"Should you be doing this?" Ernie asked, leaning forward a bit so that Sybil could get behind him and adjust his pillow. "After all, I would think you have much more important things to be worrying about than an old relic like me."
Ernest "Ernie" Brunchwick was the Baron of a small spot of land called Eastwatch who had arrived at the London military hospital a few weeks ago. 49 years of age he had enlisted in order to protect his young son from being dragged to the front, fearing (and in Sybil's opinion rightfully so) that the boy's youth would see either a commander deciding to send him on dangerous tasks or just as likely the young man volunteering for one himself. Ernie (he had told her early on to call him that as 'Ernest sounds like a puppet a motley troupe might cart about') had figured that with his older age and minor status in the realm would protect him from the worst of the fighting.
He'd been right, in part. They hadn't put him near the Somme and he'd been given a small command of his own. But with the War no place was truly safe once one went to the Continent. A soldier could be one moment kilometers away from any action only to awaken to find that an enemy patrol had gotten across the lines and was now firing into the camp. It was the great dichotomy of the War: on one hand little movement ever seemed to come, with both sides dug in and refusing to move, while on the other scouts and raiding parties were always finding ways to scurry across the battlelines and harass the English.
Such had been the case for Ernie, who had been leading a supply train when his forces were caught unaware by a group of Germans. Thankfully everyone had made it out but Ernie's horse had stepped onto an improvised explosive of some kind during the retreat. The beast had died and Ernie had been thrown from the saddle, injuring his back (though thankfully not as bad as Matthew and had maintained the ability to walk) and gotten shrapnel in both his arms. It had been dicey work removing the bits and Ernie had finally been sent home so skilled doctors could finish the work. They'd did so but not before some minor infection had set in and that left the man in full casts on both his arms, restricted from moving about without aid. Thus why he had been assigned to Sybil's ward.
"And just what would be more important in your opinion?" she asked, motioning for him to lean back, the baron letting out a sigh of relief. His pillow had slipped while he had been chatting with his neighbor, a talkative fellow who'd lost a foot thanks to sog and rot, and that had left his still tender back spasming.
"Many things," Ernie said. "You are very important around here, going to all sorts of meetings and speaking for all of us to get funding. I'd think you would be in some grand office having statements typed out and going over graphs or whatever else one in your position would do."
His neighbor, Bucker, nodded in agreement. "Certainly shouldn't be getting your hands filthy dealing with us sods."
Sybil smiled and not just as his jests. Bucker had been there for over a month suffering from a great depression over the loss of his foot. She'd done what she could to help, making him feel comforted without pitying him; that was always important and one of the first things she taught new nurses that came in. It was so easy to see a man with a burned face or missing a limb and treat him like a scared rabbit, speaking in soothing tones and whispering only pleasant reassurances. But the men didn't need that... didn't want that. Such comforts only fed into the belief that they were broken and worthless. Pity fed into their depression. They needed hope, of course, but also a firm hand. To not tell them it was okay when they failed at something… to demand they do it again only better.
"Your life has only changed if you allow it to change," she'd told more than one soldier who'd moaned that everything they knew was lost. It was a rare lesson she hadn't learned from her first life. Matthew had been the one to educate her on that fact, telling her of how bitter he had become every time his mother or papa or Mary or any of the rest of the family and tried to play off his injuries as nothing. She'd been startled by that but he'd asked her just when he'd been at his most disagreeable and she'd admitted it was when of them were trying to tell him that things would be alright or had coddled him. Mary pushing him in his wheelchair, his mother checking on his multiple times, papa offering him praise and hope.
It had been Lavinia who had finally been firm with him, telling him he was to buck up, shape up, and make something of his life. That she refused to meekly take his complaints and walk away when he told her that he was tired. That she was staying there and she expected him to be better. And while at first he'd been angry at her she had helped him get out of his depression and actually begin living again. To stop feeling as if his life was worthless.
