1937 Struggles

Letters and Traditions

Disclaimer: I don't own Downton Abbey.

OOOOOOOOO is time change

XXXXXXXXXX is POV change

After finishing his breakfast, Robert gave his dog, Horus another pat. The dog had darker fur than Isis or even Tia, but Robert loved this dog just as much as the others. The brown dog barked in response, and headed for the kitchen, as much as Daisy Parker, the cook would complain about Horus's presence.

Still, Robert headed upstairs. He'd been visiting his wife almost every day as she ate her breakfast for almost fifty years, and it was an experience he looked forward. Besides, he had some things to discuss with Cora today.

He gently knocked on the door, announcing his presence, and he heard her soft voice say "come in." When he opened the door, he found her with a small bowl of fresh fruit, a piece of buttered toast, and a plate of scrambled eggs. Also, on the tray was a glass of orange juice and couple of pills, reminding him of her ongoing illness. At least the pernicious anemia was under control now.

"Hello, darling," Robert said with a smile.

"Hello, Robert," Cora said, smiling in return. A few laugh lines appeared on her face and her hair was almost as grey as his now, but she was still beautiful, especially when she grinned like that.

He sat on the edge of the bed, while she spooned a few raspberries into her mouth. "Henry said to tell you that Caroline would like to go to the hospital with you again this afternoon."

Cora nodded as she swallowed the raspberries. "Of course, she's always welcome; I wonder if she'll become a nurse when she's older, like our Sybil did."

Robert still chaffed at the idea of someone in his immediate family doing something as…dirty and undignified as nursing especially when traditions were becoming more important in the past couple of months than ever before. But he refused to push anyone away because of their inappropriate choices anymore. Look how much that had cost Sybil.

"I think Caroline just likes spending time with her Granny," Robert said, choosing the option he liked better. "You know she always has."

Cora beamed and her blue eyes sparkled, making her appear somehow even more beautiful than before. "She reminds me of me and my Grandmama Mackenzie." She sipped her orange juice and then wiped her mouth in a way that reminded Robert of Mama.

"I know you were close to your Grandmama, but Mary was also quite close to Mama. Maybe Caroline admires you the same way Cora." He stroked her cheek with his knuckles.

"Perhaps," Cora said, pausing with her breakfast to enjoy his touch.

Laying his hand back in his lap, he said, "Speaking of reasons to admire you, our anniversary is approaching. Wouldn't it be nice to have a real dinner party to celebrate, complete with a footman?" He couldn't help but picture the Abbey's drawing room and dining room in all their splendor, in the proper tradition of Downton.

Cora shrugged. "That does sound nice, but you'll have to speak with Mary first. You know how careful she is with Downton's funds." Then she scooped up some scrambled eggs, as if there was nothing wrong with that statement.

Robert huffed, not liking to be reminded he was not responsible for his own estate any longer. "It should be a decision between you and me, Cora. And possibly Johnson, our butler. And I know there are a lot of lads in the village who desperately need a job. It is our responsibility to give them one."

Swallowing her eggs, Cora said, "I understand your desire to give people who need it a job, and I love you for it." She reached over her breakfast tray and squeezed his hand. "But Mary is only doing the same thing you've been trying to do for the last forty years. She's determined to everything she can for our family to hold onto Downton, and that's become even more of a struggle with the depression."

Robert didn't answer. Downton was a world of tradition and honor, which meant they needed a footman for celebrations. Especially one like their anniversary.

OOOOOOOOOO

Cora, Robert, Mary, and Caroline all enjoyed luncheon in the dining room, although it was still without a footman. When they finished, Cora and Caroline headed for the hospital. After they said goodbye to both of them, Robert paused Mary in the Great Hall.

"We need a footman, Mary," he said, keeping his voice low. As he suspected, his daughter was already shaking her head, but Robert pressed forward. "I'm planning a special dinner party for your mother and my wedding anniversary, so at least one footman will be necessary."

"Papa," Mary said with a sigh. "I know you don't like to hear it, but we simply don't have the money for any new hires right now."

As always, when someone placed a brick wall in his plans, it made Robert cross and even determined to achieve his goal. "There must be a way," he said, trying to keep his voice from growing too loud. "Carson would roll in his grave if he knew Downton were operating with no footmen, and you know it, Mary."

His daughter's face flinched for a moment. "How dare you bring Carson into this, Papa. You know how close I was to him. But the fact is, Carson was even more resistant to changes necessary to keep Downton than you are. And operating without footmen is one of those necessary changes."

