Chapter 14
Author Note: Julian Fellowes' brainchild, not mine - I wish!
The May sun basked Sybil and Tom in warmth as he drove to Fenwick Cottage.
"I'm just glad I don't have to drag out a monkey suit for these two." he sighed in relief.
"You know Fenwick is simpler than Downton." Sybil said, biting her lip as she often did when Tom disparaged something she was used to. At least the familiar cottage no longer raised tension like it had - Sybil had been honest and admitted that it had nearly been hers, in addition to the reason why. Tom had realised it would be foolish to be jealous of Walter now, but deep down he had always seen the auburn-haired man as a rival. Regardless, he had not been happy when Sybil told him. The couple pulled up, sounding the horn of the motor. The red-brick structure looked as cosy as ever, and Sybil took that in as Beatrice greeted the visitors with a grin.
"I knew you would come!" she smiled, hugging Sybil and shaking Tom's hand.
"Well I wanted one last English meal before County Wicklow." Sybil chuckled.
"Oh Sybil, don't tease!" Beatrice laughed back. "I hear potato farls are delicious."
"They are." Tom piped up. "Hello Beatrice." he said. The dirty-blonde's eyes judged the Irishman for a split-second before smiling. "Is it just you this afternoon?"
"Anthony is here, he's just checking on the toad in the hole while I'm out here." Beatrice explained. Sybil saw the irises on the lawn and smiled. The trio walked in.
"Five years on and I still love this place." Sybil sighed with pleasure, sinking into one of the chairs in the living room. She heard a laugh in response to this.
"Why would you not love something you helped create?" Anthony rumbled.
"Is that a rhetorical question, Anthony?" the brunette asked in return. More laughter ensued, and Tom looked around, doing his best to see what Sybil loved about Fenwick - he had, after all, heard the stories about how she'd been key in decorating. It was a good four days' visit, and while Tom was uncomfortable at times, he saw that Anthony and Beatrice weren't huge snobs. On a seasonably mild evening - Sybil and Tom's last before their Blackpool ferry - the girls were chatting in Beatrice's bedroom.
"So, what do you make of him on his own merits?" Sybil asked, her thoughts pacing.
"Tom seems… a little rough around the edges, maybe. But I'd say he listens to you more than he used to, going by previous letters." Beatrice replied, her hair wavy.
"And you're not just trying to smooth the waters?" Sybil pondered. Beatrice blinked.
"Sybil, the heart is a tricky thing and I don't blame you. You weren't in love with Walter, but you loved him. I'm not mad that you didn't court him and come into our little makeshift family that way. You're part of it anyway. And I'm sure Tom will be too, in time." the blonde said, patting Sybil's hand and clinking the visitor's wineglass with her own. "Let's see if he's painted Sir Henry Gore-Booth as a villain for Anthony, shall we?" she chuckled. Sybil rolled her eyes good-naturedly, but then had a thought.
"Surely Goore-Booth is similar to my papa." the brunette laughed. Beatrice laughed out loud this time, stray tears leaking from her eyes. She'd miss Sybil tomorrow.
"Determined to make a difference, aren't you? Fair enough, I can see Lord Grantham doing such things, Constance Markievicz." the blonde lady teased. They stood up, walking through to the living room. Anthony and Tom were drinking white wine.
"What on earth is that smell?" Beatrice asked, pinching her nose and pulling a face.
"Tom didn't think his ginger beer was Irish enough." Anthony explained. The dirty-blonde went green around the gills and mumbled things while Sybil laughed.
"Shall we set up the timer on the camera? A photograph before we go would be nice." the brunette beauty smiled. Anthony and Beatrice nodded and Tom said something.
"We'll be in Ireland by the time it's done." he pointed out. Sybil and Beatrice tutted.
"We can send your copy to your County Wicklow address, silly." the blonde grinned.
"And haven't you had a good time here?" Sybil smiled. Tom smiled and shrugged.
"It's been nice enough, as a retreat from the world." he replied. Sybil chuckled as Anthony set everything up. Beatrice got in place, carrying a tintype of Walter.
"What's so funny?" Tom asked. Sybil chuckled again and rolled her eyes.
"'Nice enough, as a retreat from the world'. You might not realise it, but you sound like Granny." she said with a smile. Tom sighed. "Come on, the timer's ticking."
"That's the spirit." Anthony smiled as Beatrice gestured the couple to stand to her left. Sybil, Beatrice and Anthony beamed, feeling close as ever, and even Tom managed a crooked half-smile. The shutter went off, and after a nightcap, they went off to bed. The next morning, Sybil was in the cottage dining room munching on toast as footfalls and the sound of wood hitting wall caught her attention. Tom was holding their suitcases with a patient smile. But before neither of them could say anything, there were more footfalls and a visibly tired Anthony walked in, still in his nightwear.
"Morning Sybil, Tom." the curly-haired man coughed. Sybil's senses were on alert.
"Goodness Anthony, are you all right?" she gasped. Anthony's pained face showed that he was not. "Let me get you a cool cloth." the Crawley daughter said.
"Sybil, I just had a bad night. I'll be fine to drive you to Fleetwood."
"As a friend, that's nonsense. As a nurse, it's complete nonsense." Sybil tutted.
"What's complete nonsense?" Beatrice asked, walking in with a watering can.
"Anthony might not be well, but he won't let me get a cloth, and insists on Blackpool."
"Sit down, you silly sod, and if you are under the weather, let Nurse Crawley fuss you before she goes." the dirty-blonde sighed in exasperation, gently but firmly prompting Anthony into a chair. Sybil took to dabbing Anthony with a cloth, growing serious.
