Chapter 4 - December 1962

He looked at it, stared, marveled at the neatness of his handwriting there: his signature. His younger self was somehow immortalized in this aged yellow ticket, and the scrawl of his name drew him in to find himself, his former, younger self, still somehow alive within him. It was the self that still answered to the name signed sharply there on the line, a self who came before Robert Grantham.

Robert Crawley.

It seemed strange to look at it now, what was once his name, written there without his title, and without the involuntary tremble in his thick, knobby knuckles. They were fingers that he suddenly did not even recognize when by chance his eyes accidentally fell on them. The soft afternoon light mocked the wrinkles that puckered over the threadwork of veins on the back of his hand, and he looked away, back toward the library, but not really back to present.

He found things increasingly more difficult to recognize, to understand now. Even as he sat opposite his eldest granddaughter and her husband, who seemed to be going on and on about something that Robert did try to pay attention to, though that seemed to be in vain. It was not for loss of hearing, though that was usually at least partly the case, and it was not solely because attentiveness seemed quite fleeting nowadays, rolling in and then slipping away as it pleased, like a fog. No; it was not really due to any of the usual things he'd decided clouded his recognition and understanding of the things around him. Today it was nothing other than her.

It had been her hand which had tucked the ticket away, her heart which had seen it for all that it was: a promise, their hope - his love. Oh, and how it was his love. Another treasure locked away in the faded little ticket, nestled there beside his youth, was the moment it was finally made clear, the moment that they both understood how very much in love they were. Looking at it made him ache for her. The tip of her head. Her smirk. A small greeting in the way of the glow in her eyes when he passed through the dividing door.

She wasn't there now. Her room was empty, without her. It was rummaged through. The private moments within her walls all somehow tainted by the touch of someone else's hands. Even if it was their great-grandchild.

Cora.

Ancient as he was, he had recognized this - the ticket. He recognized it. And with Sybbie glancing up at him, and her husband Paul now laughing at his own poor joke, Robert's fingers brushed over the yellow of the past and swept it into his palm, the nest of his hand placing it safely back into the pocket of his coat, close to his tired heart.

" - and the price for pine is high at the moment, especially in Georgia and Alabama. There's a man - Beauregard - that we've been in talks with, too, so there's promise to grow further still." Sybbie looked away from Donk at her husband's pause, a pause in which he took a sip of his coffee - he had never taken to tea - and shook his head with the momentum to continue. "And the boys like Atlanta, I think. And Syb," he smiled over at her, and she grinned, then looked back at Donk. "Plus it is certainly a lot warmer there."

Donk's rumble of a chuckle surprised her, for she wasn't entirely sure he was listening, or cared to be listening, and she found herself smiling again.

"That I can imagine." Donk took his cup up, the way Paul had done before, "And I'll admit I'm glad to hear you're doing well, battling your nation's forests -"

"Donk -"

" - though why you can't manage it from here is beyond me."

Sybbie sighed and let herself continue, passing a quick reassuring glance to her husband before she lowered her chin at her grandfather. "Paul's not battling trees, Donk; it's a lumbering company, which you very-well know. And secondly, it would be impossible to run it from overseas. We discuss this every year; it's his family's company and it is in Paul's hands now. He takes great pride in it, and we must support that -"

Donk pushed out a small part of a laugh, bringing his trembling tea to his lips. "You sound very much like your mother."

Sybbie only stared, her mother not often mentioned by anyone but Dad, and the words echoing around her sounding like someone else's entirely. It left her wanting something to busy herself with, so she picked up her cup and saucer. And she took a sip.

Quiet settled as the three of them drank their tea and coffee, and in that quiet, Sybbie heard the distant sounds of greeting in the hall - cheerful voices, hands being shook, coats and scarves being taken away and put aside. She lifted her chin and twisted around over the top of the sofa, watching for warm shapes beyond the door. And presently, she heard as footsteps drew nearer.

"Papa?"

Sybbie put down her cup and saucer on the little side table there, and Paul, too, stood to place his next to Donk's on the large table near the window. Aunt Mary was smiling as she turned to reveal the few people walking in after her.