Bucker had gotten that from her and it had helped but it had been Ernie who had truly given him the final push he needed to get better. The Baron had seen that Bucker, despite being of the lower class, was a smart man; his father had been a teacher and insisted that his son know all he could. Ernie had stated he wished to hire Bucker to work at Eastwatch's small school and that had led to a friendship that had seen both men flourish. The Terrible Twosome the nurses called them now, for the two quickly played off each other and dragged the nurses to utter distraction.
"You are far too important to be cleaning our dressings, wrapping our wounds, and dealing with our bedpans," Bucker stated.
Ernie nodded in firm agreement even as Sybil busied herself with looking over his casts to make sure they were remaining firm. "You do such good for us, representing us all and ensuring that we get the care we need... they should give you a whole team to assist you."
"And I would send them all to work on other things," she said with a smile, satisfied that Ernie was all set. She walked around his bed and began to gather up the trays that sat between the two men from their lunches. "Because I want to do this."
"Do all earls' daughters dream of checking sheets and bussing trays?" Bucker asked. That might have offended other people but Sybil was far too used to the soldiers and their talk. Some got cocky that a Lady was waiting on them, others tried to get her to react with anger thinking it all a game. They never won on either count. The rest, the ones that got used to her puttering about, teased her with the same gentle tones a favored uncle might talk to a giggling niece.
"Well, I can't speak for others but I will admit it never was a dream of mine. Still want to though."
"But why?" Ernie asked, genuinely interested.
"You said it yourself... I represent you all. And the nurses. And the doctors. The entire hospital. What kind of surrogate would I be if I stood in the names of you all but experienced none of it?" She placed the trays on a cart near the edge of Bucker's bed. "Doing all this helps me remember what is important so that I might better help you all."
"...Lady Sybil, you shame me with how wise you are," Ernie said.
"Nurse Crawley, please," she said, patting Bucker's bed. "Now, you two rest up. And try and let the other nurses get some work done!" The two men laughed at that and bade her well as Sybil left that part of the ward.
"They weren't given you much trouble, were they?" Iris Matherson asked as Sybil passed her, quickly moving to match her step for step.
"They are just friendly," Sybil assured the woman. Iris was nearly 30 years Sybil's senior but treated her like they'd been working together forever. Sybil knew that the nurses closer to her own age glowered and muttered about her behind her back whenever they saw her talking with the doctors or with Iris, knowing that if they were so casual with them they'd get a slap on the back of their hands and told to remember their place. 'But the fact is that they don't know their place. They are young and still don't understand what this job truly means, how important it is, and how one little mistake could risk lives. I would never have talked to Iris like this in my first life… but now I have the knowledge to meet her as an equal.' Out loud she said, "They aren't as bad as that one soldier from last year… you remember him? With the thick muttonchops and the mole on his forehead."
"Simmons?"
"No no," Sybil said as they moved towards the cafeteria, the cart she was pushing creaking and squeaking as she made her way along the narrow hallway. Her clunky unflattering shoes clicked and clopped like horse hooves as she went, Iris' only adding to the effect of a mare trying to canter across a hardwood floor. "Simmons was the one with the lazy eye, remember?"
"Oh right. And he was here only a few months ago."
"I'm talking about Conroy."
Iris grunted at the name. "Oh yes… him." Sybil didn't even to look back at the older woman to know she was gritting her teeth… and with good reason. "Never have I met a man who I wanted to… to…"
"Alter his paperwork to send him back to the Front and get him far away from us all?"
"I was going to suggest smacking him with a bedpan but your idea works too." Sybil laughed at that, entering the cafeteria, the sound of clanking spoons and forks on dishes and murmur of patients (those who could get out of bed) and nurses on breaks chatting amongst themselves filling the air. The nurses made up a smaller part of the diners and were off in the corner, away from the men, and Iris, because of their discussion concerning Conroy, shot a few of the younger ones who were currently eating (and kept flashing coy little smiles at the enlisted men, batting their eyelashes at them) a glare that had them quickly focus on their plates and not anything else. Sybil didn't say a word… it wasn't her job to discipline the other nurses (which she was grateful for… in part because she didn't want such a task, while also another part of her feared she'd give herself away if she began falling into using Irish curses) so she let Iris do as she wished. Sybil represented the hospital… let others focus on the staff.
