#the rest is detail ⋆˙⊹ sybil & tom

[strangewonderful]

tag drop pt 3!

[adoracora-elizabeth]

The truth always comes out, chapter 14

"Mary? Have you seen Mama today?" Sybil asked.

Mary looked up from her desk and looked at the clock. "Now you mention it, I haven't seen her. That is weird. I have to ask her something about the event we will have next month, so I will go up after lunch. I think she is just tired from the day before yesterday."

"Probably. As long as she isn't having a relapse." Sybil frowned.

"Papa would have mentioned it this morning."

"He was awfully quiet this morning." Sybil's eyebrows lowered.

"Anna told me that he had yelled at Daisy yesterday. Something is bothering him."

Sybil now lowered her eyes. "I am afraid it is me."

"Oh Sybil, one day he will accept Tom. I truly believe he will."

"It doesn't matter, I love Tom and want to be with him, whatever Papa thinks of it."

"Well, as long as you are happy. Let us go. Lunch is probably ready."

+++

"Thank you, O'Brien." Cora gave her, her lunch tray. She had not wanted to face Robert. Not yet, she did not know what to do. Robert had feelings for another woman, but she gave him space to grow those feelings. She made him feel lonely. That was not a license, of course, but what if she had paid more attention. What if she had seen his pain and taken care of him. But she had been so preoccupied with the new company that she completely forgot to pay attention to him. She had not realized how much pain he was in, from Sybil's choice. She also did not understand why Sybil could not love Tom. That class system was outdated.

She sighed. She needed to know what exactly had happened between him and Jane. Was it lust, or was it more? She and Robert had not touched each other for months now. She missed him immensely, and he clearly missed the physical touch also. But why did he not come to her? Was she so closed off for him? He deserved better and she needed to talk to him. She had to know how he felt about Jane and where they were standing.

In the last couple of days, he had mentioned so many times, that he could not lose her. She had thought it was because she was so ill, but there was more behind. It made her angry again, thinking about this. He had not told her himself what had happened, would he ever had told her? If she had never gotten that letter, Robert would not have told her she thought. That thought made her even more angry. He was a coward, she should not feel this guilty, yes, she did not give him what he needed, but running into the arms of another woman. A maid working in their house!

Cora scolded herself for that last thought, she did not judge Tom for being a chauffeur, why did she judge Jane for being a maid? There was nothing wrong with being a maid, and she was more than grateful, there were people willing to work for them. She sighed again; she rested her head in her hands. How were they going on from here. She was torn, she loved Robert, she truly did. But did he still love her? And could she ever forgive him for what he did.

A deep sigh left her body, she needed to talk to Robert. She needed to know more details. Was it an incident or reoccurring? Suddenly she felt tears streaming over her cheeks. She and Robert had the perfect marriage, Cora had always thought there was nothing that could come in between them. They survived his mother's dislike of their marriage. The miscarriages before Sybil finally was born. The loss of his father and the weight of Downton on Robert's shoulders. They always withstood everything together. Nothing could break them, was this going to break them?

Without a knock Cora's bedroom door opened and Mary appeared. Quickly Cora whipped away her tears.

"Mama?" Mary rushed towards her mother, what is wrong?"

Cora padded Mary's hand. "Nothing, darling, I just had a coughing fit, the tears are from that." She lied, hoping Mary would buy it.

"Alright." Mary accepted her mother's answer very easily, something that always happened with her, when something was not really of interest for her, it did not matter. "Can you help me with next month's event.

Glad about the distraction, Cora blew her nose, and cleared her throat, what resulted in a real coughing fit.

Mary waited for her mother to catch her breath again. "That mucus does not want to go away, does it?"

Cora shook her head; the coughing fits did hurt er quite a bit and cost her a lot of energy. She was glad when this would also slip away, but Dr. Clarkson had told her this could take days, up to weeks. And the way it was now going, it would be closer to weeks. "It needs time. How can I help you?"

+++

Robert took Isis out for a long walk, Cora had sent him away last night, and did not ask for him today. She also had her lunch in her room, something Cora only did when she was ill. Even on the days they fought in the past, she had always come for lunch. But he really blew it this time. Bates had been right; she would find out. Robert was sure, O'Brien had a hand in it, why did she give that letter to Cora? O'Brien must have read the letter and made sure Cora would read it. Oh, he had never liked that woman, they should have fired her long ago. There was something off with that woman. How many people did she tell about the contents of that letter? Oh, and why did Anna give the letter to O'Brien, she should had known better.

"Milord?" Bates voices sounded.

Robert turned around. "What is it Bates." He said harsher then he intended.

"I heard, O'Brien told her ladyship that Anna gave her a letter, is it not?"

This got Robert by surprise, Bates knew already, that Cora had seen the letter? "How do you know?" But looking at Bates face he continued. "Never mind, O'Brien told her ladyship indeed that Anna gave her the letter."

"Unfortunately, that is a lie. Anna had put the letter in between the other letters that should go up to you. Of course, O'Brien knew about a special letter, because I am sorry to say this, but after yelling at Daisy everybody downstairs knew about a special letter. And O'Brien nosy as she is, read you letters."

Robert's face darkened, "All my letters?"

"I do not think so, because the letters I brought to you in your study were all closed. weren't they?"

"They indeed were closed. O'Brien managed to get the right letter in her first try. But why did Anna leave that letter on the pile? She should had known better and handed it to me in private."

"Milord, Anna thought it was best, to treat it as a normal letter to make sure no one could suspect anything, but she forgot that O'Brien has a nasty master mind. She is truly sorry Milord."

Robert calmed down a little bit. "It is not Anna's fault. You can tell her that. I now realised why O'Brien picked out the right letter, it was the only one with just my name on it. All the other ones were addressed to Downton. Oh, it is all a big mess."

Robert looked at Isis who laid down on the grass, patiently waiting for him to walk on. "Come on girl, let us walk some more." and he took off.

[legends-of-time]

The Journey of Living at Downton

Chapter 21: Early August 1920

Masterlist

Billy had agreed to stay at Downton with Sybil so that their child could be born in the house and so she doesn't have to travel as much to see her family while so heavily pregnant. Emma is ecstatic when she finds out.

It is rather convenient as only a week after the arrangement is made Emma is awoken to find out that Sybil is having pains which means she may or may not start giving birth at any moment. The young woman has never gotten up so fast. Tom chuckles at his wife as she rushes to Sybil's room.

Emma stands with Sybil's mother and sisters as Dr Clarkson checks on her.

"The pains have stopped. Nothing will happen yet." Dr Clarkson tells them. They then join the men waiting in the Hall.

"Everything is fine." Dr Clarkson tells them. Billy sighs with relief.

"You mean it was a false alarm?" Lord Grantham states.

"Not exactly." Dr Clarkson replies. "These early labour pains show that the womb is preparing itself for birth." Lord Grantham pulls a face at his words.

"Dr Clarkson, I'm afraid Lord Grantham doesn't enjoy medical detail." His wife remarks. "The point is, can we all go back to bed?"

"You can." Dr Clarkson tells them. "And so can I."

"I'll see you out," Mary says.

"Sir Philip Tapsell will be here tomorrow." Lord Grantham says.

Dr Clarkson seems slightly offended by his statement. "Of course. If you think it advisable."

"There really is nothing wrong?" Billy asks him.

"Nothing at all." Dr Clarkson reassures. "She is a healthy young woman going through a very normal and natural process."

——

Emma wakes the next morning and soon after breakfast, she is sat with Sybil and Mary.

"I'm the size of a house. My back hurts, my ankles are swelling, and my head aches. Honestly, I cannot recommend this to anyone." Sybil complains.

"I could've told you that." Emma quips, smiling.

"I am listening, but of course, I'm dying to start one of my own," Mary responds.

Sybil looks up at her eldest sister. "So, you're not waiting?"

"Waiting for what?"

"I don't know, but I did wonder."

"Well, there's no need to worry about that just yet," Emma says. She knows there's more than enough time for Mary and Matthew before there's need for any worry. "Though I can tell you all this talk of babies make me think of the christening and how glad I am that Ivy was baptised in Dublin and not Downton. Can you imagine?"

"Blimey," Mary says. "But it was what you wanted and not Tom's?"

"Oh, I didn't mind. And I love Tom so very, very much." Emma replies.

"Billy doesn't care how we baptise the baby, as long as I'm happy. He is giving me complete control. He probably feels bad because I'm exhausted and in pain." Sybil explains.

Emma laughs. "That's Billy."

Sybil chuckles. Both Mary and Emma can tell she needs to sleep some more.

Mary stands. "We'll let you rest."

——

"Quite a few of the cottages have been renovated," Matthew says as he, Mary, Emma and Tom take a walk around the grounds.

"Thanks to you." Mary compliments.

"Maybe a little thanks to me," Matthew replies.

"Many of the farms seem abandoned," Tom says.

"It is because many of them have been left entirely to their own devices," Matthew explains. "Coulter hasn't farmed this properly for 20 years. He struggles to pay the rent, which is too low anyway. There's been no... investment."

"Papa would say you can't abandon people just because they grow old," Mary says.

"I agree, but it would be cheaper to give him a free cottage and work this land as it should be worked," Matthew argues.

"That makes sense but you don't think Lord Grantham understands that?" Tom asks.

"Maybe he harks back to a time when money was abundant," Matthew complains. "There wasn't much need to keep on top of it. I think he equates being business-like with being mean. Or worse, middle-class like me."

"Being middle class means you actually have some business skills," Emma remarks. Mary gives her a reprimanding look, which would have been effective if it weren't for the smile on her face.

"Well, the middle classes have their virtues, and husbandry is one," Matthew says.

"We ought to get back," Mary tells them. "Sir Philip thingy's due on the seven o'clock train. Mathew and Tom ought to be there to hold Billy's hand."

"Poor fellow. He's so terrified, and so thrilled at the same time. As I would be. As I WILL be." Matthew says. Emma sees that Mary looks uncomfortable.

——

The last thing that Emma wants to do is sit around at dinner while Sybil could give birth at any moment, but alas, she is sitting at dinner with Sir Philip.

"The dear Duchess of Truro is full of your praises, Sir Philip. Then, of course, you know that." The Dowager compliments from between Lord Grantham and Billy. On Billy's right is Matthew then Emma then Lady Grantham, Sir Philip, Mary, Tom and Edith.

"She had quite a time when she was first married, but I said to her, 'Never fear, Duchess, I'll get a baby out of you one way or another'." He replies, causing Lord Grantham to choke on his drink. Emma chuckles at this, holding her drink over her mouth to hide her laughter.

"And so you did." The Dowager continues to cover up her son's faux pas.

"Three boys, and as a result, a secure dynasty, I'm glad to say." Emma rolls her eyes. Does this man honestly believe he can control the sex of a baby?

Emma notices Matthew staring at Mary during this statement. She realises then that Mathew must be thinking about the lack of pregnancy in their marriage as well.

"But you see no complications here?" Lord Grantham asks.

"None at all. Lady Sybil is a perfect model of health and beauty."

"We told our local doctor we'd send a message to him when it looks as if the baby's coming." Lady Grantham says.

"Dr Clarkson has known us all since we were girls," Mary explains.

"Yet what's needed here, Lady Mary, is a knowledge of childbirth, nothing more." Sir Philip corrects, which Emma frowns at. "But if it soothes you, then of course. He's most welcome." 

——

Emma misses breakfast downstairs the next morning and has it in bed as Ivy had been particularly fussy and wouldn't settle.

When Emma comes downstairs, she meets with a mildly excited Edith.

"Edith? What is it?"

"The editor of The Sketch wants me to write for him. He saw my letter to The Times, and wants to give me a regular column." Edith explains.

Emma's eyes widen. "This is amazing! What would it be about?"

"I can write about whatever I like but papa only thinks they want my name and title and nothing else," Edith says sadly.

"Well, he's wrong," Emma argues. "The editor has seen what you have to say and is interested in more, I'm sure that's all it is."

"I hope you're right," Edith says.

——

Emma is further uplifted by the news that Anna may have found the evidence needed to prove Mr Bates' innocence from his ex-wife's friend.

Mary, Emma and Edith make their way downstairs before dinner.

"Gemma says Daisy is being harsh to the Kitchen maid, Ivy." Emma is saying to the two sisters.

"I honestly find it funny that your daughter and the new Kitchen maid have the same last name." Mary chuckles.

"It's a nice name!" Emma defends.

"Even so, I hope it resolves itself," Edith says. They meet Billy at the bottom of the stairs.

"Are we the first down? How is Sybil?" Mary asks him.

"Sleeping, thank God. She's been restless all afternoon. I don't think it'll be long now." Billy replies anxiously.

"I'm sorry it couldn't have been in Southampton," Emma says.

"We know how much it meant," Edith adds.

"Nothing means more than she does." They smile at his words and head towards the Drawing room.

——

"And you're sure you have everything you need?" Lord Grantham is asking as they enter.

"Quite sure." Sir Philip answers. Emma notices the Dowager has joined them for dinner. Lord Grantham, Matthew and Sir Philip had been in a huddle but split when Emma, Mary, Edith and Billy walk in. Emma quickly walks over to stand with Tom, who's standing next to where Lady Grantham sits.

"Hello, Granny. You're here. How nice." Edith greets her grandmother with a kiss on the cheek before sitting on the settee next to her.

"Your grandmother will be with us every night until the baby's born." Lady Grantham explains.

"I hate to get news second-hand." The woman remarks.

"Well, you won't have long to wait." Sir Philip says.

"I thought I'd bring up Dr Clarkson after we've eaten." Lady Grantham says to her husband, who immediately looks uncomfortable. Emma can't help but wonder what he's done.

"Yes, I've been talking to Lord Grantham about the good doctor." Sir Philip says. Emma doesn't like his tone.

"Sir Philip feels the room would be too crowded. It might be better to leave old Clarkson out of it for the time being." Lord Grantham explains.

"But I said I'd telephone." Lady Grantham says.

"Well, it really isn't necessary." Sir Philip argues.

"I've given him my word." Lady Grantham insists, looking challengingly at her husband.

"Why don't I run down in the car after dinner, and fetch him?" Edith suggests to diffuse the conversation.

——

Emma, Edith, the Dowager, Lord Grantham, Mary, Tom, Billy, Sir Philip, Lady Grantham and Matthew all sit tensely and quietly at dinner.