"Robert," Tom maneuvered through the small bundle of people, "Anna's here, and Jack. They've come to help move some things, and to see the room."

"Anna."

Sybbie stood, and in her periphery saw as Donk, with his shaking limbs, stood slowly as well, using the table to anchor himself.

"Hello, Lord Grantham." Anna came forward, and Sybbie grinned at her small, slender form. She hadn't seen her aunt's former maid in several years, but she would know her anywhere. Her white hair cropped close and curled, the apples of her cheeks still rosy as she smiled, her eyes twinkling up at Donk, she looked very much how Sybbie remembered her - joy personified.

"How are you?" Donk smiled and looked around at everyone before back to Anna and her son. "And Jack. You remember Sybbie, and Paul?"

Anna turned toward her and Sybbie felt six years old again, holding out her arms. "Of course I remember Miss Sybbie." Anna came to her and took her hand, pressing it between her own. "And Mr Langston," she turned to him nodding, "you look very well! Where are your children?"

"Henry and Ms Shirley have them all bundled and corralled in the gardens somewhere," Paul laughed and the others laughed too. "Though you'd hardly recognize them, Anna. Even Benjamin is this tall now." He held his hand to his hip.

"Baby Benjamin? Really? Oh, but they do grow so very fast, don't they. Jack's youngest are not really very young anymore themselves." Anna turned to Mary who shrugged with a small smile and then spoke again to Donk. "It must be very nice, Lord Grantham, to have your family home again for Christmas? And I hear Lady Edith is coming in soon?"

"In a few days, yes," Sybbie's father leaned in to answer, smiling. "And Caroline is coming in from France as well."

"Oh, I know Jack would enjoy seeing her, if he may."

Anna's tall son nodded, and Sybbie stepped closer toward him. "I thought you lived in London now, Jack. Are you home on holiday?"

"No, no." Jack turned his cap in his hand and twisted to meet everyone's gaze. "Heather and I are back in the village. Leasing out her grandmother's old place now. It's a cake shop, if you'll believe it."

There was a chorus of good wishes and happy exclamations, and Sybbie's eyes drifted toward her grandfather who was watching all of this quietly.

"Anyway, we should be getting on, then. George is upstairs finishing up a few things, and we don't want to waste any more of Anna's time." Tom announced and Sybbie saw as Anna shook her head.

"No, Mr Branson -"

"Tom," he corrected.

"- Tom." She smiled. "It's always so nice to come back. To see." There was another small quiet, then, as Anna turned back to Donk. He looked down at her and extended his hand. She took it very briefly, a gesture that made Sybbie hold her breath, like a crossing of deep, cold water, time washing over her and then quickly flowing away. "Thank you, your Lordship," Sybbie could hear Anna say quietly, only to him. "I'm glad to see you've opened it, if it's not impertinent to say. I am. I'm very glad."

Robert could say nothing. Sybbie saw as he struggled until at last, he nodded, "It's not impertinent." Anna nodded back, and as she turned, Donk continued softly. "You'll send my regards to Bates."

Sybbie watched as Anna stood still, as the rose in her cheeks fell pale. Quiet.

"Next time we're there, Lord Grantham." Jack touched his mother's elbow. "We'll be sure to say a word, next time we're there."

...

Sybbie was the last to enter the room, making sure that Paul would stay downstairs with Donk to meet the children and Uncle Henry. When she reached Granny's room, greetings had already taken place and small little explanations were being shared.

The work that had been done in the interval between this morning and now was remarkable, the organization nearly complete. Anna seemed to think the room was remarkable as well, her lips spreading into an easy smile as she stood in the blue center. Sybbie watched as she nodded in appreciation and as she smiled over at Mary who tipped her head, and feeling pleased, closed her eyes in a way that was classically Aunt Mary.

"We've worked tirelessly for at least four days going now," Coco had stood from her spot on the floor, two neat stacks of photographs collected by her feet, and smiled at the older woman. "But I think we're nearly there."

"Nearly," Grace echoed from her station. She waved a lovely-bound book before arranging it with some others.

