AN: So this is part 2 of the Sybil drabbles. The line at the beginning here will obviously place you at the end of Series 3, episode 6. The italicised line belongs to Julian Fellowes. The next drabble, you will all be delighted to hear, is NOT angsty - I am proud of myself! Please leave reviews and drabble/one shot ideas if you have any. Both of these things make my day! Cobert love to you all.
"When everything is weighed in the balance, I believe that Lady Sybil was going to die."
The words shouldn't matter. Sybil was gone either way. She knew that. Death was not reversible. But the words do matter, because the words are evidence that the other heartache she was living with was unfounded. Robert was not to blame. Nobody was to blame.
The tears that have been lingering in her eyes for days, never far from spilling over and frequently doing so, track onto her cheeks.
It's when he turns to her though, her mother-in-law discreetly turning away from them, that she can't stop the lump in her throat from keeping her sobs at bay.
Their marriage was not a point to grieve any longer. They needed to grieve for their Sybil. Together. He had been trying to and she had held him at bay on purpose.
His arms encircle her.
She pushes her arms around his back and his grip on her tightens as she falls against him. Her body shakes as the tears keep coming. His ear is pressed against her own.
She isn't sure how long they stand like that. As her tears begin to still she realises the frozen position is causing her neck to ache. She tilts her head backwards, trying to encourage him to release his hold on her.
He doesn't relinquish her so she tries to pull herself away, but he holds her tightly. His hands still pressed into her spine. She's about to vocalise her desire to move when she feels his face turn against her ear. The firm feeling of his jaw bone is replaced by the soft swell of his lips at the shell of her ear. His lips don't kiss her. It isn't that movement. She feels the tip of his nose pressing at the hair above her ear. Each breath he takes reverberating in her ear.
"I don't want to let you go." His voice is broken and she feels a couple of his tears fall onto her ear. She swallows, and reaches for him again, her legs feeling unsteady as his words sink in. "I can't lose you too." She inhales deeply and it comes out as a large sniff, her nose clogged with the aftermath of her tears.
"You won't lose me." She means it. He seems to accept that because she feels his grip around her loosen. His hands come to rest on her shoulders and she looks up to find his eyes, glassy as they are, watching her.
"We shouldn't have lost her." She knows he's not talking about the science, the eclampsia, or Doctor Clarkson. He's talking about the fairness of life, or rather it's cruelty. He was repeating the same idea he had uttered on their daughter's deathbed. She'd had her life ahead of her. She had been their baby, and she was gone. She doesn't answer him, she doesn't need to. As they look into each other eyes they know they understand each other.
The tears come again, trekking silently down her face this time, the energy for sobs was gone. She takes her handkerchief from her bag and dabs away the tears. He copies the gesture with his own. When her eyes are clear she realises that they are alone, at some point during their sobbing Mama had left them to be alone.
She puts her handkerchief away and reaches forward for his hand. She traces her thumb over his knuckles and then sweep it across the back of his hand. She feels him squeeze her fingers, keeping her hand fixed in his.
"We ought to say goodbye to Mama." He nods his agreement and they step from the room and move in the direction of the other parlour. Robert keeps hold of her hand and she doesn't remove it. They find Violet in the other parlour and bid her a goodbye. She kisses them both, and pats their arms in that manner she had been using lately – almost as if trying to instill them each with more energy.
The front door is opened for them and the car is waiting. She turns to him.
"Do you mind walking?" She wanted the fresh air, and a chance to be alone with him. They need to talk, if they could, and that would be easier to do that and to deal with the tears that would inevitably fall if they did not have a servant so close by.
"No. I would like that." He takes her hand and places it into the crook of his arm, informing the chauffeur that he was free to return to the house.
They walk down the drive and from there they find the path back into the village. Their bodies move in perfect synchronicity as they walk along the road. Her hip rubs against his, and their feet crunch along the path in perfect step. It lifted a weight she had forgotten had been pressing down on her to have him next to her, and moving with her. His presence had always served as a comfort and walking with him now reminded her that she had been missing this silent, unspoken closeness and the warmth it allows to spread through her. She almost felt as though she could feel some of the wounds around her heart beginning to be closed over and smoothed back to health.
As they reach the boundaries of the village some fifteen minutes later they still haven't spoken. She wants to talk and she knows he deserves an apology for her behaviour, but she cannot find or think of the words to begin that conversation. Maybe it would come more easily with time.
A couple of villagers doff their hats and extend their condolences as they walk by. The sense of community had always been clear to her since her first days at Downton, and she herself had extended condolences to families when they had lost children. She had never thought that one day the boot would be on the other foot. Robert thanks them, but she keeps her eyes fixed largely on the ground, aware that she might not be able to contain her tears if she looked into the faces displaying such pity.
Both of their steps automatically slow as they reach the church. The quickest route was to cut through the grounds of the church and out the other side. But passing through the church would mean passing by the place their daughter rested. His thoughts must be aligned with her own because he reaches across to where his hand sits in the curve of his elbow and squeezes it gently.
"We can go the long way around." She hesitates; ready to take a further step along the pavement, but she stops. She looks up to meet his eyes and she glances in the direction she knows the grave lies.
"Actually, maybe we should – " She gestures in the direction of the church, unwilling and unable to say the words aloud. "The funeral was so crowded and we didn't...we weren't..." She trails off again. Unsure how to voice the words that hurt so much, to confirm that they hadn't spoken. She'd not even looked at him through the entirety of the event. He had tried to reach for her hand at one point and she had kept it firmly clasped with her other one. She looks back up into his eyes now and she can see the hurt in them. He was thinking about the same moment of the ceremony. She removes her hand from the crook of his arm and instead takes his hand; squeezing it. "We should take a moment to mourn her together. With her, beside her."
"I think we should." They walk together through the gate, their hands clasped together between them. He pushes his fingers between her own and squeezes.
They follow the path around the gravestones until they come to the fresh one around the side of the church where the family plot was located. They stop.
She feels his hand gripping more firmly to hers. She feels the tears that prick at her eyes and then start to fall. She doesn't wipe them away.
"Oh god Cora. She was our baby girl." She looks up and he's crying like she is; slow steady tears that run down his cheeks.
"She's still our baby girl. She will always be our baby girl." The words catch in her throat. The lump there making it hard to get the words to come; but they are spoken well enough for him to understand. He lets go of her hand and instead wraps his arm around her shoulders; pulling her against him. She falls against him and wraps her own arm around his back.
They stand like that, looking at the upturned earth and leaning against each other, for a considerable amount of time. United in their grief and hurt, and held in the embrace of their daughter and each other.