Emma frowns when she sees Jimmy and Alfred walk in as the former seems to be acting as the first footman despite only being second. She can see Mr Carson looks displeased but doesn't say anything as Jimmy leans down to serve.

Lady Grantham sighs. "There's nothing more tiring than waiting for something to happen." Billy lets out a small smile but still looks anxious.

"Edith, have you written back to your editor yet?" Matthew asks across Emma to Edith.

"What's this?" The Dowager asks.

"Edith has had an invitation to write a newspaper column," Matthew explains.

"When may she expect an offer to appear on the London stage?" The Dowager remarks.

Edith sighs and turns to Matthew. "See?" Clearly, Edith has told Matthew all about the lack of faith the family often shows.

Suddenly the door opens and the Nurse who's been staying with Sybil walks in. The family stands.

"Oh, God, is it beginning?" Billy asks. Sir Philip simply smiles and guides the expectant father out of the room.

——

Dinner is suspended and Dr Clarkson arrives. He checks on Sybil before reporting to them all, except Billy, in the Library.

"What do you mean, 'concerned'?" Lord Grantham asks.

"Lady Sybil's ankles are swollen. She seems... muddled." Dr Clarkson explains.

"What sort of muddled?" Lady Grantham asks.

"Not quite there, not quite in the present moment."

"And what do you think it means?" Mary asks.

"It means she's having a baby." Sir Philip declares. Lord Grantham chuckles.

"A word, Dr Clarkson." Sir Philip says.

"Excuse me." The two doctors walk out of the room.

"Sir Philip mustn't bully him into silence." Lady Grantham warns.

Lord Grantham sits down. "My dear, this is just Clarkson's professional pride, like barbers asking who last cut your hair. They always want to be better than any other practitioner." Emma frowns at his words.

"Surely it's more than that and we must listen to what he has to say." Emma points out.

"I quite agree." The Dowager says.

"I don't want to hurt Sir Philip's feelings."

"If there's one thing that I'm quite indifferent to it's Sir Philip Tapsell's feelings." His mother retorts.

——

Emma and Lady Grantham share Dr Clarkson's concerns and go with him to Sybil and Billy's room.

"Now what?" Sir Philip huffs when they enter. Anna is following after them with a glass of warm milk for Sybil.

"I want to test the latest sample of her urine." Dr Clarkson says.

"Oh, for Heaven's sake."

"Just give the order to the Nurse, please, Sir Philip." Lady Grantham says. Sir Philip reluctantly does so. Dr Clarkson, with Emma and Lady Grantham trailing after him, goes to the bed where Sybil sits and Billy sits in the bed next to her, holding her hand. Emma takes in the sight of the trembling and sweating woman on the bed.

"How's the young mother doing?" Dr Clarkson asks Sybil.

"Am I on duty, Dr Clarkson?" Sybil suddenly asks.

"What?" Dr Clarkson is taken aback and Emma can't blame him. This just confirms that Sybil is muddled.

Sybil begins to shake her head. "Only I swear I'm not on duty, otherwise I wouldn't be lying here."

"No. No, you're not on duty." Doctor Clarkson reassures.

Emma looks to Lady Grantham, worry etched onto her face.

Sybil grasps Emma's hand. "Emma, can you cover me, please? I shouldn't be on duty." She pleads.

"Um, yes, of course," Emma replies. Sybil moans and hyperventilates.

——

"It's my belief that Lady Sybil is at risk of eclampsia." Dr Clarkson tells them all with the exception of Billy and Sybil.

"What is that?" Lord Grantham asks Sir Philip. Emma can't help but feel irritated by his exclusion of Dr Clarkson.

"A rare condition from which she is NOT suffering." Sir Philip corrects.

"Tell him why you think she may be." Lady Grantham urges.

"Her baby is small, she is confused, and there is far too much albumen that is, protein in her urine." Dr Clarkson explains.

"Dr Clarkson, please! Have you forgotten my mother is present?" Lord Grantham complains.

"Please. A woman of my age can face reality far better than most men." His mother remarks.

"The fact remains, if I am right, we must act at once." Dr Clarkson declares.

"And do what?" Mary asks.

"Get her down to the Hospital, and deliver the child by Caesarean section."

"But is that safe?" Emma questions. She had heard that in this time period c-sections were not as safe as they will be in her time.

"It is the opposite of safe." Sir Philip answers. "It would expose mother and child to untold danger. She could pick up any kind of infection in a public Hospital."

"An immediate delivery is the only chance of avoiding the fits brought on by the trauma of natural birth! It may not work, but–"

"Honesty at last." Sir Philip interrupts. "Even if she were at risk from eclampsia, which she is NOT, a caesarean is a gamble which might kill either or both of them."

Lord Grantham rubs his forehead, stressed. "I think we must support Sir Philip in this."

"But it's not our decision," Mary argues. "What does Billy say?"

"Billy has not hired Sir Philip." Her father counters. "He is not master here, and I will not put Sybil at risk on a whim. If you are sure, Sir Philip?"

"I am quite, quite certain." Sir Philip replies.

"You're being ridiculous. Obviously, we have to talk to Billy." Lady Grantham argues.

Lord Grantham looks to his mother, who retorts, "Don't look at me. Cora is right. The decision lies with the ship builder."

——

"Could we get her to the Hospital?" Billy asks as they stand in the Upper corridor. They had just explained to him what is happening.

"To move her would be tantamount to murder." Sir Philip argues.

"Sir Philip, admit you're beginning to detect the symptoms yourself." Dr Clarkson counters. "You can see her distress!"

"Can you?" Lady Grantham asks.

"Yes, Lady Sybil is in distress. She's about to give birth." Emma rubs her forehead, her irritation with this man is giving her a headache.

Dr Clarkson turns his begging elsewhere. "Lord Grantham, Mr Prior, time is running out. We'd be at the Hospital by now if we'd acted at once. The baby would be born."

"If she has the operation now, do you swear you can save her?" Billy asks.

"I cannot swear it, no." Dr Clarkson admits. "But if we do not operate, and I am right about her condition, then she will die."

"If, if!" Sir Philip complains. "Lord Grantham, can you please take command?"

"Billy, Dr Clarkson is not sure he can save her. Sir Philip is certain he can bring her through it with a living child." Lord Grantham argues. "Isn't a certainty stronger than a doubt?"

"Robert, I don't mean to insult Sir Philip, but Dr Clarkson knows Sybil. He's known her all her life." His wife begs.

"So, you'd take her to the Hospital?" Billy asks his mother-in-law.

"I would've taken her an hour ago!" Sybil screams in the distance.

"God help us!" Billy mutters. The screams continue. Emma runs to Sybil's room with Billy, Mary, Edith and Lady Grantham following.

——

Lots of screaming later, Sybil finally gives birth to a baby girl.

Sybil smiles at her daughter, cradling her. "Oh, Emma." She murmurs. "Our daughters are the same age."

"I'm sure they'll be very close," Emma replies with a warm smile. "Someone needs to tell Billy."

"I'll do it," Mary says and hurries out of the room.

Billy soon returns and embraces his wife and child.

——

"Congratulations," Matthew says to Billy, patting him on the shoulder, as they join him, Lord Grantham and Tom in the Upper corridor.

"Thank you." Billy happily replies.

Lady Grantham is slower in coming out of the room. She happily grabs her husband's hands and gives him a kiss. "I'm sorry we doubted."

"No. As to that, Lady Grantham, it's always a good idea to forget most of what was said during the waiting time, and simply enjoy the result." Sir Philip cheerfully replies and shakes Lord Grantham's hand. Emma looks at Dr Clarkson, who doesn't look pleased and this makes her stomach twist uncomfortably.

"Is there anything more to be done?" Mary asks Sir Philip.

"Not really. The Nurse will stay with her, and so I suggest we all get some sleep, and meet again refreshed in the morning." Sir Philip answers.

——

The happiness doesn't last for long and in the night, the Nurse frantically wakes them up. Emma and Tom rush to Sybil's room with Edith and Matthew while Mary wakes her parents. Billy is already there with the doctors and stands beside Sybil, who is wincing in pain as she hyperventilates.

Mary joins them as Dr Clarkson checks on Sybil, who is trying to speak but it comes out all incoherently. Dr Clarkson moves away and Billy and Emma step forward.

"Can you hear me, darling? It's Billy." He says, attempting to soothe her.

"I need to be getting up."

"No, my darling."

"I need to—" Sybil begins crying.

"Darling, all you need to do is rest."

Sybil cries out in pain. "My head. Oh, my head! My head!" She hits her forehead repeatedly.

Emma strokes her head. "Sybil, calm down, let me bathe your forehead."

Mary passes her a wet cloth and she begins dabbing against Sybil's forehead, trying to soothe the woman. Sybil's head tilts backwards.

"It hurts! It hurts!"

"What's happening?" Lord Grantham demands when he and his wife enter. Sybil seems to begin choking as if having a seizure.

Emma shakes her, attempting to speak to her. "Sybil?" She cries.

"Oh, God. Oh, God! God, no, no!" Billy cries

"What the hell is happening? Sir Philip?" Lord Grantham demands to know.

"Sybil? She can't hear me. Sybil? Sybil, it's Mary. Can you hear me?" Mary desperately shakes her sister but she can't get through as Sybil seizes, her airways closing.

"It looks as if–" Sir Philip begins.

"It looks as if what?" Lady Grantham demands.

"This is eclampsia." Emma hears Dr Clarkson inform. Mary, Emma, Billy and Lady Grantham crowd around Sybil.

"Sybil. Sybil." Emma tries. "She can't hear us."

"Somebody do something!" Matthew yells from the end of the bed.

"The human life is unpredictable." Sir Philip defends. Emma wants to strangle the man.

"But you were so sure!" Lord Grantham insists.

"What can we do?" Tom asks.

"Help her, help her, please!" Billy shouts. Sybil hyperventilates and wheezes.

"Please," Emma screams. "Just breathe, Sybil, please."

"Oh, God, no!" Billy weeps.

"Dr Clarkson, shall we take her to the Hospital?" Edith asks.

"There's nothing that can be done." Dr Clarkson replies. Emma's stomach twists in knots.

"It's not possible, not these days!" Matthew retorts.

"Once the seizures have started, there's nothing to be done."

"But you don't agree with him do you, Sir Philip?" Lord Grantham insists but he doesn't get a reply.

"Please, don't leave me. Help her, help her, please! What's happening?!" Billy begs.

"She can't breathe," Mary says desperately.

"Please, please, just breathe." Billy cradles his wife's head as she tosses and turns.

"There has to be something worth trying!" Lord Grantham yells at the Doctors.

"Come on, come on, breathe, love," Billy begs.

"Come on, Sybil." Her mother encourages pleadingly.

"Breathe, love. Come on. Sybil? Listen, it's me, my darling. All you need to do is breathe." Billy continues. "What's happening? Please breathe, love! Please!"

"Please." Lady Grantham weeps.

Everyone is around Sybil, trying to help her but there is little to be done as she continues to seize. Emma watches as her skin turns a grey-blue.

"She can't breathe." Mary cries before taking in her sister's appearance and stepping back in shock.

"Sybil." Emma pleads. "Sybil, wake up, please."

There's a ringing in her ears, nothing is processing with her as she sees her best friend dead. Her best friend laying there dead because they hadn't listened to Dr Clarkson. She is gone. Emma feels as if someone has ripped out her heart.

"Please, love. No, no!" Billy continues.

"No, no..." Lady Grantham sobs.

"Please wake up. Please don't leave me." Billy begs, shaking his wife. "Please wake up, love. Please don't leave me! Please don't leave me, love!"

Doctor Clarkson leans over to take her pulse. He walks away, shaking his head. Lady Grantham and Billy continue sobbing and begging.

Emma sees Lord Grantham walk forward to look at his daughter. "But this can't be. She's 24 years old. This cannot be." Emma can't look at him right now. 

Emma stands, sobbing. "She's dead, she's dead, she's dead." She whimpers as Tom holds her up. "Oh, God."

If he wasn't there, she would have fallen to the ground. Through her tears, Emma spots Mary watching her. Mary stares at her, tears in her eyes as she notices how much pain Emma is in. She takes a few steps towards her, embracing her as they cry.

The sound of crying comes from the direction of the Nursery. The baby.

——

The next morning Emma is back in Sybil's room, now dressed in black. Tom has joined her, not wanting her to be alone again. He stands behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders as he traces his thumbs in circles. Billy sits next to her by the bed and Mary sits on a chair in the corner.

"The men from Grassby's have arrived." Edith notifies as she enters the room.

Billy doesn't look away from Sybil. "To take her away?"

"Yes. And we must let them." Mary speaks up.

Billy moves away from the bed, not being able to watch them take her. Emma watches him solemnly. Mary stands up and walks forward with Edith following.

The eldest Crawley daughter leans over the youngest. "Goodbye, my darling." Mary gives Sybil's forehead a kiss. Edith does the same.

"She was the only person living who always thought you and I were such nice people," Mary murmurs.

"Oh, Mary..." Edith's voice cracks. "Do you think we might get along a little better in the future?"

"I doubt it," Mary replies. "But since this is the last time we three will all be together in this life, let's love each other now, as sisters should." The two sisters pull each other into a hug.

They step away and Emma walks over to Sybil. "I'll look after her don't worry. Our daughters will be the best of friends, just like you wanted, I promise." She murmurs before giving her a kiss on the forehead as well. She steps back and tries to hold back her sobs. She feels Tom wrapping an arm around and she clings to him.

They leave the room so that Billy can say goodbye to his wife alone.

——

They are gathered in the Drawing room. Isobel, Matthew, Tom, Lord and Lady Grantham, Edith, Mary and Emma. The men stand while the rest of them sit on the various pieces of furniture.

"Ah, Mama." Lord Grantham greets when his mother walks in. Edith and Mary stand to greet their grandmother.

"Oh, my dears." The Dowager says, brushing her hand over her daughter-in-law's shoulder before kissing the cheeks of her remaining granddaughters. To Emma, she seems frailer than usual.

"You'll be glad to know they've found a nurse for the baby. She is already here." Lord Grantham informs her.

"Good, good. Where's Billy?" The Dowager asks.

"He's upstairs. I've asked if he wants anything. He says no." Edith replies, sitting down next to Mary, who has already sat down.