Setting the dirty trays down next to a pile of other used dishes she said a brief hello to Harold and Ewan, the two recovering soldiers who had pulled dishwashing duty for the day, before turning and making her way out; she knew she was due for a lunch soon but wanted to wait a bit longer before taking one, so that her day might go by all the faster on the back half.
"We could do well to not have to deal with the likes of him," Iris said as they left the cafeteria and made for the stairs, both needing to go check on the patients on the new arrivals floor.
"The baron and Bucker aren't like him at all."
"Aren't like who?" Isobel asked, stepping out of a room. Sybil and Iris slowed to allow Matthew's mother to join them.
"Did you have to deal with Conroy last year?"
"I don't believe so, no," Isobel stated, after pondering the name for a moment. "Remember I was up in Brightton a lot last year assisting while they dealt with the shortage… so even if I did meet the man I didn't get to spend much time with him. Certainly not enough for him to make an impression on me."
"Believe me, if you'd spent more than five minutes with the man you'd have remembered him," Iris complained. "He seemed to believe that this hospital was like one of the filth tales the soldiers like to tell each other in the foxholes… of how the nurses spend most of their time being utterly loose and sinful, breaking every Commandment the good Lord set down."
Isobel raised an eyebrow at that, the three of them stopping on a stairway landing. "Yes, I could see how that could cause problems."
"It didn't help that some of the young women who come here aren't looking to help those in need or to serve their country but believe that this is a perfect opportunity to find a husband." Iris shook her head in disgust. "They hear about the sons of men of wealth and privilege coming here and believe that if they pout their lips and whisper in their ears they can convince them to marry far below their station. Doesn't matter how many times I tell them that all they'll get is a child out of wedlock and their name forever stained… they think that happens to other girls, not them. Conroy made it all the worse because he encouraged them to go far further than they might have otherwise. I caught two of them slathering themselves with makeup before spending far too much time 'comforting' Conroy."
"Told them to remove it?" Sybil asked.
"Of course I did and when they complained about the cost I told them let that be a lesson to them!" Iris shook her head. "How girls who have only seen a few coins in their lives could be more frivolous with their savings than you, Sybil, will always amaze me."
"Comforting?" Isobel asked, latching onto that. "Do I even want to know?"
"Oh, nothing too disgraceful… I would have seen them out the door had they done anything like that. But one was perched on his bed as he read them bawdy jokes and the other offered to give him a massage. A few weeks doing the dirty laundry sorted them out."
Sybil sighed at that. Not at how Iris had treated the women as they needed to get their heads straight, but rather that such women could exist that would allow themselves to be deluded with a few sweet words. She was far too used to her sisters; all the Crawley girls were too stubborn to fall for such tricks. Their love lives were proof of that; Matthew and Tom had been forced to fight a battle that made the Somme look like a mild squabble."And even then you know there will be more than come with the same ideas." The three of them began to head down the stairs again. "It never ends well for them. Ehtel was a prime example of that, wasn't she Isobel?"
"Hmm? I'm sorry, Sybil, who now?"
She let out a good natured huff. "You remember, Ethel? She was hanging off of Major Bryant when she was supposed to be working? Didn't end well for her now did it?"
"I'm not sure I know who you are referring to," Isobel stated.
"Yes you do!" Sybil said with a smile. "Ethel, the-"
She froze.
"Sybil?"
"Sorry," Sybil said, forcing her smile to remain. She let out a quick laugh. "I just realized I was mixing you up with Petunia. She dealt with Ethel."
"Well, Petunia is 10 years younger than me so I'll take that as a compliment," Isobel said with a slight smile.
Sybil didn't hear the rest of the conversation Isobel and Iris had as they made their way down to the new arrivals floor. Instead her mind was racing a thousand miles a minutes.