"We've done quite a lot, though it may not seem so." Aunt Mary gestured toward the bed. "And I'm still in search of something that will do there. Mama's original bedclothes are rather difficult to replicate."

"And His Lordship?" Anna looked between Tom, Mary, and George. "How has he taken it all?"

George sighed. "He hasn't, really. He comes in and out, grumbles something about things being in their proper places -"

"He has helped me, you know," Coco interrupted, and George sighed again.

"I'm sure it is difficult, Master George. I'm sure he rather feels as it's an invasion of his space," Anna lifted a shoulder in thought. "I think I may feel something similar, should someone want to tour my home. Or take a look at Mr. Bates's things."

"But Anna, they aren't Lady Grantham's things. Not really. We're putting away the truly private items while still finding a way to make her room as it was. His Lordship will see that in time." Sybbie saw as Aunt Mary looked to Dad for support, but found none. "Anyway, the house was very successful when it opened this summer past. And with the Mercia being one of the finest rooms, it's a shame not to give it life again. It cannot continue to dwell in the dark."

At last, Tom spoke. "That I agree with."

Aunt Mary nodded once. "Now, if we're quite finished, come have a look at this." She seemed to brush away the previous conversation the way she always did, with a definitive flourish that meant no one else would broach the topic again. Sybbie had to admire her as she walked toward the far window, her narrow shoulders straight and her chin high. Aunt Mary directed Anna's attention to Granny's portrait, and George crossed the room toward Sybbie as they spoke. "We found it in an upper floor bookkeeping room."

Anna followed. "Is that Her Ladyship? It looks nearly like Lady Sybil. Or even you, at second glance."

Aunt Mary laughed lowly, bending to take the frame and angle it in the light. "I'll admit that the older I grow the more I accept our resemblance. Though it is rather odd." Her eyes scanned the portrait, Granny's eyes seeming to follow as the frame was tilted more into the light.

"Odd, Lady Mary?" Jack laughed.

Aunt Mary twisted round to see him. "Odd how one can look so similar from someone so very different in nature."

"You aren't so very different, my lady," Anna tipped her head, and Sybbie saw Mary shoot a warm, but doubtful glance upward at her.

"We won't argue."

"Here," George's voice was near Sybbie's ear and she turned sharply to him, now ignoring the conversation blooming near the framed sketch. "Look at this. You'll laugh."

A photo was pushed into her hand, the backside up with the date Giza 1892 pencil-scratched in Donk's narrow script. She glanced toward George as she flipped the photo and saw he was already grinning. Sybbie rolled her eyes and looked down.

Atop two camels, the Sphinx rising behind them, were her grandparents. Her grandfather, tall in the saddle nestled between the humps of one great camel, had his chin high, and to his left, her grandmother. Granny's great hat shaded part of her face, but Sybbie could see that she was smiling, and brightly. Her grandparents, their Egyptian guides holding tightly to the leads of the camels, and the camels themselves all stared into the lens of the camera, and up at Sybbie.

George was right. She snorted a laugh, and shook her head. "Where did you find this?"

"The second trunk in an unused diary. There were some others, albeit none quite like this." He took the picture away, and chuckled at it. "My, but camels are ridiculous looking animals, aren't they?"

Sybbie laughed again at her cousin, "Are you saving it for the article?"

"We should, rather," he joked. "Here, astride his noble steed, the seventh Earl of Grantham." He held the photo at arm's length and they both laughed again.

" - Tom, we've finished discussing it."

Sybbie stopped at her father's name, and she looked around the photo as the quiet discussion from outside her conversation seemed to become louder than their laughter.

George glanced toward her, and lowered the photograph of their grandparents as his mother spoke again.

"Papa is absolutely in his right mind. I don't know why you insist on arguing -"

"I'm not arguing; I'm merely asking Jack what Heather did for her grandmother when the time came. It may help us as it gets worse."

"It won't get worse. There isn't anything to get worse."

Sybbie swallowed a tightening in her throat and looked over at George. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

Meanwhile, Coco stood closer to Grace, listening with wide eyes, and Dad spoke in low tones next to Anna and Jack, Aunt Mary shaking her head.