"He wants his wife back, but that's what he can't have." Lady Grantham says, looking as if she's only just holding herself together, before standing. "I must write to Dr Clarkson and have it sent down before dinner." She turns to leave.

"Darling, there's no need for that." Her husband responds.

"I should. I want to." She says quickly. "I have to apologise for our behaviour."

"What? Why?" Mary questions.

"Because if we'd listened to him, Sybil might still be alive. But Sir Philip and your father knew better, and now she's dead." Her mother replies harshly. Emma honestly can't blame her for feeling this way.

"Why... Why did she say that?" The Dowager asks her son.

"Because there is some truth in it." He replies.

"My dear, when tragedies strike, we try to find someone to blame." His mother argues. "In the absence of a suitable candidate, we usually blame ourselves. You are not to blame. No-one is to blame. Our darling Sybil has died during childbirth, like too many women before her, and all we can do now..." she swallows thickly, "...is cherish her memory, and her child."

"Nevertheless, there is truth in it." He simply responds.

——

It had been a while since she had been to the Courtyard but Emma feels like she needs to be in a familiar setting.

"Well, this seems familiar." Emma hears someone say behind her. She turns to see Thomas standing behind her. She notes his red eyes and splotchy cheeks as if he's just been crying.

"Hi." Her voice is scratchy from her own crying. Thomas walks up to stand next to her. They stand quietly, looking at the stars.

"I miss the old days." Thomas then says. "You and me talking."

"Me too," Emma replies. "We don't see each other much these days, do we?"

"No, you had to go and get married. To Mr Branson." Emma snorts at the distaste in his voice.

"Well, I like him," Emma remarks. They chuckle before going quiet.

"How's the baby?" Thomas quietly asks, tentative.

Emma gives him a sad smile. "She's doing well. There's nothing wrong. Ivy seems interested in this new addition. I've moved Ivy into the Nursery so two of them have each other for company."

Thomas snorts. "It's funny your daughter has the same name as the new Kitchen maid."

Emma rolls her eyes. "In my defence, I named my daughter before this other Ivy turned up at Downton." They chuckle.

"Things are going to be different now," Emma says after a moment. "Who knows what's coming."

"We'll have to be ready," Thomas responds.

——

A/N: I had missed doing Thomas scenes, I wanted a call back to the old days.

Please leave comments on how you're enjoying this story and what you think.

Also, I'm so sorry.

[rose-edith]

(7.5) You and Tommy help Sybil and Tom escape from Ireland and get to Downton would include:

(Crawley!Reader x Tommy Shelby. Peaky Blinders x Downton Abbey: Crossover.)

•life as Mrs Y/N Shelby was treating you wonderfully! Work was going better than ever, Tommy was madly in love with you, just as you are with him!

•Tommy’s illicit activities had also been going rather well…so money was abundant. You were even pleased to see that Tommy was keeping in contact with Tom, they were working together on something- but you didn’t ask what. You were just pleased that bridges were being built!

•but naturally, the course of true love never did run smooth…imagine your surprise when late one night Tommy comes home covered in mud and blood, but grinning and with none other than your brother in law Tom Branson in tow!

•when the men see your crossed arms, deep set frown and your gun laid on the table in front of you they have the decency to look a little sheepish.

•Tommy quickly launches into an explanation that Tom needed to get out of Ireland and so he helped him!

•on the one hand you were glad, but the minute you heard that Sybil had been left behind you saw red! You shouted like you’d never shouted before.

• “You ABANDONED my PREGNANT SISTER, in a DIFFERENT COUNTRY, you LEFT HER TO FOLLOW BEHIND…SHE’S VULNERABLE! God Tom, I’m so disappointed. I supported your match with Sybil, but this…this is how you repay my TRUST?!”

•at your words Tom does start to cry and Tommy pours him a glass of whiskey, and he shoots you a look to tell you to tone it down. And it just infuriates you, but under his hypnotic eyes you do find yourself calming a little.

•Tom downs the drink and swears he’ll go back for her if she’s detained, but that they had made a plan in case this happened.

•you were aghast…what type of work…what type of activity would require a plan like this? And when neither men would meet your eye you knew you didn’t want to know the details. So instead you asked when to expect Sybil. Tom explained he got the last ferry to England, so Sybil won’t arrive until the next day.

•once the bedroom door was closed you turned on Tommy with such fire that he had to physically hold your hands down at your sides because you were hitting his shoulders so hard. He told you everything then, explained it all to you. Slowly the fire was subdued, you still weren’t happy. But Tommy had you wrapped around his little finger, with a few gentle kisses that steadily became harder, he had you back under his spell. You still weren’t happy, BUT you both found a much better way to physically work out your frustrations. It’s not like you were going to sleep anyway, you were too worried about Sybil being alone.

•you made Tommy keep Tom hidden at your house as you went to the docks to meet Sybil. She practically fell into your arms, relieved to be safe with you.

•you had Pol check Sybil over once you got her home, she smiled as she put her hands on Sybil’s bump- she said the baby girl inside (oh Pol and her clever insights beyond the veil, Sybil’s eyes widened when Pol said it was a girl but you just grinned- Pol was never wrong!) was safe and healthy for now, that it was Sybil’s health that needed to be seen to. She needed to rest, not too much more travelling before the baby is born.

•Pol was pushing the idea of Tom and Sybil staying in Birmingham, something about the way she was looking so intently at Sybil unsettled you, you felt the need to keep Sybil close. You were all for them staying!

•but then Tommy pointed out that the police in Birmingham would feel no remorse in knocking doors down and just snatching Tom away if they find him here. Reluctantly you agreed.

•In the end you all came to the conclusion that there was only one thing for Tom and Sybil to do, only one place for them to go where they can’t be touched- Downton. It was a bitter decision for Tom, but the safety of the estate was the safest thing for them.

•so you and Tommy drove them all the way to Downton, staying only one night to see them safely settled before returning to your little life. Your Father was furious. You thought he was angry when you introduced Tommy as your fiancé, you thought he would be angrier that your married Tommy without even inviting him or Mama or anyone else…but no, his anger was totally directed at Tom.

•So as you made your way home the following day you made Tommy swear to tell you in future about any business he may have with your side of the family- you certainly didn’t mind it, you just wanted a heads up in case things go wrong again! Luckily he agreed.

[strawberriesndaisies]

Inconsiderate

A oneshot featuring my OC Imogen (Downton Abbey) + supportive Tom, Mrs. Hughes & Thomas Barrow

Warnings: implied kidnapping & Rape/Non-con (BOTH IMPLIED; NO GRAPHIC DETAILS)

Word count: 2010 (2k)

Summary:

Jimmy, a new footman at the abbey, can't help but wonder why one of the maids is allowed to keep her daughter at the abbey. What happens when he uncovers the truth?

"So Imogen, what does your husband do?" The girl in question moves her gaze from where Mr. Bates is playing with Alice to Jimmy, who's sitting opposite her.

She clears her throat gently to hide her shock at the question. "Pardon?"

"Only," he begins as he leans back in his chair, "I'm a bit confused as to why the family lets you keep your daughter here. I mean, obviously, your brother was married to Lady Sybil, but even so, it's unprofessional to keep her at your workplace. Couldn't your husband take care of her at your home? Or perhaps depending on his job, you might have a nanny. One of your own, not the same one as the family."

She bites her lip, casting her eyes downward as she thinks of the best way to answer. "I.. don't have a husband."

"Oh, are you widowed? I'm ever so sorry-"

"No, not widowed."

"Divorced then?"

The conversation around them has died down at this point. Her gaze shifts to the clock on the other side of the room. "Alice, darling, I do believe it's time we get you into bed," she waits as the girl passes a hug to Anna, Mr. Bates, Thomas and Mrs. Hughes before finally meeting her mother in the doorway.

Thomas straightens out his newspaper loudly. "You know Jimmy, if you want to stay on everyone's good side you'll stop harassing Imogen."

The blond scoffs. "I'm not harassing anyone. I'm just wondering why she's so dependent on her deceased sister-in-law's family. If she was so important to them, they wouldn't have her continue working in the house."

"You shouldn't just assume these things Jimmy, it's not nice." Daisy says, "You don't know all that Imogen's gone through."

"Well considering no one in this house ever tells me anything, I simply have to draw my own conclusions."

When Imogen came downstairs again, she settled in the chair beside Thomas, her hands grasping onto a book and her head dropping down onto his shoulder.

His arm settled around her shoulders automatically. “Are you alright?” He asked quietly, keeping his voice low for fear of drawing attention to himself.

“Not really,” she mumbled, her voice muffled by the book in front of her face. “He was just… asking some strange questions. I didn’t like it.”

Thomas hummed softly, “Maybe you should go up to bed soon. You can’t afford to be falling asleep every ten minutes now.”

“But I haven’t read the entire thing yet.” She protested quietly.

“And you won’t have any further need to. Now go upstairs please, you’re exhausted.”

She grumbles something unintelligible, but slowly starts to stand. Before she can make it out of the room though, she’s stopped by Mrs. Hughes

“Step into my sitting room for a moment, Imogen.” The housekeeper says with a soft smile.

When the door has closed behind them, Imogen takes a seat in one of the chairs by the fireplace as the other woman sits opposite her.

“I’m sorry about Jimmy’s behavior. He was out of line, and Mr Carson has already reprimanded him.” She pauses, waiting for a response that never comes.

“I know you don’t like speaking of how Alice was… conceived, but if you ever wish to talk, I’m always here.” The woman offers kindly, resting a hand on Imogen’s forearm for comfort.

Imogen remains silent for another minute, the tears filling her eyes.

Mrs. Hughes’ brow furrows when she sees her eyes fill with tears. “Are you alright dear?” She asks, placing a comforting hand over her knee.

Her reply is drowned out by more loud sobs coming from Imogen, “I…I don’t know�� I’m just so tired.” She manages to stutter out between her sniffles. “Everything was just so overwhelming.”

“Perhaps you ought to get some sleep. I can ask Thomas to escort you upstairs. God knows he won’t do any harm in the ladies hallway.”

Imogen laughs lightly through her sniffles. “I’d like that. Thank you.”

—————————

When morning comes, the first thing Imogen does is find her daughter.

The girl is already wide awake by the time Imogen finds her in the nursery, asking where her uncle is every 5 minutes. If only Tom hadn’t told her he’d be taking Alice and Sybbie out for a walk today; he could’ve spared Imogen the headache.

When they enter the servant’s hall, Imogen’s shoulders tense as she sees Jimmy already sitting there, a cup of coffee in his hand as he reads the paper. She had tried so hard to get down early today to avoid him… not early enough, apparently.

“Ah, Imogen,” he starts, leading to Thomas and Bates staring daggers into him. “I see you’ve brought her with you?”

She keeps her responses short. “Yes? And so?”

He shrugs. “Nothing, I’ve no problem with it. Only after our conversation yesterday, I can’t help but wonder how it’s possible for someone to have a child without the apparent influence of a man.”

Great. Back to this. She chooses her next words carefully. “Of course there was a man, Jimmy. He simply isn’t in the picture.”

“So you are divorced then?”

“You cant be divorced if you’ve never been married." She shoots back, crossing her arms.

Before Jimmy can reply, Bates steps forward, his tone calm but serious. “Jimmy. That’s enough.”

Jimmy rolls his eyes. “Fine. I apologise for my insensitive question. We can discuss this later. I suppose I shall leave you to it.” With that, he stands and leaves the room.

Imogen sighs heavily, running a hand through her hair. “I’m sorry about that.”

Bates shakes his head. “It isn’t your fault he’s a prick, Imogen.”

She nods, opening her mouth to respond when she’s interrupted by her brother standing at the doorway, his presence being announced by Alice’s giggle of “Uncle Tom!”

“Good morning Alice,” he greets the little girl warmly, kissing her temple before turning to his younger sister. “How are you both today?”

“Good! Is Sybbie here?”

“She’s upstairs. I’ll take you in a moment, I just need to ask your mum something. Why don’t you go grab your things?” The little girl giggles again before running off to fetch her backpack while Tom turns back to Imogen. “Goodmorning, Gen.”

He says as he places his hand on her shoulder. “Sleep well?”

She shrugs. “Well as I could. What’d you need to ask?”

He sighs. “Apparently O’Brien told her ladyship about an argument between you and one of the footmen last night. I wanted to make sure you’re alright.”

“We had a disagreement. It happens a lot around here.”

Tom doesn’t seem convinced. “I know he asked about Alice’s father.” His tone is gentle, caring even. “I can imagine that upset you.”

She forces a smile on her face. “It did. But I promise I’m okay now. And besides, I ought to get going, I have work to do. And I do believe you have two girls waiting for you upstairs.” He frowns slightly, but nods anyways and lets her go.

—————————

As she makes her way through one of the halls, she freezes in her step as a hand closes around her wrist and pulls her to the side.

“Oh god, not again. Please, not again.” She thinks, frantically trying to move away, but the grip tightens and refuses to budge.

“Why won’t you answer my questions, Imogen?” Jimmy is standing in front of her, brows furrowed.

She doesn’t see him though. She sees a hooded figure, growling how pretty she is in her ear and how his boss will be happy with her.

Jimmy lets go when he notices the tears in her eyes and the pickup in her breathing. “Woah, Imogen..”

His face morphs into worry and he takes a few tentative steps towards her. “What’s wrong? Are you alright?”

A sob rips itself through her throat as another tear falls down her cheek and her eyes start to water once more. She tries to hold herself together, but it’s no use. Her hands fly to her face, covering her eyes as she gasps desperately to keep herself together. She feels Jimmy’s hand rest on her elbow as he guides her to sit down on one of the couches set against the far wall of the corridor, and she has to bite her knuckles to stop herself from screaming.

“Just sit here and, uh, I’ll be right back.”

As he leaves the hallway, she hears him mumble something about getting someone. A few moments later, she hears footsteps coming towards her and she squeezes her eyes shut, praying for him to go away.

However, to her disappointment the steps approach faster and louder, and a second later she’s enveloped in a tight hug. She recognizes the scent instantly: tobacco, cinnamon, and whiskey. She’d recognize those particular smells anywhere.

“Shhh, I’ve got you. Just relax.” Thomas murmurs in her ear, holding her close. “Gen, let’s go somewhere more private, alright?”