'Bloody hell shit shit shit shit bloody fuck!' She mentally cursed (and in an Irish accent because no matter the lifetime cursing was better done with a brogue). Ethel. The maid from Downton that she'd never met… not in THIS lifetime. 'Stupid bloody god damn… gaaaaaaaaaa!' she mentally screamed. She fell behind Isobel and Iris, whipping herself in her mind for her slip of the tongue. 'How could you be that stupid, you moronic girl? Why not just walk up to Granny and say, "Surprise, I traveled through time and so did Matthew, would you like to know how the war will end?". Bloody hell, I'm lucky Isobel didn't begin fussin' over me, thinkin' I'd gone daft in the head!' She grimaced. 'Or put two and two together.'
She and Matthew had been so careful with what they had said at Downton, making sure they never referenced anything about their previous lives. That lesson had been especially learned after she'd revealed the truth to Tom; it had taken several long, painful years but finally she and her husband (and oh how she was careful not to call him that lest she scare the boy off!) had reached a favorable place again. Any doubts Matthew had had concerning cluing Mary in on the truth had died with Tom's reaction and Michael had agreed as well that Edith was to be left in the dark. No, this was their secret to hold onto.
'So close... we're so very close!' All three of them were counting down the days till the end of the war but unlike most in Britain their marking of the days and weeks had little to do with the Germans. As far as they could tell Michael had died around a year to a year and a half after Matthew had passed away; they couldn't be sure because the final months of Michael's life had been spent with bleeding in the brain, kindhearted Germans trying to save him but utterly failing. He'd been delirious and muddled, waking only for a few moments at a time and unable to determine exactly how long the passage of time had been. But they thought roughly a year and a half and that all came from a theory she had postulated...
~16 Months Earlier~
"I don't see why it mattered how we ended up back here," Matthew said, the three time travelers gathered in Michael's sitting room. The paperman had decided to throw a dinner for the London Crawleys and Sybil had asked that she and Matthew be allowed to come alone an hour before the rest of the guests could arrive, for she wished to speak to them of private matters. "We have returned... and frankly I have no desire to go back."
"Even if it would mean a better relationship with Lord Crawley?" Michael asked, passing Matthew a drink.
"A better relationship with Robert, yes... but not a better relationship with Mary." He took a sip. "Don't get me wrong... I loved that version of Mary. But despite what either of us claimed there was so much... baggage between us. Some many false starts and withheld secrets that no amount of love could overcome. She had been hurt... badly... by all that happened and while she did love me she didn't love me as Mary does now." He couldn't help but smile as he shook his head. "The only way things could be better now would be if I could suddenly have all the memories of that past life pulled away and only remember what we have now. Then both of us could be fresh and free." He glanced at Michael. "Do no tell me you don't feel the same with Edith."
Michael held up his hand in surrender. "I won't, I assure you. Being free of my first marriage, of not having to feel like I was staining Edith with my love... or that she was debasing herself in loving me... it is a great gift."
Sybil moved past them and poured herself a drink, not caring in the slightest that it was a very unladylike thing to do. She took a slight taste of it before throwing it back in one solid gulp.
"God heavens, woman!" Michael exclaimed. "That is my better Scotch."
"Aye, and it ain't nothin' to me," Sybil proclaimed in an irish accent. "Weak shite and all that."
"I'd forgotten you hadn't seen her do that," Matthew said with a chuckle, nursing his glass. In Dublin Sybil had made some friends with her neighbors and one, a brass woman named Bessie, had favored a liquor that Sybil said was little more than paint thinner with better coloring.
Sybil poured herself another before finally speaking. "As for Matthew's question I don't like leaving mysteries unsolved. I want to know how we ended up where we are now. And determine if there might be anyone else who came back without us realizing it."
"And have you figured it out?" Michael asked.
She shook her head. "Nay." She swirled her drink before taking a long shot of it, though she didn't drain the entire glass this time. "But I do have a theory on what makes us special."
"Speaking for the dimwitted men in the room we ask our brilliant female counterpart what her theory is," Matthew teased.
Sybil gave him a mock toast. "We know that all three of us died and we all returned on the day the Titanic sunk. But that seems to be all that connects us. We died on different days. We died different ways. We didn't even die at the same time or the same place… or even the same country! I might have considered the Downton itself played a role but William didn't come back and Michael died in Germany." She held up a finger and wagged it. "But I do think there is something that we all had in common. It didn't occur to me at first and we'll never be truly sure but I think it is likely." Sybil turned and locked eyes with Michael. "When did you consummate your relationship with my sister?"
