside.
This evening has been, — Been hoping that you'd drop in.
So very nice. — I'll hold your hands, they're just like ice.
My mother will start to worry. — Beautiful, what's your hurry?
My father will be pacing the floor. — Listen to the fireplace roar.
So really I'd better scurry. — Beautiful, please don't hurry.
Maybe just a half a drink more. — Put some records on while I pour.
The neighbors might think . . . — Baby, it's bad out there.
Say, what's in this drink? — No cabs to be had out there.
I wish I knew how, — Your eyes are like starlight now.
To break this spell. — I'll take your hat, your hair looks swell.
I ought to say no, no, no. — Mind if I move in closer?
At least I'm gonna say that I tried. — What's the sense in hurting my pride?
I really can't stay. — Baby don't hold out.
Oh, but it's cold outside.
I've got to go home. — Oh, baby, you'll freeze out there.
Say, lend me your coat. — It's up to your knees out there.
You've really been grand, — Your eyes are like starlight now.
But don't you see, — How can you do this thing to me?
There's bound to be talk tomorrow. — Think of my life long sorrow.
At least there will be plenty implied. — If you caught pneumonia and died.
I really can't stay. — Get over that hold out.
Oh, but it's cold outside
Oh, baby it's cold outside
Oh, baby it's cold outside
They didn't take their eyes off one another throughout the song, not even breaking their stare after the song ended. It was the clapping of Martha, Cora and Robert that pulled them from their reverie.
Martha stood from her perch next to Tom and turned toward Cora and Robert with a flourish.
"Now, will you two argue with that?"
Tom turned to see them smiling at each other. He didn't really know whether they would have any true objections to him and Sybil's relationship, but if any objections had existed, Martha had rather ingeniously helped push them aside. Cora turned back to them and said to Martha, "Mother I think you've enjoyed yourself enough for one evening."
"Oh, honey, life really is very boring here if you think that's enough for one evening."
"Well, Sybil and Tom are going to Ripon to meet Gwen for a late drink, and if Sybil truly requires Tom to meet anyone's approval it's hers, so we should let them get ready."
"Oh, very well."
She turned back around to say her goodnights to Sybil and Tom. As he stood, he said, "It was a pleasure, Mrs. Levinson."
She took a step toward him and leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. "The pleasure was all mine, handsome."
Sybil came around to kiss her goodnight and held her in a tight hug. "Thank you, grandma."
Once left alone, the lovebirds put their arms around each other, and Sybil said playfully, "She likes you very much."
Tom smirked. "And I like her very much. She's quite nice looking, too. So you'd better watch your back."
"Oh, I'm not worried. She's got a bad hip and I know how much you like to—"
Tom shut her up with a kiss. He pulled away to say, "Let's not discuss our favorite positions in your parents house."
"You were perfectly happy putting them into practice last night."
"If you're going to sneak me into a room with a king size bed in it, I'm going to take full advantage."
Sybil laughed and pulled him in for another kiss.
After several minutes, she pulled away with a sigh. "Well, my Piano Man, mama was right about Gwen's approval so let's not keep her waiting."