She nods as he leads her towards her room. When he opens the door he walks them towards her bed and sits her down gently. “Alright. Do you want to talk?”

With a quiet sob, Imogen shakes her head slowly.

“What happened? Did Jimmy do something?” Thomas presses.

Another nod.

“What did he do?!” He repeats, harsher this time, gripping her arm tightly. “Did he hurt you?"

She sniffs. “Grabbed my wrist. I thought… I thought I was back there.” Another whimper escapes her lips, her voice breaking into a whisper as she continues, “I… I couldn’t breathe and…” She pauses, swallowing thickly before continuing. “I couldn’t breathe and… he wouldn’t let me go…” The tears begin to flood once again from her eyes and she clings onto Thomas tightly, burying her face into his chest.

Thomas runs a hand up and down her back soothingly. “Hey, hey, it’s alright. You’re safe. Everything is okay. It’s alright now.”

They stay like that for a few minutes, Thomas whispering soothing words of comfort to her until the tears finally stop flowing down her cheeks. They stay like that, wrapped in each other’s embrace. For the first time in what feels like forever, she feels safe.

Finally, Imogen draws back, wiping at her cheeks.

“I can talk to Mr. Carson for you. Try and get you the day off.

She shakes her head quickly. “No, that’s fine. I… Thank you.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

She only smiles and nods before leaving the room.

—————————

That night before dinner, Imogen stands anxiously waiting for Jimmy to show up in the yard like she had requested.

“Hey look, I’m sorry about earlier today, I do-“

“No, that’s what I want to talk about as well.” She cuts him off. “I feel I owe you an explanation as to my behaviour in the hallway.”

He blinks, taken aback for a moment. “Oh. Well, alright. Shoot.”

She takes in a breath. It’s been forever since she’s actually talked about this.

“A few years ago, I was attacked. Kidnapped, actually. They kept me for 2 months, and they forced me into unspeakable acts. Acts which led to my pregnancy with Alice.”

Jimmy listens intently. He never expected this, not from Imogen. After all, she barely knows him, and now she was telling him that her angel of a daughter was the product of a rape.

This explains why she’s so afraid of being touched by people she’s not particularly close with, of being left alone. This explains why she’s always with Thomas or one of the other girls.

She continues. “When you grabbed my wrist this morning, I felt like I was back there. I’m sorry.”

“No, if anything I should be the one apologising. I shouldn’t have cornered you to try and relieve my curiosities. I didn’t realise the stupidity of my actions. I wasn’t trying to force myself to be part of your life.” He assures.

She smiles, relieved, grateful. “Thank you. Now, would you mind if we went inside? I underestimated how cold it would be out here.”

He laughs, nodding. “Absolutely.”

Tagging (lmk if u wanna be + or -):

@pogueslut @darrenshayes @sxrgents @kate-bishopp @jackmcphees

[anneboleyns]

I saw the downton abbey movie so now here’s kind of a rambling personal essay, under a cut for spoilers for the downton abbey movie. downton abbey movie spoilers ahead.

once again SPOILERS AHEAD also tw for death, grief, suicide attempts/etc mention.

so, i know probably no one cares but considering how active i was in this fandom and how incredibly important this show and the character of thomas was to me personally, i’m just gonna sit here and write my thoughts about thomas barrow, the show, the movie, what it meant to me, and my critique overall

so basically i always loved the show and thomas but it really took off 2 yrs ago during 2017.

i had just moved out of my mother’s house and i had just finished a rewatch of the show, i remember this so clearly lol it was september 2017 the rewatch had started like june 2017. and i remember when i got to my new apartment one of the “comfort shows” i would put on on my very own tv in my very own apartment was “downton abbey”. i believe the other that was regularly tossed on in the background was “the tudors”, obviously lol

anyways, i was so hyper obsessed. i had also JUST discovered that thomas and jimmy were legitimately shipped in this fandom. i had no idea that was a real thing when i watched it live. and i had never cared about jimmy or thought of them as an actual viable relationship. but with this rewatch they just hit different i guess. i spent hours and hours and hours at my mother’s house before the move (which was an EXTREMELY tense living situation, the month or so right before i left. i’m not getting into all of it now. if you followed me back then you know) watching this show like properly sitting and watching an episode with my sister, and then capping for gifs, which if you make gifs you know is basically spending possibly 3 or 4 hours with the same episode. like it can take that long for me personally to go through it and cap everything i want, then, sorting the caps into folders, especially if i’d capped more than one episode. completely mesmerized with the smallest details, hand and facial movements i specifically wanted to gif or be in a set, clothing movements, emotional moments, like i was just so into all aspects of the show and wanted to gif everything. my fav 4 are thomas, sybil, mary, and tom. i also adore edith and it may be a “fav 5″ now as i think i just love all of those characters equally. so i pretty much giffed every single fucking scene they were in lol. unless they were “ugly scenes” that i knew i could never make work in photoshop. sometimes i would cap it anyway and sort it anyway and open it up anyway and try but would end up deleting all the caps for that set. so all the gifs i have posted, is not even all the ones i capped. anyway

okay and then, there’s the fanfic. reading it, rereading, and writing it. it took me 2 years but i actually read close to every single thomas/jimmy fanfic on a03. at some point i only started opening complete fanfics because i got burned too many times on abandoned slow burns, and if a fic wasn’t my thing i would obviously not finish it. but definitely hundreds of works i read, saved to my phone and reread in google books. works i would think about all day.

so, june 2017 i start the rewatch. i also start planning to move out of my mother’s. a toxic tense living situation. in the past i have used harsher words like “abusive”. i can’t really use that word and apply it to my mother right now even though it is accurate. it hurts to think about. i can’t think about it. september 2017 i actually move.

the hyperfixation is in full swing. hours every night reading. reading 50k word fanfics in a single night. hours every day (or, week, i have a fulltime job) capping and coloring frames in photoshop. eventually i started writing fanfic for them as well.

so, in november 2017 my mother is hospitalized. this was not an unusal occurence. in february 2018 they tell us she’s going to die. 12 days later she died.

i’m not gonna really get into what happened to my mental state. it’s uh. bad. guilt. self hatred. like hatred isn’t even a strong enough word. i wanted to annihilate myself. i believed i deserved to be annihilated. that’s the only word violent enough i can think of to describe the depth of it. suicidal. etc. whatever.

but! i had this piece of fiction, this series, and assorted fan works. it really intensified after this. i can look back at this time last year and i remember how obsessed i was lol.

when i try to articulate what this character and show means to me, i always feel really embarrassed. at some point when i’m talking about thomas it becomes obvious i am talking about myself as well. but i’m gonna really try and objectively talk about my opinion on thomas and why i adore him and why i want what i want for him. it’s probably gonna be obvious i am also talking about myself but. anyway. 

here’s the “meta” “opinion on the fictional characters” section.

thomas barrow starts the show as an antagonist. he’s rude, could even be called cruel. a bully, snide, dishonest when it suits him and honest when it hurts him. like, he’s an asshole. what he said about william’s mom. how he treated baxter. his ambition and the underhanded things he does to serve it. overall proud demeanor designed to make those around him feel lesser. feel less able to hurt him. he wants the people around him to feel like they should not hurt him. i think he might be unaware that that is his motivation. because even as he’s afraid of everyone, he craves everyone as well. he’s alone, outside, and he’s been shoved there, constantly, he’s been shoved there politely and he’s been shoved there violently and if they’re gonna shove him here outside, away from them, unfixably different from them, unworthy of them, then he will stay there. like, the meanness and the comments and the attitude. he’s already Not Like The Others. if they already don’t like him, he will make it even harder for them to like him. unless, he can get somewhere safer, which is where his motivation comes in.

i just really view thomas as a character that craves safety.

he wants others to not hurt him. he wants to get from where he is to somewhere safer, somewhere up there, where it’s even less likely for people to be able to hurt him.

so, his motivations: safety, and then, there’s love.

he constantly has this world and these people implicitly and explicitly telling him he cannot love or be loved. it’s not right, it’s not natural, best case scenario is it doesn’t even exist- he’s confused, he’s sick, he’s broken, maybe they can fix it. he’s on the outside, remember, and he just gets to watch thru the window as the others dance and fall in love and have friends and family and be cherished. he can have none of it. this is a really old story that could be told by better people and in a better way.

the loves we get to see him have all have teeth. he’s betrayed by one lover and then abandoned, someone he obviously had feelings for but also betrayed first. then we get a probably one-sided attraction, but still a friend, still someone he can actually be vulnerable with since they’re helplessly vulnerable with him as well due to the circumstances. who kills himself. and then there’s the shameless, stupid hope that almost costs him everything, but he does get a friend in the balance.

he finds a friend in baxter, another character i just adore, because she gives to thomas what he needs even though he objectively does not deserve it, at least not from her, who he has terrorized. baxter’s trauma from her abusive relationship with coyle that thomas knows and uses, the impossible situation thomas places her in, the manipulation, the bullying, some would even term his behavior abusive. baxter would have had every right to ignore thomas, to get him fired, to hurt him back. but she loves him instead. she loves him in spite of. she loves him because. she helps him, she speaks to him softly and kindly. she tells him he’s brave. she remembers him as a child. this especially touches me. the idea of thomas as a child, someone who must have been different from who he is now, and she knows them both and loves him. she looks at the grown, hurt, cruel man in front of her and she speaks to the boy she once knew, and thomas listens. slowly. but he listens. AND she tries to give him advice for finding a lover, supporting and encouraging something the rest of the entire fucking series despises or ignores.

i don’t have enough energy to really go off but, baxter is supreme. i need a baxter.

thomas clearly cannot form self esteem in the environment he lives in. the ground is dead. he can’t grow it himself. he has this ironclad sense that he deserves what the others have, the ones on the inside. it’s immovable. he deserves it, they have no right to keep it from him. maybe he’ll never, ever get it, but in his mind, in his heart, he will never stop believing he deserves it. they tell him he’s nothing, he’s dirt, he’s wrong, and he just nods and keeps walking. they can think that. they can say that. he can’t stop them. but he will not stop working for the future he wants. he will not stop until they have no choice but to let him inside.

but he wants, i think, for them to invite him inside. but he’ll never admit it, and he’ll never ask for it, and he’ll never get it anyway.

so, he tries to change himself. maybe they’ll invite him in then? no.

then, his attempts to form friendships get twisted, and aborted, and he gets tired stereotypical accusations thrown on him.

then, he tries to kill himself in a bathtub with a razor.

then, he leaves his home and spends his days bored and unchallenged and away from all of the friends and half-friends he had.

then, he’s invited back. he’s invited inside!!!! you might say. and yeah i guess. as close as they’ll ever let him. but part of him always ignored and not commented on. part of him always raised eyebrows at i’m sure. and yes, his bad behavior is also to blame for this. but see, the 2 are linked. and you can’t unlink them.

by the end of the show the others still largely tiptoe around him. but due to his now somewhat subdued behavior he’s “likable” now.

i think it’s quite a choice to have this character who is completely sharp edges have them worn away by heartbreak, torture, injury, suicide attempt, ostracisation, abandonment, and present that as a victory, as a happy ending. but guess what? it is. and i’ll take it. he was back among his friends, back home, accepted, celebrating with everyone else, and i adored it, even as the jarring notes i heard in it won’t ever fade from my opinion of it.

anyway, in the aftermath of my grief i fell heavily into this story and the many stories of thomas finding love and safety. and healing, and friends, and peace. lots different from each other and lots the same. again, i relate very strongly to this character. i was not in a mindset where i was able to be kind to myself. or think sympathetically about myself. i think i fixated so much on this character, became obsessed with finding stories where he gets told and he experiences all the things i think i wanted to be told and i wanted to experience. i couldn’t accept it, even the concept, directly. but i devoured and absorbed a billion pixels of a character very similar to me accepting it. it’s the closest the concept could have gotten to me and i’m embarrassed i only recently realized this link and that that was what i was doing considering it is obvious, and common, and normal. maybe not “healthy” but like. let’s not get into healthy and unhealthy coping mechanisms rn bec i promise you the fanfic and the fiction fixation is not even at the top of the list lol

FAST FORWARD it’s september 2019. the movie is in theaters.

my mom is still dead. but. a lot has happened to me. i have happened to some people. i’ve been thru some more things now. dipped my toes and eventually completely submerged and perhaps am drowning in the entire Romance/Love/Sex section of human experience. again, let’s not get into it. but it’s a LOT. 

i don’t quite have the same relationship with fiction and fanfiction as i used to. it’s been only 2 years since leaving my mother’s house, but i feel as though galaxies could fit in between the girl back there and the one here. but they’re the same! i’m working on understanding that. 

i love this character and this show so much. i loved the film. there are problems- the writing and plotting is not nearly as neat and crisp and sharp. it’s more smooth, almost to a loss of definition, and instead of quick-wit it feels just... fast. there’s no time to really dive in in a film, so i’ll forgive all that, but it’s a flaw that should be mentioned. but it’s not a flaw that prevents joy in the film. i was overjoyed watching it. the things i wanted for thomas all happened. all the characters and relationships were... smoothed, i can’t describe it any other way. i feel like the bumps and corners and quirks and hidden pockets of them were just smoothed away. we know they’re there because we watched the show, but the film doesn’t- can’t- show them all. 

it was frustrating for me to see thomas smoothed in this way, but also satisfying, because while he absolutely one of a kind, unique, damaged, and layered, and contradictory, really a marvelous character and well-built... he is just like everyone else. and i think he would love and hate that and i love and hate that about myself.

for this reason, i really enjoyed a scene where he refuses to help carson. carson is flustered and overworked, in a crisis, and asks barrow for help, and thomas refuses, with a smile. i adored it. carson is one of thomas’ worst ... opponents, i could say. carson hurls homophobic abuse at and about thomas several times during the series, casts aspersions on him in the film as well, and he can choke. i love that even though towards the end of the show and yes during the rest of the film thomas’ sharp edges got smoothed away, but they put this one in and it catches you right on the bone how it should- an older woman in my theater actually gasped, offended, when thomas refused to help and carson was left to flounder. i, on the other hand, thought, “that’s my boy,” and leaned back in my seat satisfied. it might be my fav moment in the film. surprising considering the AMAZING joy and tenderness thomas gets to experience in the movie (but, i think that’s just my taste right now due to a personal heartbreak i won’t get into). like, they shoved him outside, carson shoved him outside, outside the realm of normal, and this is a moment of carson needing his help and thomas going, “no, remember how you used to treat me? remember how you secretly think of me? i do. i won’t forget. good luck! bye!” and then goes on to have a terrible wonderful adventure, while someone funny and kind finally falls in love with him, he gets to stand up for himself to the crawleys in the beginning of the film as well and i just felt elated watching that scene.

i could probably write essays about the love and romance portion of his storyline in the movie. but i’m just not in the headspace to do that right now super in depth but.

i’m also annoyed he had to experience yet ANOTHER homophobic plotline. he goes out to a gay club for literally The First Time and gets arrested and called a dirty pervert. i remember this being my exact fear for the movie. like “imagine if thomas goes to a gay club and gets arrested? that would suck!!!” and that is exactly what happens. but at least it’s so quick, i genuinely think that entire plot is like 6 short scenes max. why is julian fellowes obsessed with having this character, the ONE main queer character, suffer solely because he is gay? experience so many gay-specific agonies, the depths of which i just really doubt he, fellowes, can understand. it’s really, really, disappointing. but consistent as the show did this as well. smh. at least he gets out, and his lover, richard, goes to bat for him in this movie TWICE!!!!! and stares at him with stars in his eyes, soft and enamoured? while thomas is oblivious?? I’VE READ THIS FIC BEFORE!!!! so yes that was VERY cute and all i ever fucking wanted

it’s just funny how fiction touches us differently depending on what we’re going through, especially for those of us that were lonely, neglected, children, ones who grew up with favorite characters instead of friends. i might be more “normal” i might be more “sociable” i might have more “life experience” than i used to but this fangirl inside is just not going anywhere.

this was just a ramble, i wrote it with no point in mind and i’m not rereading or editing it lol. enjoy this vague update into my life/movie review/character meta lol

[thephantomcasebook]

Wanted to spend another week with Chapter four of “The Wayfaring Stranger” so here’s a Preview.