Michael spat out his drink in a great mist, Matthew leaping out of the way before he could be hit.
"Damn it all!" Michael said, running the back of his hand along his mouth. "Did you have to just blurt that out like that?"
"Yes. Now answer the question."
Michael glowered at her. "Not that it's any of your business but we were… intimate several times in that first life." He looked towards Matthew. "I know you warned me off about such things, fearing for Edith's reputation, but she was the one that broached the matter with me. You won't believe me on that, I am sure, but it is true."
Matthew though merely chuckled. "Having been with this version of my wife believe me when I say that I am more inclined to believe that a Crawley girl has… appetites."
Sybil, rather than be offended that they were talking that way in front of her, merely grinned. "And as I Crawley girl I can say that I enjoyed time with my husband quite a bit and look forward to more of it soon." She looked down at her glass. "This might have been stronger than I first thought." She waved off that statement and continued. "So you were intimate with Edith. I would say then that I know when you died."
"I thought we were talking about what we had in common," Michael said, going to get himself another drink only for Sybil to reach out and catch his hand, stopping him.
"I'd say you, at most, died within 9 months of leaving England."
Michael stared at her in shock.
"Bloody hell," Matthew whispered. "You think-"
"I am coming to believe it to be fact. You died the day your son was born. I died the day my daughter was born. And Michael… I think you died the day Edith gave birth to your child. You-Matthew, grab him!"
He leapt up, catching Michael before he could fall to the ground, easing him to a chair and settling him. The oldest of the three of them sat there for a moment before tears began to fall from his eyes.
"I… I had a child… I child I never got to know. That I will never know…" he whispered. "Oh Edith…"
"But that isn't true," Matthew said firmly. "Because that life never happened. The child you will have with Edith? You will be there for him or her the entire way. You will hold that squirming little bundle in your arms and whisper their name and see them grow and love and live. Because we have changed our fate just as much as we have changed theirs."
Sybil nodded, going to get another drink so neither man saw the haunted look in her eyes at the thought that Matthew might be wrong and by seizing this second chance they had erased their children from existence.
~MC~MC~MC~
The three time travelers were now clinging to the fact that for all of them, very soon, the days of forewarned knowledge were coming to an end. They had already altered so very much that it was hard to track what had come before with what they were racing towards now but still the time was coming. The war would end and within 3 or so years of that they would have lived past the ends of their first lives. The dangers of running into familiar faces or having to hide secret knowledge would be over. They would be able to live as man was intended… without known.
'You just need to hold it together,' she said to herself.
"Sybil?" Isobel asked. "Are you alright?"
"I… I think I should get something to eat. I haven't had a bite since I started my shift-"
Isobel turned and narrowed her eyes. "I've warned you about that! You can't tell the men they must take care of themselves when you don't follow you own advice!" She made a shooing motion. "No wonder you seemed out of it… go! Go!"
Sybil chuckled. "I'm sorry and I will." She turned, Isobel never seeing her sighing with relief.
~MC~MC~MC~
Isobel returned to the flat she shared with Sybil to find it dark and empty. Which just fine with her as she needed some quiet time to herself.
Not that having Sybil as a flatmate was a bad thing at all. Many people assumed that the two of them either butted heads all the time or had an odd mother/daughter relationship so that whenever they were at home Isobel spent all her time hovering over the young woman like a hen checking her eggs. For the former there had never been a fight between them, save for a few minor squabbles about chores or an article in the paper. Sybil and her complimented each other well, their likes and dislikes similar enough that they rarely ever found themselves going in opposite directions. Sybil also wasn't like most young women. She didn't want to play loud brassy records or scamper off to visit the London clubs and come back early in the morning and awaken Isobel from her slumber. Sybil had an old soul and always had been if Mary and Edith were to be believed. She hadn't sought out her Season like it was some grand thing but rather went through the motions because it was expected of her. She didn't leave a trail of broken hearts and love-sick beaus in her wake; no, Sybil had kept a polite distance.