"Tom, really. I'm sure he meant respects."

"Send my respects to Bates? Mary, it won't hurt to just admit it. It is happening, though it may be painful -"

"I'm not in the habit of admitting to things I don't believe." Aunt Mary lifted her chin, much in the same way that Donk had done all those years ago in Egypt. "You agree with me, don't you, Anna?"

Aunt Mary's former lady's maid exhaled, and Sybbie furrowed her brow at Anna's hesitation. "It did sound, my lady, as if he meant to say hello to him, as if Mr Bates were still with us. But of course His Lordship has grown quite old, perhaps he mixed his words -"

"Oh," Aunt Mary huffed away. "Lord Grantham meant respects, not regards. And even if he had indeed meant what he said, I'm sure he only wanted to speak with some sensitivity. He's very fond of Anna."

No one spoke, and beside Sybbie, George lowered his head and cleared his throat in agitation.

"Besides, it's a waste of time, to go over it all again. Regardless of what Tom may think -"

"- Mary."

"Lord Grantham is perfectly normal. For Heaven's sake, he's ninety-four. Surely he's allowed some mistakes. Come on, Jack. Since it seems we're done here. This is the trunk to go down."

The others moved at Mary's voice, Jack pulling the cap onto his head and George giving the photograph back to Sybbie and walking over to help Jack with the closed trunk. Coco quietly moved back to her place, Grace touching her arm lightly as she left her side. And Anna took one last look around the room before following Mary and the two men out, nodding goodbye to Grace and waving at Coco.

She passed Sybbie, and like the pull of a current, Sybbie began to move behind her, but the words her father had said gave her pause. She halted, and sensing Tom as he came in close at her side, she pulled in a breath and shook her head.

"He's fine, Dad." She said without looking toward him. For a reason she wasn't sure of, she shook her head again. "I don't know what you're trying to imply, but Donk is fine."

His fingers fished in his dressing gown pocket until he found it. He softly pulled it from the silk pouch and placed it delicately on the glass case of snuff boxes. The case was no longer near a window, for Robert no longer slept in the room beside hers. He'd moved to the other side of the house, near Tom's room, under the selfish guise of needing a larger room. But really, there was another selfish reason, and nothing at all to do with the size of the bed in which he slept. In his old room, her room, he could not find rest. It smelled too much of her and yet not quite enough like her to let him sleep.

So that winter, the winter Grace had their first great-grandchild, the first winter without Cora to make a spectacle of Christmas, the way she always did, Robert had moved away from her room and to his own. His prized snuff boxes had come with him; the photographs he kept in his dressing room had stayed. Her soft smiles hurt too much.

Carefully, Robert spied a crooked corner of the ticket in the dim firelight of his room, and he smoothed it out under the strange softness of his thumb that had once been so coarse. It obeyed and Robert sighed, the breath even trembling in his lungs, a direct effect, he was sure, of it being entirely too late for someone his age to be awake.

The day had been long. Dinner had been longer, conversation stiff and feeling rather like a staged production of some terrible play in which the characters aren't even sure of who they are. He'd excused himself early, and Coco had laced her hand in the crook of his aching elbow all the way up the stairs.

Creaking slowly down to his bed, he let out a breath as his legs were finally allowed to relax, and he let his feet slowly shake away his house shoes. His stiff fingers unlaced the knot of his dressing gown.

His mind ran images over and over of the day, images of his great-grandchildren as they came in from their walk: George's young Rory showing him the grand stick he'd spirited away from the wilderness, Sybbie's Alexander grinning madly at the scrape he earned at his smooth elbow, Theodore, the eldest of the great-grandsons, was growing more like Sybbie every year. His blue eyes contained purpose, determination. So very much like Sybbie.

He takes great pride in it, and we must support that.

Her words echoed around his head as he laid it to rest upon his pillow.

We must support that.

Her voice had grown. It had moved and changed into a voice so familiar to him, so painfully familiar to him, that it caused his fingers to feel empty without the touch of the little ticket that lay upon the glass case across his room.

Sybbie had sounded exactly like Cora.