County of Grantham March 1936 

In the Season of 1936 there were many topics of fascination that percolated through London. The Spanish War, the coming grandeur of the Berlin Olympics that the Third Reich was planning, and of course, the Grantham County Power Plant. It seemed a strange topic, all things considered, but it was the details that most people were interested in. It was the first, fully modern, electrical plant in all of Yorkshire, which was a feat in itself. But the more interesting aspect had been that the power coils and generators, which cranked out a much more powerful and efficient charge, had been designed by Ms. Sybil Branson herself.

Never before had such a thing been attempted by a grown woman, much less, by a girl who was yet to have even been presented to the king … which ever brother that might be these days. There were many that doubted the validity and safety of these mad plans presented. Some called it the very apex of what it is to spoil a child. What qualifications did Sybil Branson have to take on such an experimental task? They warned Lord Grantham of the perils. He being, not only the grandfather, but one of the patrons of the new plant, along with his daughter Mary and Grandson George Crawley, who also had his reservations.

But George’s troubles were for other reasons than a lack of faith in his best friend.

It had been an uphill battle for the girl. She worked long and hard on her plans and blueprints, living in the quiet exclusivity of Crawley House, away from the distractions of Downton Abbey life. There were many long nights, George hunched over the study table pouring over medieval maps and texts, while over at his desk a lovely girl scribbled her formulas and calculations. She sipped coffee, pencil behind her ear, soothing her doubts in the smiling picture of both her mommy and mama on George’s desk. Every time she had misgivings about the enterprise, feeling that George wasn’t voicing some objection, if only to spare her. She only had to see the two women that were everything to her, and remind herself that if they could be revolutionary in their time, than so could she. The only thing she wished was that there was someone to tell her she was on the right track. The old professors, like all good Englishmen, were afraid of change. The board of directors was biting their nails in anticipation, good or ill, of the young girl’s designs.

Her family wasn’t any help either. George had some idea of what she was talking about, but recused himself of opinion, much to her anger. Donk pretended he knew about what his gorgeous genius was talking about. And mama just smiled and blinked, making it seem all so encouraging by kissing her on the cheek with as much enthusiasm as Lady Mary Crawley showed anything. But Daddy didn’t hear a word. Tom Branson would soon glaze over at his daughter’s passion, spending more time glowing proudly at his rare and special girl rather than the plans spread out before them. God, in those moments, had he wished Sybil had been there to see what a marvelous creature she gave her life to bring into this world. But when he began stroking her hair, the girl would only huff and bump his chest with her shoulder in chastisement of his distracted mind.

When the time came to present to the board, she was going up against two other firms in the whole Empire. She fretted all night, wondering what she should wear. She had kept her Aunt Rose, Mrs. Baxter, and Granny up half the night, raiding her, Aunt Rose, and even their Granny’s wardrobes for just the right clothes. Just when it seemed all hope was lost, she came into her room to find that Mama and Anna were laying out a new outfit for such an occasion. Lady Mary told the girl, with great arrogance, that she might not know how her daughter’s “Contraptions” might work, but she jolly well knew how to dress for success. Both her mama and Anna swore it as “the ticket”, the secret weapon she needed to get over the top. It was true that when she stepped out of her daddy’s car with Thomas Barrow, her temporary assistant, there was not a snappier looking young engineer in the world. With legs born for those high heels, body meant for that satin skirt, and combination of sun glasses and hat that oozed young and professional.

When she arrived with Donk’s suitcase, rolled blue prints under arm, and coolly confident smirk, she was the talk of the Ripon office building.

The words of the day were affordable, modern, and easy to maintain. Sybbie, with Thomas’s help, presented her new machine to the world. Every weapon at her disposable was used on the board. She smirked at Donk, used Mama’s familiar turn of phrase to entice her. She near abused her credit as a daughter of a ‘working class bloke’ on those who valued such things. And for everyone else … well, Sybil Branson had been and would always be quite the fetchingly beautiful thing. But it was her charm that won the day, for it was considerable and inebriating once she got going. A girl raised by Ladies Cora and Mary Crawley was born to turn heads with her wit and social skills that rivaled the queens and princesses of old. But in the end, she found that the only hold out was George. He sat quietly, forefinger curled under nose, thumb under chin, elbow propped on the arm rest. He was a sphinx, unreadable, hardened to every trick employed by the lovely and fashionable girl. And when she was done, soaking in the standing ovation with a relieved smile, her heart sank to see that George was the only one still sitting, the weight of the world in his eyes.

For two days, the girl showed up to wait outside the deliberations. She paced the hallway, idly played a walking game of hopscotch with the linoleum tiling, and sat with her hand intertwined with Thomas’s in her lap as they stared at the door. But on the final day, suddenly, the door flew open to the sound of George matching shouts with their Donk and a waspish Lady Mary.

“Then, I’ll see you in Hell!”

The Earl and his pale and sleek business woman daughter looked shocked and deeply insulted at George’s final retort to Lady Mary’s parting words. Sybbie was also shocked watching a dark and furious George stalking away. His goggles were already on his forehead, while he shoved his hands into his long and supple leather gauntlets in disgust. Suddenly, papers and plans fell to the linoleum floor of the Ripon office building when Freddie Moorsum pursued the younger man down the hall. His glasses were obscured on a face in distress. He walked fast after George, though he was unable to keep up with the young racer.

“You can’t walk away, M’Lord! The county, the boys, they’re all counting on you to hold those toffy, high society, bastards, accountable! If you walk away from this you’ll damn yourself and it’ll haunt the county for generations! You know I’m right, you fool! Come back and fight damn ya! TAR YOUR HEELS COWARD!” He roared at the young man that disappeared around the corner, bumping a secretary whose files and papers went fluttering everywhere.

“Sir, I believe His Lordship is quite done with this conversation …” Thomas Barrow, ever the butler, and ever the guardian of Downton Abbey’s nursery, no matter how old the former occupants had gotten. He halted any further pursuit of a clearly enraged Master George.

“Get off me, Chump!” The pencil of a man with parted dark hair and his mother’s face under glasses slapped the svelte and athletic butler’s hand off his shoulder. He then turned to Sybbie who was watching in silent confusion. “Congratulations, and long live Morgana Le Fey, Queen of bones!” He snarled at the girl.

“I think that’s quite enough of that, Mr. Moorsum!” Lady Mary Crawley said with a dark look of rancor as she exited the room. It looked as if she might have left the conference room in order to go after George to continue their argument in private. But in his absence, and very outraged that someone would talk to her daughter in such a manner, Mary was cold and angry when the rest of the board exited.

“You’re all fools! You are all damned fools! They’ll die and all for a young girls pretty smile and tight arse in silk!” He shouted.

“How dare …!”

“Barrow, might you escort Mr. Moorsum out!” Lord Sinderby immediately bared Lord Grantham, who had made to aggressively stride forward in defense of his cherished and beloved little girl.

But there was not a hint of remorse in the man’s eyes for saying what he had. Somehow he thought, even for the friendship of his late mother, that Lord Grantham would see things clearly. Instead, he was infatuated with his genius granddaughter, believing that she could do no wrong. He took it as a slight and a betrayal to his mother’s memory.

“This way, sir!” Thomas Barrow’s hands were made out of iron in his angry grip on the lapels of the Engineer.

“You fools! The whole lot of ya! You’re all fools!” He raged in tears as he was dragged away by Mr. Barrow, Lord Sinderby following to make sure the accoster of his niece and nephew was truly gone.

For a long moment the raven haired young woman watched with a frown as her competitor disappeared with the strong arming Thomas, and a glaring Uncle Atticus with his hands behind his back. When she turned back her Donk looked incredibly rattled by the whole situation. But when she asked what had happened, Lady Mary only told her not to worry about it. But the girl saw that her mama’s eyes were cast down the hallway to the sound of George Crawley’s Indian Motorcycle revving angrily in the distance. They all flinched when they heard him speed off in a terrifying lit.

Sensing the trouble that was entering the girl’s mind, Lord Grantham ensured her, unconvincingly, that it was just the usual “Greek Drama” of the losing side of these local contract disputes. However, she had certainly not thought that George was one of these sore losers. But when she voiced this opinion, no one said a word for a long moment. Till, Lord Grantham assured his granddaughter that George wasn’t not on her side, it was only a question of something else entirely that had nothing to do with her. But she could tell that whatever George and Freddie Moorsum had fought with them over, for the last two days, had penetrated their Donk’s mind. And his heir’s point of argument, in particular, was entombed at the very center of his thoughts. Possibly, it even found incredible validity in the receding tide of the infighting. But Lord Grantham only smirked when catching Sybbie’s tenuously inquisitive eyes.

The old man took her in his arms paternally.

Suddenly, a big, toothy, grin came over the young woman’s pallid face when her grandfather whispered the word “Congratulations” in her ear while in their deep embrace. When she slipped back in his arms, mouth agape in shock, the old lord only nodded his head. It was just in time for Atticus and Thomas’s return. The girl gave a squeal and leapt into the butler’s arms, shouting to the roof tops that they did it. But Barrow only smoothed the girl’s hair back and corrected that she was the one who did it. To that the man got a kiss on the cheek. In fact, they all did, even those who were not her family. But when Lady Mary, half-teasingly, reminded her daughter that an excess of joy was as vulgar as an excess of tears, the girl jovially pounced on her mama. She swept her off her feet, pelting her entire face in a cascade of kisses in her arms as she rushed down the hall. The girl looked like a Hammer Film monster with its bride as she shuffled awkwardly with her mama in her arms. Before turning the corner, a resign but clearly annoyed Mary made a motion for everyone to follow.

When they got back home from Ripon, both family and staff were there to throw Sybbie a surprise celebration. The girl had never been so touched, getting suddenly weepy to see her granny standing with Marigold, Rachel, Aunt Edith, and Aunt Rose, along with all the faces of her happy childhood. All of them there to cheer and celebrate what she thought, at the time, would be her greatest accomplishment in her entire life. There was cake and punch, and a celebratory dinner planed with all of her and Marigold’s new friends for later. Her Donk stopped the festivities, momentarily, so that he might say a few words of his genius granddaughter. But all he could find in the moment, looking at her with such love, was that her mommy would be proud. She would be so very, very, proud of this day.

It was the only thing that Sybil Afton Branson had only ever wanted to hear all of her life.  

[orangeshipper]

A Downton Holiday

First of all- wow I can’t believe I was so lucky to get you as secret santa. You wrote some of the very first fic that I read in the fandom YEARS ago and I’ve always admired you as a writer. So truly, this is a give that you genuinely deserve for all the wonderful stories (and fantastic smut) that you’ve imparted on this fandom over the last few years. 

Second- I’m SO glad you love The Holiday, because I’ve been dying to write a “The Holiday AU” for ages now and I was so happy to finally have the occasion to write it.

I hope you enjoy!! I might repost it on my page as well so I can attach a banner with it (for some reason you can’t submit images and text together in the submit area), but I’ll do that after you get a chance to read and enjoy. Until then- hope you are having the loveliest Christmas!

XO Megan (AndThenWeDance)

–

A Downton Holiday

Word Count: 12917

Rated: T

A Mary/Matthew Fic

– 

If this was a film directed by Matthew Crawley, two time Oscar nominee and one time Golden Globe winner, it would definitely start with a sweeping shot over a exquisite manor house in Yorkshire on a misty morning, with a few windows lit. The next shot would be of a bright Los Angeles mansion, with a pristine pool and a tiled roof. Elaborate real estate and transatlanticism were trademarks of his films. It would be accompanied, as always, by emotional soundtrack masterpiece made by his usual partner in filmmaking, Tom Branson.

This would create a nice transition to the composer in question who’d be seen in a studio hunched over a stack of sheet music, busily scratching away. He’d frown, crumple up the paper and chuck it into the rubbish bin, before taking out another paper and beginning anew. Through the window of the studio, one could see the waves of the ocean washing against the shore.

The next shot would show one young woman, her dark hair in a neat braid down her back, fixing a bouquet of flowers. She’d smile at the bouquet, then place it in the window of a small flower shop. The shot would zoom out to show the façade of the flower shop on a winding street of tiny English village. “Violet’s Village Booms” would be written over the door in swirling letters against a purple storefront. The sign at the door would be flipped to read “open” and a new day would begin.