"You know, when Bates left to run his hotel, I accepted that I wouldn't hire another valet although at the time I could barely imagine the dishonor, but not having a footman at a dinner party is far too below what Downton represents." Robert lost control of his volume as he kept speaking and to his frustration, his voice echoed all through the Great Hall.

Mary pressed her lips, reminding him a bit too much of Mama. "Papa, don't be foolish. We can barely pay for the servants we still employ. How do you think we'll pay for another?"

"We'll find a way," Robert said, realizing that he'd lost control of his hand as well, as he could see it flying through the air; he loathed being called foolish, especially by his own daughter. "England needs her proper traditions even more now, with the actions of that…Prince…or Duke…or whatever they are calling him now."

Robert could barely stomach thinking of Edward VIII actions, abandoning the crown for an American woman instead of agreeing to wed a proper princess? He needed to prove to himself that this country was still the same one he'd always loved with its, and Downton's proper traditions.

Mary sighed. "Edward VIII may have made a foolish mistake, although I cannot see why you're surprised, with what he got up to when we saw him last, but he has nothing to do with Downton." She pressed her lips again. Why must she remind him of the recklessness Edward VIII was involved in during Rose's Coming Out, and how close to ruin he'd been because of his own family.

"No, Mary, it's all about the same thing," Robert said, with a sigh. His voice wasn't as loud as it was a few moments ago, but he was still rather cross. "And it's not even just about Downton's honor. You know there are countless lads in the village who need a job. It has always been our obligation to provide jobs for people, just as it is our right to have servants."

"And if we are forced to sell the estate, how is that going to help anyone?" Mary said, still using the same tiresome argument.

"Mary, we should have a footman for our anniversary celebration. Find a way for that to happen." Robert said, raising his voice once again. He hoped the servants they did have weren't listening to his display, as his temper was also not good for Downton's honor.

Perhaps he should visit the nursery, where Tom Branson's younger daughter, Erin, should still be after her lesson today. There was nothing like an adorable little girl to cheer Robert.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

OOOOOOOO

Tom Branson shook his head as he looked at the rent records, wondering how Downton would earn enough. He desperately hoped that the harvest would bring in more money than it had last year, for the sake of everyone from Lord Grantham to each of the tenants. And as the land agent, it was Tom's job to make that happen.

He shook his head, still eyeing the records, wondering when this agent office had become so important to him. Almost like a second home, although his family in Ireland insisted he shouldn't be so attached to Downton, much less the agent's office. But the small building, about half the size of Lord Grantham's library, suited him just fine. Two good-sized wooden desks were squeezed in the center, each covered with books on farming and livestock, and papers on different aspects of finances.

Just the then, the door in the corner opened, and Mary Crawley walked inside, complete with her silk coat and leather working boats. Tom gave a small smile, glad to see his work partner. "You won't believe the conversation I just had with Papa," she shook her head, and stray snowflakes fell from her bobbed hair.

Tom braced himself, ready for whatever struggle Lord Grantham was having now with modern farming methods.

"He insists we hire another footman, no matter how many times I told him we don't have the funds for it." She leaned over to Tom's desk and pointed to the rent records, which obviously showed her point. "Something about 'the honor of Downton' for his and Mama's anniversary, which is somehow affected by Edward VIII's abdication."

Tom shared Mary's confusion on how those two were connected. And although he had no affection for the king or the royal family, he'd been rather pleased when Edward VIII abdicated the crown in favor of the woman he loved. The story reminded Tom a little of him and Sybil, only in the reverse. "Your Papa has some strange ideas sometimes," he said with a shrug.

Mary sighed a little herself, and took off her silk coat, revealing a long-sleeved, loose fitting black dress. "His ideas are more than strange, Tom, they are unreasonable; he thinks we can somehow pull money for another footman out of nowhere just because he wants one for his anniversary dinner. We've already sold the Della Francesca and Grantham House a few years ago. And then he goes on about how we need to provide jobs for the local lads." She sat down primly, in a way that she still insisted she must act despite all the changes in her life and frowned.

Tom stared at the rent records, suddenly wishing they had the money to hire such a young man. When Tom was young, he'd thought the way Lord Grantham went on about his "duty to provide jobs" was incredibly condescending, and in some ways it was, but the man also had a better heart for his servants, tenants, and all the local villagers than Tom had ever given him credit when he'd first married Sybil.

Besides, it was hard to argue with the idea when Tom knew it was true. Just yesterday, he'd had two different lads ask him if Tom knew of any opportunities for work in the Big House, or even with Lord and Lady Merton at Crawley House. Even a temporary job, they'd said would be acceptable.