'I wonder how much of that was because of Tom?' she thought to herself as she set about removing her shoes, sitting on the small bench that Matthew had gifted the two of them for Christmas the previous year for just that purpose. Once those were off Isobel finally shut the door, moving easily through the dark to turn on the lights. She and Sybil had selected a building with electric lights; it meant more of their money went into the landlord's pocket but honestly Isobel had no need for coin thanks to the money Reginald had left behind and it was nice to have such conveniences.
As for the other notion, that Isobel waited on Sybil like she was a pampered princess, that was just laughable. The fact alone that even when she'd had servants Sybil had been more concerned with getting them jobs outside of service than demanding they wait on her hand and foot showed that to be folly. As for their living arrangements they split everything fifty fifty. Meals were cooked on alternating days by each of them and the dishes were taken care of in the same manner. Isobel took care of the shopping as she actually enjoyed browsing the markets of London to see what they might have even in wartime while Sybil was more than happy to dust and sweep. It was a good arrangement and suited them well.
Finally having enough lights on that she could move about without risk of bumping into things (not that she would... at this point Isobel had spent enough time in the flat to move about it with her eyes closed) she moved towards her bedroom and began to undress. There were changing rooms at the hospitals for those nurses that wished to be out of uniform when they left and Isobel did take advantage of those from time to time; mostly when they'd worked on a new arrival that was in a bad way. She had been coated in blood enough times that the shock of it was gone but that didn't mean others could handle it.
But for the most part Isobel enjoyed making the walk to and from the hospital in her nurse's uniform. She found that people were far more polite when they saw her. More eager to help too. She would get doors opened no matter what she wore but the smiles from those who did so were all the greater when they saw that she was working for the hospital, helping the brave lads get better.
'It even saved me one time,' she thought to herself as she rolled down her stockings and tossed them in the hamper to be washed on her next day off. She began to work on removing the pins that held her hat in place, thinking of that close call. It had been last summer and she'd been walking back to the hospital after working a shift and a half; they'd received some lads from France that morning and Isobel had stayed to help get a few settled in who were in such pain they were delusional. By the time she'd left it had been nearly 2 in the morning, the time when only drunks and worst types prowled the streets. She had reached a crosswalk when two men had suddenly stepped out of an alley, their faces covered in nearly as many scars and stubble, their clothing filthy and stained with food and drink and other fluids she didn't wish to think about. The heavier of the two had just begun to open his mouth when the thinner one, though that was a misnomer as he was built like an oxen, suddenly held out his arm and stopped him.
"Not this one," he'd grunted, his voice reminding her of timbers crackling in a fireplace. He gestured at her and Isobel had looked down, realizing that he was motioning at her uniform.
The fat one had blinked at that, his squinty eyes considering her before nodding in agreement. "Right." That's all he'd said before he moved back into the darkness of the alley.
"Best get home, nurse," the tall man said, taking off his lice-caked hat and giving her a polite mini-bow. "Ain't all of us so charitable."
Part of her had wanted to offer help, to suggest places the man could have gone so he might not resort to such sinful things. But common sense had seen her thank him before walking as fast as she could without it looking like she was running. She hadn't stopped till she reached her apartment.
After that she and Sybil would sleep in the small resting room the hospital provided for those that had to pull double shifts should they get out well after sundown.
Isobel pulled herself form the memory and set about getting changed, slipping into her sleeping wear before donning a robe and shuffled out of her bedroom and into the living room. But rather than settle on the couch to enjoy a good book before she went to bed she made her way to the small bookshelf that she had bought when they'd first gotten the apartment and moved several books aside... to reveal a hidden leather bound book tucked behind the tomes. She'd never had a reason to fear anyone discovering it as the books that had hidden it were ponderous things that Sybil would have never read to begin with; old outdated medical books that had belonged to Reginald and had been nearing being out of style when he had received them. She'd told Sybil that she kept them around for sentimental value and that had been enough for her.