Following this, would be a shot of the young filmmaker waking is his sumptuous, cushy white bed as his electric curtains rise from the window, letting the faint light of early dawn in. The man would turn, frown at the empty space beside him in bed, sigh, and then get out of bed to start the day. The camera would focus on the details of him running his hands through his golden hair, that caught the morning light. Then focus again on the mesmerizing blue of his eyes.

Then the final shot of the opening montage would feature another raven-haired woman, clearly the older sister of the florist, sitting in armchair by the window of what must be the elegant house featured earlier in the montage. The woman sips tea from a delicate teacup while reading over a used book in her hands, a gentle grin on her face as she flips the withered page. A blanket is tucked over her knees and in the window behind her, snow is just beginning to fall.

With the main players of the story introduced, the soundtrack fades out as the leading lady’s phone rings and the story begins.

–

“Hello? Ms. Crawley. It’s Daisy,” A voice on the phone piped up.

Mary tugged on the tartan blanket that was covering her. A phone call from Daisy on a weekday morning could only mean one thing- something had gone wrong at the shop.

Ten years ago, at only twenty years old, with the diploma still in her hand, Mary Crawley founded Downton Books Publishing. The idea for the company began when her grandmother Violet died. Violet had had two loves: flowers and books. Whereas Sybil had inherited her love for flowers, Mary had been bestowed her love for literature. At their grandmother’s passing, Mary had inherited her grandmother’s entire book collection. The old shelves of the abbey library contained so many of her favorite stories, most of them dating back to the turn of the century. Stories of aristocratic young ladies deciding to wed lower class boys with now prospects because of love. Stories of girls who run away to new countries to become governesses and create spectacular new lives for themselves. Stories that were more adult fairytales than real life stories. But well, life was hard and Mary thought that adults needed more fairy tales.

Which is what had prompted her idea for a business. It started as an online thing. She worked with old college friend Anna Smith who designed a series of beautiful new covers for three of Mary’s favorite old books. With rights secured, they republished three of the books with beautiful new covers and new life. With a bit of keen social media marketing, the business started to take off and they re-published five beautiful old stories their second year. In the third, Mary discovered some of her grandmother’s old journals and decided to put together some excerpts of those into a book. It was an instant hit. It was from there that the business really took off. Mary and Anna ended up opening a shop in York, close enough to Mary’s old inherited house in rural Yorkshire and not horribly far from where Anna lived in Leeds.

Mary spent most her time pouring over old books, trying to decide which new treasures to publish. This was a truly privileged career to have because it ideally meant she could spent most her time at home curled up in an arm chair with tea and an old book. In actuality, it meant more time for her to spend chasing after her four-year-old son. However, early mornings and late nights were her privileged reading time. People now sent books to her from around the country requesting publication. Her grandmother’s library remained her favorite place to find her new publications. Old Grandmother Violet, rest her soul, had immaculate taste in literature.

“What’s up, Daisy?” Mary asked.

“The store is completely packed,” the young shop clerk explained.

“Seriously?” Mary asked.

While her store did well as sort of a women’s literature cult sensation, it wasn’t particularly the kind of place that gets packed.

“Apparently, The Sunday Times wrote it up on an article about visiting York for Christmas markets. They said Downton Books was a must stop for anyone looking for a good ‘hot water bottle book’ for the holiday season,” Daisy said.

“Did they really say that?” Mary gasped, smiling. She could hardly believe such a good write up.

“Yes and it’s more than I can manage myself,” Daisy complained. “Can you come to town immediately?”

Bless her soul. While Daisy was a competent clerk and thoughtful literary critic, she could be easily overwhelmed.

“Yes, of course,” Mary promised. “I’ll even call Anna and have her come up as well.”

“Thanks so much,” Daisy sighed.

“I’ll have to bring George,” Mary added.

“It’s no problem.”

It was fifteen minutes later when Mary was dressed in a professional looking short black dress, tights, ankle boots, and a wooly holiday jumper. She’d had the unfortunate task of having of wake up her son, dress him, and take him out of the house early. For a small child, he was distinctly that wasn’t his favorite thing. She threw on her Longchamps purse and grabbed her car keys. She dashed out the door of the old abbey and made for her car.

After putting George in his car seat, she began scraping the snow off her car. She looked up at what the family affectionally referred to as “the old pile.” It had been in the family for years. Somewhere down the line, the Crawley’s had been a prominent family. They were still wealthy today, better off than most, but certainly not inordinately rich as they had once been. Mary’s parents lived in a humble apartment in London. Her sister resided in a quaint cottage on the abbey’s grounds. Mary was the only one who chose to reside in the old abbey still. Well, her and George. To Mary, it felt like being a character in one of her books. An elegant lady living in an old estate.

The only thing she was missing was a love story.

She thought of years before: a diplomat who loved literature, who gave her a ring just before getting on a plane to Poland, and then never returned. Not because he’d passed away, but because he’d found another woman- a younger blond who was more worth his time and affection. Grief, mourning- they were all emotions she promised years before. She was just grateful for George, her beautiful, tiny son that made the whole haunting ordeal worth it.

“Mummy,” He asked. “We go to York?”

“Yes, love,” She told him.

“We get cake?” He asked.

She smiled. Her little boy had her sweet tooth.

“Maybe after. I’ve got to go to work.”

“Okay Mum,” George said.

It was a busy day at Downton Books. Mary, Anna, and Daisy were occupied gift wrapping books, giving recommendations, and selling stacks of books. Mary smiled at each copy of her Grandmother’s journal she sold, happy to see people were still reading her zestful musings. She had never seen the store so alive, full of faces made rosy from the cold, the front window fogged up, and bits of evergreen peeking out from shelves. George stumbled around the building, playing with Daisy’s cat and drawing all over a copy of a book. It was a worthy sacrifice for the success of the day.

Afterwards, she treated Daisy, Anna, and George to cake and tea at a nearby café.

“We’ll have to get some extra help in for the Christmas season,” Mary said, spooning George a bit of chocolate cake. “I’ll put up a posting and see if we can find another clerk before next weekend. I’m sure we can find a literature student home from Oxford for the holiday or something.”

“Certainly,” Anna agreed. “Oh Mary, this new business is terribly exciting.”

“And the online orders have been insane,” Daisy remarked.

Mary pressed her lips together, practicing the particular English art of trying not to look too pleased with herself.

“That’s always a good thing,” She agreed. “I should head home though. George needs some real dinner and I think I deserve a glass of wine by the fire after a long day. We all do.”

The women bid their goodbyes, before heading to their cars. George fell asleep on the drive back, snow falling around the car, and Christmas music playing softly on the radio. Mary herself felt ready for a nap when she arrived home. She had never been more relieved in her life when she saw Sybil’s car parked in front of the abbey.

Something smelled delicious, Mary noted, as she walked into the old manor. George tottled sleepily over to the couch in the salon where some of his teddys were sitting, launching into some sort of game with them. Mary followed the smell into the kitchen where her sister was lingering over the stove.

“Sybil, darling, what a lovely surprise,” Mary remarked, crossing the room to give her sister a kiss on the cheek.

“Anna texted me,” Sybil admitted. “She told me I simply must come over and cook you dinner after your long day. I had a long day too, so I figured I could use some sister bonding.”

“Oh no,” Mary asked. “What happened?”

“Auntie Sybil,” George exclaimed loudly, running into the kitchen, his socks causing him to slide across the tile. Sybil caught him her arms, laughing.

“Play with me! Play with me!” He declared.

“I’ll keep cooking,” Mary told her sister. “You go play!”

“If you insist,” Sybil said with a cheeky smile, passing Mary a spatula.

Mary finished cooking the dinner, a vegetable curry that was one of Sybil’s specialties. She pulled out a few plates and dished it out. For George, she gave him just a plate of plain rice with some veggies picked out on the side. His palette wasn’t quite ready for curry and to be honest, she would be lucky if he ate some of the vegetables.

Tonight, he surprisingly did. Mostly because Sybil was feeding him. George adored his Auntie Sybil. Whereas Mary sometimes struggled parenting her son, he always listened to his lovely, young aunt.

“I’ll wash the dishes, if you tuck him in?” Mary offered.

“Come on George, off to bed,” Sybil cooed.

“Will you read me a story, Auntie?” Asked George.

Mary rolled her eyes as she watched her son trot off to bed. If only she could get him to be so excited to go to bed without Sybil here.

When she finished washing and drying the dishes, Mary poured two large glasses of red wine and took them to the salon, where Sybil was just arriving from putting George down.

The two girls settled on the couch.

“So you want to tell me why you’re so down?” Mary asked.

Sybil had mentioned it earlier and Mary knew that her sister hadn’t just popped over for dinner. She always wanted a good life talk.

The younger woman sighed. “You remember that accountant who works next door to the flower shop?”

Mary nodded, remembering the man that her sister had been crushing on for years. Personally, Mary didn’t think he was attractive or interesting, but she wouldn’t tell her sister that.

“Well today he came in and asked to buy some flowers. I was so excited, totally flirting and everything,” Sybil began. “I asked if the flowers were for his mum. That’s who they are usually for. But instead, he said they were for his fiancé.”

“Oh Sybil,” Mary sighed.

Her sister took a large gulp of wine.

“I feel so stupid,” Sybil said. “I mean, I never really made any moves. I just crushed hopelessly and painfully. I deserve it.”

“No, what you deserve is someone better, not a dry accountant with buggy eyes,” Mary told her sister seriously.

“If only, right?” Sybil said. “This is miserable. There aren’t many eligible bachelors in a small village in Yorkshire.”

That was exactly why Mary liked it. Her heart could hardly be broken if she was far away from any men.

“Have you thought about getting out for a bit?” Mary suggested.

“What like take a holiday someplace?” Sybil said.

“Sure, why not,” Mary said. “It’s been ages since you’ve taken a proper holiday, ages since you’ve left Yorkshire really.”

“That’s not true,” Sybil said. “I went to London for mummy and daddy’s anniversary last November.”

“Exactly,” Mary said, “You haven’t left the village since last November.”

“It’s the flower shop,” Sybil explained. “I can’t leave it for long, you know? Especially now at the holiday season. It will be packed with orders for poinsettias for Christmas.”

Whereas Mary had Daisy and Anna to help her with Downton Book, Sybil ran Violet’s Village Blooms all on her own. If she left the shop, even for a bit of time, it’s future was in jeopardy.

“Hmmm that is a predicament,” Mary said, wondering what could be done to help her sister.

She took a sip of wine, mulling it around in her mind.

“I have it!” Mary exclaimed. “What about a swap?”

“A what?” Sybil asked.

“A house swap,” Mary told her. “I was reading about a guy who does this house swap thing in Scotland. He’s got a bookshop and whenever he wants a holiday, he swaps houses with someone. The person who stays in his house gets to run his bookshop for a few days. It’s kind of a novelty thing and it books up straight away.”

“Oh Mary, I don’t think I could trust the business to a stranger,” Sybil sighed.

“I’ll be here,” Mary told her. “I can help if anything goes wrong.”

“But you’ve got enough to do with your business booming and holiday season,” Sybil told her.

“I’ve got enough time to help you,” Mary said. “I’m honest. You need a break. Take a holiday.”

Sybil rolled her eyes, chugged the last of her wine, and put down her glass.

“Fine, I’m in,” She agreed.

“Excellent!” Mary said. “Let me get my laptop. Let’s find the village a new florist.”

–

Matthew Crawley really needed to stop dating actresses. Particularly mean actresses. Particularly ones that were going to break his heart.

Ugh.

It had been a week since Lavinia had stormed out, chucked a shoe at his head, and slammed the door. It was weird that she was the one throwing shoes, considering she was the one who had cheated on him. The bruise on Matthew’s head had just faded, but the pain in his heart- well that wasn’t quite so mended.

He dressed and headed down the stairs, determined to make the biggest mug of coffee possible and throw himself into work for the day. He got in his car, heading for the studio and the crowded LA streets. He arrived at the soundstage just as the sun was rising, pulling into a parking spot and taking note of the usual flurry of activity.

“Good morning Mr. Crawley,” said an attendant as he got out of his car, the man passing him another mug of coffee and his notes for today.

“Good morning, William,” Matthew said.

“Filming the big love scene today I see,” William noted.

“Indeed,” Matthew said. “Big day today.”

“Good luck, not that you need it, you’re the master of love stories,” William said.

“I wish that was true,” Matthew said under his breath.

If he was actually the master of love stories, he wouldn’t be heartbroken right now. Would he?

He pushed the thought away as he made for the soundstage, looking through his notes for the day and trying to rev himself up for the big love scene.

It was an hour later when everything was finally in place to shoot the scene. It was the moment where the leading lady was finally vulnerable enough to admit her love for the leading man. The scene was going to end with a steamy love scene was just discrete enough to keep the ratings PG-13. Matthew knew it was important that this scene was perfectly acted as the whole film rested upon it.

“I’ve never said this out loud before,” The woman said, sitting on her bed in a low-cut red dress, running her hand through her hair. “But, I love you. There, I said it. I love you.”

“Cut,” Matthew announced, getting out of his seat to approach the actress. “You’ve got to be more nervous. You look like you are going to seduce him, but we aren’t there yet. This has got to be the hardest thing you’ve ever done in your life.”

“Right, okay,” The actress agreed.

“Let’s go again,” Matthew said, settling back in his head.

The scene started again. This time the actress seemed much more nervous, authentically stuttering through her words and fidgeting with her nails. Matthew was impressed. He loved this feeling of watching his vision come to life. That’s why he loved directing.

“I love you too,” The man replied, “Endlessly, thoroughly, always, forever. I love you.”

“Cut,” Matthew called again, moving from his chair to approach the actor’s again.

“I want you to try it again, but this time not as a speech,” He suggested. “I want you to sneak each line in between kisses. Her hair, her lips, each corner of her face. Make it adoring.” He turned the woman. “And you, as he does that, I want it seems like your worries are being washed away. Let’s see the relief pour out of you. Go again, shall we?”

The scene continued on like this, becoming increasingly more real and vibrant. Matthew’s heart began to soar as he watched the love scene play out, the leading man unzipping the woman’s red dress. All of sudden, he could only think of Lavinia, just two weeks ago when he unzipped her dress after a film premiere they’d attended. She’d been flirty and saucy. How could he expect to have the rug pulled out from underneath him? How was he supposed to know that she was cheating on him the whole while?