A temporary job. Hmmm. "Mary, what do you think of hiring a young man just for the anniversary dinner? Like Mr. Carson originally hired Andrew Parker just for Rose's wedding? Certainly, we could have money for that, and your Papa would have the dinner party with a footman that he wants."

Mary's eyes widened a bit. "May I see the finance records, please?" He handed her the rent records, and she compared them to the list of servants and all their salaries, located on her desk. Then she recalculated all of that for a salary that would be given for only one night.

A wide grin, so different than her normal prim smile, spread across Mary's face. "I think that would be acceptable. It's a good thing you are working here too, Tom, or Papa and I would spend so much time arguing, we wouldn't get anything done."

Tom smiled back, glad to help two people he cared about so much and doing his best to forget the letter sitting on his nightstand that said that wasn't a good thing. And then he and Mary continued their work.

OOOOOOOOOO

After finishing his work for the day, Tom drove Mary back to the Abbey, as he needed to pick up his younger daughter, Erin. He and Lucy had been so touched when Lord and Lady Grantham had suggested Erin be schooled by their governess, along with Caroline. And after their lessons were complete, Erin was allowed to play in the nursery.

Nevertheless, Tom smiled when the two of them arrived home. Brompton was still much larger than the house he'd grown up, but it was so much smaller and more comfortable than the Abbey, even though he'd lived at the big house for ten years. It reminded him more of Crawley House.

"Hi, Mum," Erin said rather loudly as she entered the sitting room, her light brown hair bouncing a bit. The room was about half the size of the Abbey's drawing room, although it still possessed several fine things, including a painting next to the fireplace and a settee and chair with mahogany trim.

Lucy, however, was nowhere in the sitting room, but Sybbie sat in one of the armchairs, with her nose in a book, as usual. "Hi Dad," she said with a smile that reminded him so much of Sybil.

"Hi, darlin'," he said kissing, the top of her head over the chair. "What are you reading today?" His oldest could devour a book just as quickly as Tom could, especially when he was younger. Sometimes she read books from Lord Grantham's library, and other times from Tom's small collection.

"Irish legends," she said, grinning in a way that made her look so much like Sybil it made Tom's heart swell. Obviously, she'd chosen a book from Tom's collection today. "I'm still thinking of studying to become a teacher," she said, more seriously. "It would be a great way to study more and help others at the same time."

Her words proved once again what a perfect blend she was of him and Sybil, but Tom's heart clenched at the thought of his oldest moving away from him, even just for teacher's training. "Let's not talk about that right now."

Slamming down her book, she huffed. "Dad, I just said I'm thinking about it."

Fortunately for both of them, Lucy entered the room right now, her gentleness defusing the situation completely, especially with their one-year-old son wobbling at her heals. Tom's heart swelled as he saw both of them; he adored the way Lucy had chosen to care for the children herself, rather than using the Crawley's nanny.

"My gram and Dad raised me themselves, before they died, and I wouldn't trade the time we had together for anything," she'd explained, and Tom had loved her more than ever.

"Da! Da!" Patrick babbled, with his arms in the air, and Tom immediately lifted him into his arms. He'd been named both for the patron saint of Ireland and Lord Grantham's father, and it fit their family situation perfectly.

"Mum," Erin said, bouncing over to Lucy, now that she had found her mother. "Donk played dolls with me in the nursery this afternoon! It was so much fun. He even brushed the pretty dolls' hair."

"That's sounds wonderful, darling," Lucy said, patting their daughter's head, as she met Tom's eyes with a smile that made him melt. They both loved how Lord and Lady Grantham had taken Erin and Patrick into their family just as much as Sybbie and their other grandchildren. Especially since Lady Bagshaw had passed.

In fact, Tom's heart swelled so much that he had to kiss his wife, even while he still held their son. "Speaking of Lord Grantham," Tom said as they withdrew, remembering the conversation he'd had with the lord when he'd picked up Erin. "He's planning a fancy dinner party for his anniversary, and he'd like us to attend. Sybbie, too."

Lucy smiled and nodded, although her face tensed in a way that showed she still wasn't as comfortable with those events as she pretended. Tom kissed her cheek, understanding the feeling all too well.

But Sybbie jumped out of her chair. A huge smile spread across her face, and her eyes sparkled, just as Sybil's had when she was full of joy. "Donk said I can sit with him and Granny, and you and Mum in the big dining room?"

"Yes, Sybbie." He put Patrick down on the ground to hug his oldest. "Donk says your old enough to sit in the dining room." Then Tom looked at Lucy. "I thought we could ask Mrs. Foster to watch Erin and Patrick for that night, if she doesn't mind." The woman was officially Brompton's cook and maid, hired by Lady Bagshaw before she'd passed, but the lady was fond of the children, too.