The small leather book was nothing special on its surface. In fact it was no different than her diary that she kept safely tucked away in her bedroom. One day a granddaughter or great granddaughter of hers would receive all her diaries and be able to know what life she had lead... and she hoped be proud of how forward thinking her ancestor had been. This book though was only for herself and she knew that one day she would need to destroy it, so that the secrets kept within would never see the light of day.
'Not that anyone would understand,' she thought to herself as she moved to her writing desk and took up her pen. 'Or even decipher it.'
In all honesty the book was a jumbled mess of half written thoughts and words that looked more like the ramblings of a madwoman than the pieces to a great mystery. But she didn't need to write down everything... the few fragments that she kept within the secret diary were enough to sort her thoughts and memories into perfect alignment.
She looked over the pages, the first half dozen or so copied from snippets of her own diary, from pages that had been torn out and already destroyed. The first entry was dated April 16th, 1912.
'Matthew startled. Dream. Rambling.'
She flipped forward, each turn of the page taking her forwards weeks and months.
'Arrived at Crawley House. Far too accepting.'
'Knew way to Dr. Clarkson's office without asking.'
'Called Mr. Parkline by name... just moved in, never met Matthew'
'Mary Crawley=Wife Mary?'
'Interest in Cousin Sybil.'
'Too friendly with Cousin Sybil.'
'The Turk. Matthew knew.'
'Insists on Lord Merton coming. Why?'
'Not Merton. The General.'
'Screamed in sleep. Gave orders. War. Didn't know I heard'
'Oh God. The War. My baby. What did he do? What did he suffer?'
'Fled to London. Startled. Did not expect it.'
She paused and rather than begin writing she went to the very last page where she had written even more outlandish things; at least to someone who did not understand what Isobel was thinking would believe that. They were terms from stories and tales written by the likes of H.G. Wells but Isobel had begun to believe there might be more fact to them than fantasy.
'Alternate Reality'
'Alternate Matthew'
'Psychic Vision'
'Time Travel'
'Mind Reader'
She stared at the page before returning to the half filled page towards the middle of the diary and wrote down what had been weighing on her all day.
'Matthew not alone. Sybil too.'
Whatever had happened to let her son know the future... the same had happened to Sybil.
Isobel began to shut the book before she stopped herself. Pages were flipped till she was back to the beginning but it wasn't that page that interested her but the inside of the cover. There, written in large bold letters, was the command that she would follow, silently and in secret, for the rest of her days. Even if only she knew it.
'Help Matthew.'
She scratched out her son's name and wrote:
'Help THEM'
~MC~MC~MC~
Author's Notes: Okay, so a lot of these plot bunnies have focused on Matthew and Mary so lets switch it up and focus on Sybil and Tom. And I also want to do something common in M&M fanfic, Matthew returning after everyone thought he was dead, and apply that to Sybil.
It is the time of the Movie. Live has moved on the for the Crawleys and they have settled into their strange new normal. Mary is happily married to Henry (and hey, let's give Henry his happy ending… for me at least Matthew isn't coming back in this and Henry and Mary are together and doing well). Edith is married and pregnant. Tom has settled into his role at Downton. And the news that the King and Queen are coming startle everyone but plans are made. Everything is going swimmingly until the staff for the King and Queen arrive, including the Queen's lady's maid. The King's valet (Thomas' love interest) tells Thomas the story: while visiting another estate shortly after the war the royals came upon some horrid ruffians that were attacking a young woman. She was wearing a torn and mud-stained dress and it was clear she was very ill. The King's guards attacked and saved the woman and the Queen demanded that they take the young woman with them. She was nursed back to health but the attack left her no memory of whose she was… all she remembers is stumbling out of a train car (that we learn later had cadavers). The queen decided to take the woman onto her staff and last year promoted her to her Lady's maid as the young woman is very talented… knows her way around the rich and powerful, knows tricks to help with aches and pains, so on.
Thomas is rather surprised by the story, as it sounds like a fairy tale… only to nearly crumple when Lady's Maid, Betty (as she is called) comes in.
It's Sybil.
Where you go with that is up to you.