He shook his head, burying his face in his hand.

“Cut,” He said, his blood stirring.

“Are you sure?” The actor said. “I thought that was our best so far.”

“I still don’t think the scene is authentic enough.”

“What do you mean?” The actress asked.

“I mean, so what he takes your dress off. So what, you have sex. But then what? She’s probably cheating on you already,” Matthew began. The jaws of the actors started to drop. “I mean, let’s be realistic. She’s a bit too pretty for you. She’s probably dating another guy back in London. I mean, you are probably just expendable. You are probably just worthless. Love is worthless. All of this pointless and nothing is real.”

At this point, everyone in the studio stared at him, aghast. Looks of disbelief were etched into each of their faces.

“Uh, Mr. Crawley,” William pipped up. “Maybe you need a glass of water? And a break?”

Matthew sighed. This was insane. He was making a fool of himself.

“You’re right, William. I’m not in a good place right now,” He admitted. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “Let’s stop for the day. I’m not in the right mindset to do this.”

“You want to stop filming for the whole day?” William asked, a bit of shock in his voice.

Matthew frowned and nodded. “Sorry, tell the cast sorry. I just can’t.”

With that, Matthew left the soundstage as quick as possible. He knew it was wasteful and selfish to end filming for the day, but he wasn’t in any state to make art. He got back in his car and turned it on. As he drove out of the lot, he used his Bluetooth to called Tom.

“What’s up, mate?” His friend asked as he picked up the phone.

“I left work early,” Matthew admitted, as he pulled onto the highway.

“Oh no, because of Lavinia?” Tom asked.

“How can I direct a love story when I’m heartbroken?” Matthew asked.

“Well, it’s your job, so you just do it anyway,” Tom’s voice tells him.

“I’m having trouble with it,” Matthew admitted.

“Sounds like you need a drink,” Tom told him.

“That’s for sure,” Matthew said.

“Meet at the pub in 40 minutes?” Tom offered.

“Sounds like a plan.”

Matthew and Tom met at The Pub eight years before. They were both young hopefuls in the film industry, both freshly arrived from UK. In their initial culture shock, the local Irish pub became a place of comfort for both of them, which led to their friendship. The friendship eventually grew into a partnership. Matthew directing, Tom composing. They started with a few short films. Then finally a few feature length films that appeared in a few festivals. By now, at 30, Matthew was now comfortable in his film career and Tom had made a career by composing the scores to his films. It was a partnership made in heaven as the two men got along so well and almost always saw eye to eye on the plans for the films.

40 minutes later, when Matthew walked into the pub, he felt the stress and sadness that had been weighing on him previously roll off him. Just knowing he would be talking to Tom made him feel better.

Tom was already at their favorite booth with two pints. Matthew slid across from, took two gigantic gulps before even looking at his friend.

“Rough day?” Tom said.

Matthew nodded, downing another gulp.

“Easy there,” Tom warned.

“I just am feeling a little burned out,” Matthew sighed.

“A little? Do you think?”

“Okay, massively burnt out. Massively heart broken.”

“When was the last time you took a break?” Tom asked.

“What do you mean break?”

“I mean a holiday? A proper holiday?” Tom repeated.

“Like a sun holiday, laying about on the beach?” Matthew scoffed, “You know I’m not fond of wasting time, not being productive. Besides, I’m in LA. I have more than enough sun.”

He took another gulp.

“Well maybe you need some time off,” Tom said. “Get over the girl, get some peace and quiet.”

Matthew scowled into his pint. He hated the very idea of vacation.

“It’s Christmastime,” Tom pointed out. “You deserve a holiday. You know, I read about an Airbnb in Scotland where you can stay in someone’s bookshop. You get to run the bookshop. I’m sure you can find some sort of workaholic vacation to take.”

Matthew didn’t answer, but Tom took out his phone and started searching.

–

“Have you had many takers for the florist holiday?” Mary asked, a few days later when Sybil stopped over for an afternoon tea.

George was playing in the snow outside and the two women were able to watch him play through the wall of glass windows in the library.

“Several actually,” Sybil replied, pulling a laptop out of her tote bag. “Want to help me decide?”

Mary smirked as George threw a snowball at himself. He wobbled on his feet, but stayed standing, giving his mum a wave through the window. She waved back.

“So there is one girl and she actually has experience in flower arranging,” Sybil remarks, “so I think she should be the one.”

“Mmm, let me see,” Mary requested, looking over at her sister’s laptop.

There was a very nice written letter from a young women with a smiling face.

“Oh she looks so lovely. Ooo, look,” Mary remarked, “here is one from an M. Crawley.”

“Is it really?” Sybil asked. “Have they a picture?”

Mary shakes her head at the application, one of the more vague ones.

“I think your best choice is the flower arranging girl,” Mary told her. “That way you know the show will truly flourish.”

“Flourish? Clever,” Sybil remarked. “I’ll offer the swap to her.”

“Where is she from?” Mary asked.

“Uh, Cornwall,” Sybil said.

“Ugh, dreadful,” Mary said. “I changed my mind. Don’t offer it her.”

“Cornwall is lovely,” Sybil said.

“You need something with sunshine,” Mary told her, pulling the laptop closer to herself. She flicked through the options. There was an older woman from Nice and that sounded much more promising. There was another from North Carolina, which might do in a pinch. Mary had been to Florida once and she thought that the Carolinas might be around there, but she wasn’t particularly sure.

Her eyes fell again on the mysterious M. Crawley with the grey little mystery face. The details of the account were vague- works in the entertainment industry, wants a peaceful holiday in country. Swap locations: Los Angeles, California.

“You’re picking M. Crawley,” Mary decided.

“You’re self-absorbed,” Sybil said, dramatically rolling her eyes.

“No, M. Crawley lives in Los Angeles,” Mary said. “You are definitely picking M. Crawley.”

“Cornwall could be nice,” Sybil murmured.

Mary clicked on M. Crawley. “Too late, deed is done! You are going to California!”

–

“Hey, what did that vineyard in Italy say?” Tom asked, as the two sat out on Matthew’s pool deck with a bottle of wine.

“What vineyard?” Matthew asked.

“The AirBnB where you got to help make wine and taste it and stay in Tuscany?” Tom said, recalling their holiday rental hunting from a few days back.

“It’s a no-go,” Matthew said, pausing for a sip of wine. “All booked till next May.”

“Yikes,” Tom remarked. “So no holiday then?”

 Matthew cracked a smile at his friend. “I’m actually going to Yorkshire.”

“Yorkshire?” Tom dead-panned, clear unenthused.

“Yes, to work at a small flower shop.”

“You? Arranging flowers?” Tom laughed.

Matthew stood up and started to pace beside the pool. “Well, I figured that Yorkshire would be the best choice. It’s a small town named Downton, not far from Ripon. There is a small cottage on the grounds of larger estate. The girl who runs it now says that it should be easy enough- most just people picking up poinsettia orders.”

“Sounds utterly boring,” Tom commented.

Matthew turned to him, “But that’s the thing right. I just need to get away from LA, from the memories of Lavinia. I just need some quiet time to be myself. And, if I’m in Yorkshire for a holiday, that means I can visit Mum in Manchester for Christmas and I know that will mean everything to her.”

“I suppose it’s your choice,” Tom lamented. “When do you leave?”

Matthew grabbed his wine glass and took a sip, before spinning the glass in his hands. “Tomorrow.”

“Brilliant,” Tom said.

“Just take care of Sybil, will you?” Matthew said.

“Who is Sybil?”

“The girl who is staying here. The one doing the swap. Maybe you could show her around or something?”

Tom gave Matthew a cheeky grin, “I mean I suppose I could.”

–

Mary couldn’t remember the last time she was so alone in Downton. She was always surrounded by George and Sybil, that she wasn’t quiet used to the solitude of her abode. But Sybil was off to America to spend two weeks in the LA sunshine and she had dropped George off in London on her way out of town. George would be spending a few days with his grand-parents Christmas shopping in London. So, for the first time in quite a while, Mary was alone.

She had spent the day in Yorkshire working at Downton Books. It was easy to stay distracted with the store packed for Christmas. Mary had hired another clerk named Ivy to help out for the holiday rush, but it seemed as if she and Daisy didn’t get along particularly well. She had spent most of the afternoon sending the girls off in different directions to attend to costumers so that they wouldn’t have to interact with each other.

Now Mary was home in her quiet abbey with a stack of books to sift through and see which would be the next “Downton Book” to be published. A third of the way into a new book, she received a text from Mabel Fox. Mabel was an old childhood friend, who spent most of her time in America working in the fashion industry these days. Back in Secondary School, Mary had sort of accidentally stolen a boyfriend from her (long story) and they had spent two years not speaking to each other. Luckily, they eventually got over their differences after a few years of uni. Now, they always met up for a pint or two when Mabel was back in the village for Christmas.

Hey u hoe! Let’s get drinks! Xo Mabel

It was this text that led Mary to Grantham Arms, the local pub. Mary was normally the kind of woman who enjoyed a nice glass of wine or maybe some whisky on a cold night. But with Mabel, things always tended to get out of hand.

Mary couldn’t remember the last time she had had a shot. And now she was pretty sure she’d had at least 4. Besides, George wasn’t home. She didn’t have to be a mum for just a moment.

“I’m going to call you an Uber,” Mabel babbled, throwing an arm around Mary. “I’m going to call you an Uber and you are going to go home and sleeeeep.”

Mary rolled her eyes and pushed Mabel’s arm off her shoulder. “I’m fine, truly Mabel, I’m quite fine. I can walk home.”

“No, no, I’m getting an Uber for you,” Mabel announced.

She pulled out her phone and jabbed some buttons. Mary felt herself sway a bit and held on to the bar for support.

“Oh no!” Mabel whined, “There aren’t any Ubers in fricken Downton, England.”

Mary laughed, “Looks like I’m walking home!”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ll be fine,” Mary said, taking an uneasy step towards the door. “I bet the cold air will sober me up.”

Mabel put a kiss on her cheek, “We’ll have to do this again before I leave!”

Mary wanted to protest that she was likely to never to get another opportunity and that she was far too old for this party life anyway. But she nodded and said, “Of course, darling. Text me, won’t you?”

With that, Mary stumbled into the winter air. She loved the walk from town back to her estate. It was a twenty-minute stroll, which was a lot of time to spend in the cold, but it looked magical with each tree dusted in snow. She pulled her coat close around her and closed her eyes, feeling the flakes brush her face. Merry Christmas me, she thought dreamily, the alcohol still tingling in her veins.

As the turned into the drive to the estate, she realized that she really needed to pee. There was still another ten minutes till she reached the old abbey and that seemed like torture.

In the distance, she noticed the lights in Sybil’s cottage on. Brilliant! Brilliant, brilliant Sybil!

Mary bounded through the snowy hills, snow dampening her boots and socks and the hem of jeans, as she made for her sister’s cottage. She skidded to a halt at the door, puffing a bit for air and still quite dizzy. She rapped on the door.

“Sybil! Si-BELLE!” Mary sing-songed. “Open the fricken door door door!”

She giggled to herself. She was never the kind of person who sang. God, she really was totally wasted. So much for the colder sobering her up, she was seemingly more intoxicated than before.

The door to the cottage opened and Mary was very surprised to find herself face to face with one of the most attractive men she’d ever seen. He had golden blond hair, bright blue eyes, and an attractive smattering of stubble over his jaw.

Wow. What did she even say to him?

“You’re not Sybil,” Was all she could come up with.

“Afraid I’m not,” The man said. “I’m, uh, Matthew.”

“Oh God! Right!” Mary gasped in a sudden moment of realization. “M. Crawley! You’re M. Crawley. I’m also M. Crawley. Sybil’s gone. God. I’m so stupid.”

“It’s quite alright,” Matthew said, “Would you like to come in and warm up for a moment?”

“Yes, and use your loo if that’s quite alright?” Mary said, shuffling through the door. “Well, Sybil’s loo. Sorry I’m so pissed. I really never get this drunk. You’re really lovely looking. I don’t mean to push in, honestly I don’t, but can I use the loo?”

The attractive man chuckled and gestured towards the toilet, “It’s all yours.”

Mary rushed in to relieve herself. As she washed her hands after, she took herself in. She was dressed in a pair of dark jeans that framed her legs alright and didn’t make her look like a mum. And a cozy tan jumper that didn’t really make her look that lumpy. Her hair was neat in loose waves, in her somewhat outgrown Princess Kate lob that she had cut a few months ago. Her eyes held the tell-tale glassiness that was a clear sign she was drunk off her arse.

She emerged from the bathroom and back into Sybil’s living room.

“Sorry for interrupting whatever you were doing,” Mary said.

“It’s no bother,” Matthew replied, giving her a shy grin. He nodded at the fireplace where a glass of wine and a book sat. “I’m just reading a book and having a night in.”

Mary wandered over to the book and twirled it in her hands, smiling at the familiar cover, “Oh nice choice.”

“I found it on the shelf,” Matthew admitted.

Mary smiled, “I figured as much. I published this and gave Sybil the first copy.”

Matthew gave a second glance, “Did you really?”

“I know it’s surprising when you meet me and I’m totally sloshed,” Mary said. “But, believe it or not, I am in fact a mildly successful publisher.”

Mary wobbled as she put the book down.

“Would you like to sit?” Matthew asked. “I’m afraid you might fall over.”

She nodded and plopped on the couch. “Thanks for that M. Crawley.”

“No problem,” He said. “Do you have a name?”

“Oh my god! I’m so so sorry,” Mary rambled. “I can’t believe I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Sybil’s sister. Mary. I live in the old abbey up the road.”

“Oh, you’re Mary,” Matthew said. “I got a note saying that if I needed any help with anything her or at the flower shop to just ask Mary.”

“Well, do you need any help?” Mary asked, propping her chin up with a hand.

Matthew smiled, “No, I think I’m fine so far. But would you maybe like some water or toast? To sober up a bit before you’re walk up to your house?”

“Am I that bad?” Mary asked.

“I mean you were just singing outside the cottage,” Matthew pointed out.

“Oh god. I was, wasn’t I?” Mary said, shaking her head. “Yes, please then.”