Lucy nodded. "Speaking of Mrs. Foster, her roast smells as if it is almost done." She sniffed the air and smiled.

Tom nodded, his mouth watering as he sniffed the delights coming from the kitchen. "I think it's time for dinner." With that, he, Lucy, Sybbie, and Erin walked into the dining room, while Patrick toddled. The room was much smaller and more child friendly than the Abbey, although the table was still made of mahogany, and sat six people.

Lucy easily lifted Patrick into his highchair, and they all sat down.

"Dinner will be ready in soon, sir, ma'am," Mrs. Foster's voice said from the kitchen.

OOOOOOOOOOO

After dinner, Patrick was put to bed. Then Erin eventually did as well, as much as she resisted climbing into her bed as long as possible. Sybbie returned to her book, while Tom picked up his copy of Apologia Pro Vita Sua, and Lucy did some mending. It was a quiet, peaceful evening.

Until they headed for bed themselves.

After undressing, and climbing into the mahogany bed with silk sheets, Tom studied the letter that lay on his nightstand for the third time since receiving it.

Dear Tom,

I've finally gotten a chance to write you another letter. Just don't expect fancy words, as I've never worked for a paper like you did .

Speaking of papers, I don't know if you've heard that Eamon de Valera has written us a new government. We are now the Republic of Ireland, and no longer have to swear loyalty to the British Crown. I like to think you're pleased, considering how much you wanted that when you were younger. You and your friends fought hard for that once.

Tom sighed, wondering how many times he'd have to explain to his Irish family that he still supported Irish independence, and how pleased he was about the new republic.

But you've changed so much, living with those British toffs, that I don't know. I don't think, like Mam did, and so many of your old friends do, that you've sold out to the British. I know your Sybil's death was hard on you, and no one knows more than I how much your first wife loved you and how worthy she was of my brother.

Tom nodded, remembering how quickly a friendship between his Sybil and his sister, Sheena, had developed when they'd lived in Ireland.

Maybe you did what you had to do to survive. Just like our older sister, Brigid did after her husband Brian died.

But still, I barely know you anymore, Tom. Working as a land agent, even after all the trouble Granddad had with that smarty agent while he just tried to raise his sheep. And even when you and your second wife came for Mam's funeral, you were so distant. I worry that you've become so Anglicized you've forgotten your one of us.

Don't forget I'm your sister Tommy.

I love you,

Sheena

Shaking his head as he finished the letter, Tom still didn't know how to explain everything to Sheena and the rest of his family still in Ireland. He was overjoyed at the news of the Irish Constitution, and a part of Tom longed to return to Ireland because of it.

But unlike Sybil, Lucy had no interest in living in Ireland, and since Lady Bagshaw died, it had only become more important to her to honor her mother's legacy by taking care of Brompton. Even more importantly, his children didn't fit in with the other Irish. Hadn't he already discovered that with Sybbie in Boston? And if that wasn't enough, Tom missed Downton and the Crawley's more than he'd ever expected last time he'd left, and he'd rather not do it again.

But he didn't ignore his heritage, did he? He'd named his second daughter "Erin," a name synonymous with with Ireland itself, and his son after their patron saint. He'd baptized all his children Catholic and still attended the Catholic Church whenever possible.

"Tom," Lucy's gentle voice said beside him. "Stop worrying about that letter; Sheena just doesn't understand our situation." She placed a soothing hand on his back, and some of his tension melted. His wife was a great comforter.

Still, Tom sighed, staring at the letter again. How could he explain his sister was writing about things Tom was already concerned, he just hadn't known how to put them into words? "But Lucy, Sheena isn't the sort to write something just to cause trouble; she's honestly worried about me."

Slowly he lifted his head to look into his wife's deep blue eyes. "Ever since the Irish Republic was official, I feel just as…directionless as I did before I left for Boston, over ten years ago," He blinked back tears as he admitted one his biggest vulnerabilities.

"Oh, Tom," Lucy leaned over and wrapped her gentle hands around him. "No one understands what a struggle it can be to accept your place in the world better than me."

Nodding against her neck, he held her tighter. Of course she did; as an illegitimate child of a Lady, she'd wrestled for years what her place should be. And although Tom now wondered what his place was again, there was one thing he had no doubts, that Lucy was the right wife for him.

"I love you," he said into her ear, wondering how he'd become so lucky to have enough adoration for two wonderful women.

She paused for a moment. In many ways, Lucy was more English than Sybil, and a bit more reserved. But soon enough, she whispered "I love you, too."

Then they sealed it with a kiss.

This should be updated about once a month.