"Hmm. One of you will have to drive us to Fleetwood." she breathed, looking at the Irishman and the blonde. "Anthony can travel, but only because I want to keep an eye on him in the back." she continued worriedly. Beatrice quickly made sandwiches and they were off with Tom behind the wheel. Five hours later and the four of them were at the ferry port. It was emotional between Sybil, Beatrice and a drowsy Anthony. Tom was still slightly unsure about his almost-fiancé's friends, but they'd treated him well. The ferry's foghorn sounded.
"That's our call." Tom said. Sybil smiled at him and nodded. She looked at the others.
"I guess I'll know when the photograph comes, and… I love you two." she breathed.
"We love you also, Sybil. And Tom, we wish you well." Anthony coughed.
"I... I have nothing else to add to that." Beatrice smiled, hugging Sybil fiercely. "Let us know how things go over there." the dirty-blonde finished as she brought Anthony in for a group hug. Sybil didn't say anything but the others felt her nod. They parted, and the couple walked on board the ferry. With one last look, they saw Beatrice and Anthony wave. About a week later, Sybil and Tom were in County Wicklow, the former lodging with Mrs. Branson. A knock on the door disturbed Sybil's peace.
"Come in." her husky voice sounded. Mrs. Branson's somewhat stout face appeared.
"A letter's come for you, Sybil." she said neutrally. The Irishwoman still thought that her son was being foolish, but she wasn't about to dish that out on the girl.
"Thank you." Sybil replied, taking the envelope. It was heavy. The brunette opened it to see a sepia photograph fall out and a letter. She smiled. Picking up the photograph first, her smile grew. From left to right, Tom, herself, Beatrice and Anthony stared back at her in varying good moods. Sybil hadn't noticed then, but now she could see a smiling frame of Walter that Beatrice held up to the camera.
"Dear Sybil, I must admit that this is an emotional letter. The photograph turned out well, as I'm sure you'll agree, and the five of us make quite a group of sorts. However, I unfortunately have some solemn news. Your hunch was right, Anthony was not well. I called for the local doctor almost the moment we got back to Fenwick, but sadly… Spanish flu claimed him the next night. I'm planting purple irises to go along with the yellow roses and forget-me-nots in the back garden. It seems so unjust that one garden patch in particular should now commemorate two fallen friends. Yours gloomily, Beatrice." Sybil gasped. She sat down on the bed with some force, breathless. Anthony had been looking peaky the day she and Tom left, but she did not suspect Spanish flu. Sybil wasn't much of a drinker, but right now she was glad it was a backbone of Irish culture. She was going to need something to drown her sorrows in. She opened the door and walked down to Mrs. Branson's living room.
"Oh, Kieran. What a surprise." she said. Tom's older brother was indeed there.
"Sybil. Looking for Tommy?" Kieran responded cheekily. Sybil shook her head.
"No, not right now. Right now I'm looking for what the Irish do best - alcohol. A close friend just died." she breathed sadly, a tear falling down her beautiful porcelain face.
"Aw lass, I'm so sorry. I know just the place." Kieran sadly, patting her shoulder and guiding her out of the house towards the nearest tavern.
The months passed, and Beatrice was eyeing a bottle of gin on a Spring evening as the sound of the telephone broke through her thoughts. She picked up the receiver.
"Hello? Oh Sybil, how wonderful!" she hiccoughed, listening to the other end of the line. "What, you're back in Yorkshire? Oh, of course, Matthew and Mary's wedding. By all means, pop by." she slurred slightly. "Yes, Edith can come too. I guess Mary must be driving her a bit mad at the moment. See you tomorrow." she smiled, hanging up. The dirty-blonde walked out into the back garden and inhaled. Plenty of iris, rose and forget-me-not scents hit her nose. She wouldn't lie to herself, she had been struggling on her own. But her little garden made her find her centre. The next day the two younger Crawley girls pulled up to Fenwick with Tom in tow.
"Tom's desperate to get away from the formality." Sybil chuckled. "How are you?"
"Honestly, darling? I'm lonely." Beatrice replied sadly. Sybil hugged her friend.
"Every day, a healthy heart hurts a little bit less." she said wisely. "Mama and Papa would be good to have you over for a meal or two." she continued, Edith nodding.
"But let's move on to happier things - you're glowing, for instance!" Beatrice smiled. "Let Aunt Bea and Aunt Edith shower the little Branson with attention."
"Before she's even born?" Sybil laughed. Tom cracked a smile. "That's awfully bold."
"What's awfully bold is thinking we're having a girl." Tom said. Beatrice tittered.
"A mother knows whether her child is a boy or girl." she replied to the Irishman. "Besides, why shouldn't Edith and I start being doting aunts a bit early?"
"We don't see you enough now, Sybil." Edith pointed out. Beatrice's face agreed.
"Speaking of such a thing, I might pop up if I'm ever asked." the hostess said. Edith smiled - she got on well enough with Beatrice, and it would be nice to have an ally. After a relaxed afternoon, the sun began its gradual decline.
"We best start getting back to Downton." Edith pointed out. Sybil rolled her eyes.
" Must we?" she asked, almost sullen. Edith laughed, and Tom and Beatrice smiled.
"If you need back-up, I'll gladly join you at the table." the dirty-blonde suggested.
"That's your decision, Beatrice. But it'll be best if you bring your armour." Edith said.
"Larry Grey can be tough to stomach." Sybil supplied. Beatrice raised her eyebrows.
"I have plenty of armour from my Grandpapa Morbey. And call me Bea, Edith."
"Larry is probably one of two people in the whole world that Sybil disapproves of. So don't say we didn't warn you." Edith smiled sardonically.