In the vast halls of Downton, on a cold, moonless night... Lady Mary traversed the long corridor leading to her chambers. The air turned inexplicably frigid, like a thick fog, and the flickering candle flames cast menacing shadows against the walls. An ethereal whispering made her freeze... a plea from the shadows:
"Let me come to you tonight...please..."
The words, dripping with a haunting longing, caused her to shudder to her core. It was unmistakably the voice of the dashing Mr. Pamuk, whose mysterious death in Mary's bed years before had once threatened to tarnish the family's reputation. Yet, his specter seemed to beckon from the shadowy beyond, rendering Mary ghostly pale and trembling with fear.
She hastened to her room, her mind racing, trying to dismiss the incident as a figment of her wearied imagination, magnified by the late hours and perhaps one too many glasses of wine at dinner.
Matthew, alarmed by her sudden intrusion, questioned her distress, to which he shot up and exclaimed, "My darling, what is it?!"
Mary replied, "Nothing...the light went out, and I couldn't see. How silly of me to barge in like a bull in a China shop."
She took a deep breath and folded herself under the covers. Matthew kisses her on the cheek. She softly smiles and turns over, but her eyes widen as she is in disbelief at what she just witnessed and knows she won't sleep a wink all night.
The next encounter, however, was Matthew's, who saw her...Lavinia Swire's ghost a few nights later.
Sweet, innocent Lavinia. It was before dinner and Matthew had been walking down the ladies corridor in his white tie ensemble to see Mary as she finished dressing before they went downstairs. It was then, as he walked down the hall that he saw out of the corner of his eye through one of the windows...the ethereal vision of Lavinia, pure and hauntingly beautiful, under the cloak of night. This vision of Lavinia, dressed in her white nightgown and bathed in moonlight was a sight of innocence lost, stirring a deep unrest within him. She looked every bit as real as she did during life.
Years later, the narrative took a darker turn with the arrival of Marigold, and the return of Sybbie and Tom. Following dinner one evening, Edith went to check the nursery and say goodnight to the children before she turned in herself. As she opened the door, the sight that greeted her was nothing short of heart-stopping.
The ethereal figure of Sybil, radiant yet ghostly, stood at the foot of Sybbie's bed, her presence not malevolent but nonetheless shocking. Tom, who had the same idea to check in on the children had followed Edith, saw her frozen in the doorway and asked what was the matter. She didn't respond, but stood there, absolutely frozen.
Tom slowly opened the nursery door a few inches further and was equally transfixed by the apparition of Sybil, who, with a slight glance and a serene smile their way, vanished into the night, leaving a lingering essence of her protective spirit.
Tom and Edith, shaken to their core, were propelled by a desperate need for answers.
Very quickly they broke out of their statue-like composure and ensured the children were alright to which they were and shut the nursery door behind them, they embraced each other and began to cry, realizing their Sybil had been looking after them all along.
The following night, Tom and Edith embarked on a night of vigil, seeking to uncover the truth behind the ghostly visitation. Armed with courage and a lantern, Edith and Tom explored the Abbey's darkest corners, from the vast attic spaces to the deep cellars.
It was in the library, however, that they found their most tangible clue. A journal, hidden away behind other leather-bound volumes, which contained entries in Lavinia's hand... a diary she had kept during her final days, filled with love for Matthew and a haunting premonition of her untimely death.
The final pages were the most chilling, as Lavinia spoke of a pact made with Kemal Pamuk's spirit, encountered in a feverish dream. They had made a vow. A malicious vow, which was hardly like Lavinia, but the flu had made her delusional. For you see, the walls of Downton possess sinister beings and secrets that manipulates one's soul once it grabs a hold of it. Mr. Pamuk was one of those wicked spirits, and as sweet Lavinia was on the brink of her death, he took advantage of that opportunity to entrap her.