Matthew walked out of the room and into the kitchen. Mary found a blanket on the couch and pulled it around her, trying to warm up from the walk. She picked up the book again, trying to see what part he was at. Ooo, a very good part indeed. The meet cute where the main couple meets for the first time in an endearing, abet embarrassing way. She snuggled down and started read, her eyes fluttering immediately.

–

When Matthew arrived back in the living room, Mary was sound asleep on the couch, the book half covering her face. He chuckled softly to himself and removed it from her face. She had a very beautiful face, he thought, smoothing out a bit of her hair that the book had jostled. He placed the cup of water and toast next to her, before going back into the kitchen to get a few pain relieving tablets for when she woke up. After leaving those beside the water, he smiled at the lovely young woman’s sleeping form before turning off the light and heading up to Sybil’s bedroom.

In the morning, Matthew woke with a smile. The room was bright from the light reflecting off of the snow outside his window. Here he had worried that Yorkshire might be too grim for the holidays, but with the snow and cozy cottage- he found it to be great. And the unexpected visitor last night. She was certainly great. Her silly drunken rambling had charmed him. Her literary prowess had impressed him. And she was undoubtably attractive.

Getting out of bed, he changed into some jeans and a button up shirt. He briefly stopped in the bathroom before he trotted downstairs softly, remembering that he had a sleeping visitor below him. Mary stirred at his steps, her dark eyes blinking awake.

“Oh fuck. What am I doing here?” She asked, sitting up, pressing a hand to her forehead.

“Aspirin tablets right beside you, love,” Matthew said.

Mary mechanically grabbed the medicine and downed it. “God, my head is killing me.”

“I’m sorry,” Matthew said. “You’ll feel better in a bit.”

Mary blinked again, her forehead crinkling. “You’re M. Crawley? I somehow thought M. Crawley was a woman.”

“Matthew Crawley,” He introduced, for the second time, waiting for the moment of realization of hit her. But there didn’t seem to be any recognition in her eyes.

“It’s nice to meet you, Matthew Crawley,” She said. “I’m also M. Crawley.”

“You said that last night,” Matthew told her.

“Did I? I don’t remember much,” Mary admitted.

“I can remind you if you like,” Matthew laughed. “Sybil. Sy BELLE!”

Mary ran a hand through her hair. “Well, that is embarrassing.”

“Not to worry,” He said. “We’ve all been there.”

Mary made a moaning noise and chugged the rest of the water.

“Would you like a coffee?” Matthew asked, wandering into the kitchen and smiling at Sybil’s shiny Nespresso maker.

Mary shook her head and standing up. She pulled on her coat. “I really should be going. I’m so sorry for ruining your holiday.”

Matthew turned back to her. “Please don’t apologize. You definitely did not ruin my holiday.”

He watched her leave and create a path in the snow up to abbey. He truly hoped that it wouldn’t be the last he saw the other M. Crawley.

But in truth, he didn’t have much time to pine after Mary, because well, running a flower shop was quite the full-time job. He had people constantly coming in and out picking up orders of poinsettia. There were plenty of people looking for centerpieces for holiday parties. Matthew had fun with these. He was quite the amateur at making flower displays and he knew some of them were truly dismal, but he crafted a good amount that he was rather fond of.

He kept hoping that Mary would stop by the flower shop to check in on him, but there appeared to be no such luck. He was happily reading his way through Sybil’s bookshelf, reading the beautiful copies of “Downton Books” that lined them. Each volume was full of cozy story that could be read perfectly next to the fire. He was finding a fond place in his heart for each of her publications.

Yet, he never got to see their illustrious publisher. That was until his fourth day on the job, when he accidentally locked himself out of the flower shop. There were several families lined up outside the shop already, looking to pick up wreaths and poinsettias.

“Dammit,” Matthew cursed, worried he was going to single-handedly ruin Sybil’s business.

He found the note from Sybil with Mary’s contact information on it in his pocket and dialed her number.

“Sorry to ring you,” Matthew mumbled. “But I’ve accidentally gotten locked out of the flower shop. Could I bother you to let me in?”

“Oh,” Mary said. “It’s no problem. I’m just at the abbey. I’ll be right there.”

“Oh you are brilliant,” Matthew said. “I can’t thank you enough.”

–

Mary ran into the bathroom to change. She couldn’t believe she was going to see him again.

Mary had been avoiding M. Crawley since they met. She was completely mortified that she’d been basically black out drunk, stumbling around the cottage, and actually singing. Mary never sang. Not even on Christmas. What had gotten into that night?

Well, vodka. Obviously way too much.

Since then, Mary had gone out of her way to avoid Sybil’s cottage and its handsome occupant. That was, till two nights ago, when she’d decided to enjoy her solitude with a cozy Christmas movie. After making a large cup of cocoa, she picked one of her good old favorites films off the shelf and popped it in. She loved the story, a beautiful transatlantic romance, but what made it even better was its sweeping score and practical real estate porn.

At the end of the movie, she was feeling oh so snug and nearly was ready to drift off, when she caught the credits.

A Matthew Crawley Film.

Matthew Crawley? As in M. Crawley?

She had grabbed for her laptop, quickly googling the director. There he was, the dashing man from Sybil’s cottage two days before. His blond hair slicked and dazzling smile glittering on the red carpet. She looked through his films, several of them she already adored, but several more she had yet to see. She immediately started binging them on Netflix. As she watched, she researched more about this mysterious tenant. An article told her about his recent break up with Lavinia Swire, a Hollywood actress who had starred in his previous film. No wonder he was in Downton. He was doing the same thing that Sybil was trying to do- escape unhappy memories and mend a broken heart.

Mary’s heart softened for the man. After all, he’d been nothing but kind to her when she’d been an embarrassing drunk mess on his doorstep.

Still, she her plan remained to avoid seeing him again, at least in person. Until ten minutes ago when he called and told her he’d been locked out of the shop. Apparently, another encounter with M. Crawley was inevitable.

Dressed in a loose grey dress, tights, and ankle boots, she pulled on a coat and scarf before heading into town. She was just grateful that George was still in London for one more day, so she didn’t have to worry about bringing him around.

Mary saw the crowd outside Violet’s Village Blooms before she even saw the building. She felt a feeling of dread. This was the kind of thing that Sybil had been worried about happening when she left. Mary hoped that the customers hadn’t left because of the wait.

She parked and worked her way through the crowd to where Matthew was standing awkwardly outside the door.

“Oh, you goddess,” Matthew exclaimed.

Mary almost laughed at his acclamation, her cheeks blushing. “Oh please. I’ve just got a spare key, that’s all.”

She opened the door to flower shop and a stream of people began to pour in. She knew that she couldn’t maroon Matthew to the chaos of all the customers.

“I’ll take the wreath orders; you do the flowers?” She suggested.

He flashed her a grateful look. “Thank you.”

The morning turned into a busy blur. They fretted over orders, helped load wreaths and flowers in older customer’s cars, and tried to make sense of all the money. Finally, after a few hours of work every initial customer seen to.

“I think we’ve earned quite the lunch break,” Mary declared.

Matthew raised an eyebrow. “Would you care to join me? I feel like I owe you after your dashing rescue this morning.”

They made their way to the tavern next door. It was decorated for Christmas, with evergreen garland strung around the room and lights over the fire it. It was very cozy indeed.

They both got glasses of warm mulled wine and sipped them by the fire as they waited for their food.

“I feel as if I should apologize for the other night,” Mary told him. “You truly saw a side of me I’m not sure if I’ve seen before.”

“It wasn’t a problem at all. In fact, it was the most interesting thing that’s happened so far to me in Downton,” Matthew laughed.

“I couldn’t even tell you the last time I was drunk. In fact, I’m not sure I’ve ever been that drunk,” Mary admitted.

“Not even in uni? Well, then you do live a quiet life,” Matthew commented.

“I can’t say the book publishing and editing world is that raucous,” she said.

“So, what kind of editor are you?” Matthew asked.

“A very mean one,” Mary teased, making a surly face.

Matthew laughed.

“No, actually, we publish lesser known works of women’s fiction from the early 20th century,” Mary explained.

“Oh that’s brilliant,” Matthew said. “I’ve read a few the books of your collection that I found on Sybil’s shelf and I really like them.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Mary grinned.

“How did you end up working there?” Matthew asked, taking a tip of the warm wine.

“Well I inherited my grandmother’s love of books and her therefore her entire library. I wanted to share some of my favorite books from her library with others, give them new life. And my old friend Anna wanted to design covers,” She explained, “So truly it was a match made in heaven.”

“Wait, sorry, let me get this straight,” He said. “You founded the publishing company?”

Mary nodded, “I know. I usually don’t tell people. It can be a bit intimidating.”

“Consider me very intimidated,” Matthew said.

“But I figured that since you are a film director, you probably work alongside lots of endeavoring women and therefore won’t be intimidated by me,” Mary told him.

He gave her a sideways smile. “Ah, so you do know who I am.”

“I didn’t when we met,” Mary admitted. “I was watching one of your films a few days ago and made the connection.”

“And did you like it?” Matthew asked.

“Like what? The connection?”

“The film?” Matthew laughed.

Just then a server arrived with two plates of food and laid them before the pair. Mary took a chip off the plate and nibbled it.

“I did,” She said. “A very cozy Christmas film. And the soundtrack was gorgeous.”

“Well, all of that credit goes to my friend Tom Branson,” Matthew explained.  “He’s the mastermind behind the music.”

“You’ll have to give him my full compliments,” Mary told him.

“I told him to give Sybil a tour, help her out,” Matthew said, picking up a chip from his own plate and dabbing it in vinegar.

“Hmm,” Mary said, “I’ll have to ask her about it.”

There was a moment of silence where they both picked at their food.

“So, how did you end up in Los Angeles?” Mary asked. “You sound like you’ve got a bit of a Manchester accent.”

“Only a bit,” Matthew said. “It’s sort of faded a bit in LA.”

“Only a bit,” Mary nodded for him to continue.

“But yes. I studied film in Reading for uni and then got offered a chance to work on a set in Los Angeles. It was all grunt work at first, fetching brews and the like. Then slowly I worked my way up, did some short films on the side, met Tom, did a quite successful indie film- and well. Then the whole thing was history.”

“That’s impressive,” Mary remarked. “Consider me intimidated.”

He laughed.

“Is there anything you’d like to do while you are here?” She asked. “Got anything on your Downton bucket list?”

Matthew took a sip of mulled wine and his forehead wrinkled.

“I’d actually quite like to see more of your estate,” Matthew remarked. “The abbey. The grounds.”

Mary smiled gracefully, her mind quickly calculating how much time she’d have before George arrived home. She’d have to show it to him today.

“Of course. What time do you finish in the flower shop today?” She asked.

“Just after three,” Matthew told her.

“Good,” She said. “Come up to the abbey after and I’ll show you around.”

“Really?” Matthew asked, smiling. “That’s so kind of you.”

“Nonsense,” Mary teased. “I’m just hoping you’ll feature my house in your next film.”

“I am quite keen on lovely bits of architecture,” He commented, his voice a bit lower now.

“Good,” Mary said, “I look forward to seeing you later.”

–

Later arrived soon enough. Matthew made his way up to the old house as soon as he finished in the flower shop. He made small bouquet to give to Mary- dark red roses and springs of holly. The sun was just beginning to fade as he made his way up to the old house. The winding road through the soft rolling hills was quaint and calming. He could see sheep from neighboring farms wandering through the distant fields. It was the exact pastoral tonic he needed to save him from the Los Angeles toxicity.

Mary was standing at the door when he arrived. He gave her an awkward wave as he approached. She was still dressed in the fetching outfit from earlier, a few flakes of snow decorating her hair.

“Are these for me?” She asked, raising her delicate eyebrows, when he presented her with the flowers.

“Only Violet’s best blooms for milady,” Matthew said dramatically.

Mary smiled and took the flowers. “Shall we walk? There isn’t much daylight left.”

They started walking across one of the lawns.

“How did you acquire such a lovely estate?” Matthew asked, fascinated by this beautiful woman.

“A gift from my grandmother,” She explained.

“The same one who left the books?” He asked.

“Exactly,” She said. “Violet.”

“Oh I see,” Matthew said.

“Technically, the abbey should have gone to my parents. But they live in London and have a nice apartment there. And Sybil loves that little cottage. But I like old and grand things. I love antiques and the stories behind the little details of the abbey. So, everyone knew it made sense to be mine,” Mary explained.

“I look forward to seeing all the details,” Matthew said.

“Well if you look over here,” Mary laughed gently, “You’ll actually see one of my favorite follies. It’s an old Grecian style ruin.”

Matthew walked up toward it, climbing up the steps of the old ruin.

“It’s obviously not a Greek ruin,” Mary said. “But it was added when that was the sort of thing in vogue.”

Matthew ran his hand up along the pillar slowly.

“It really is remarkable,” Matthew said softly.

He turned slowly, to see Mary leaning against a pillar. He walked slowly towards her. He let his hand move along the pillar, just to the side of her head.

“There are lots of remarkable things about Downton, in my opinion,” He said, his voice but a whisper.

Mary shivered and her eyes fluttered close. All of a sudden the mood had completely changed. He was totally aware of what he was doing and the soft smile on Mary’s face encouraged him to keep going.

“And what are those?” She asked.

“Excellent flower shop,” He said, leaning in, placing a kiss on her right eye.

“Excellent Grecian ruins,” He said, kissing her other eye.

“Excellent old abbey,” He whispered, pressing a kiss on her nose.

“Hmm, that all?” She asked, her eyes opening again.

Rich, dark chocolate, he thought of the color.

“Beautiful book publishers too,” He said, kissing her lips.

Her hand slipped down to grip his, a smile on her face.

“Let’s keep this tour going?” She said, her voice a whisper. “It’ll be dark soon.”

–

She had kissed him.

Okay, well he had kissed her. The beautiful film director who randomly showed up out of the blue. M. Crawley whom she’d totally made of fool herself in front. Matthew Crawley whom she totally adored.

Mary was smitten. And of course, this meant that she should apply her tried and true relationship technique- play coy. She ducked her head and nodded him on the tour.

They walked through the grounds. She showed him the rose gardens, now frosty with snow, and the greenhouses, still warm inside. They bid Happy Christmas to the neighbor’s sheep. They climbed the largest hill to another of her favorite follies- a domed observatory.

“Do you actually see stars here?” He asked.

She shook her head. “I heard that my great-grandfather kept a telescope here. And maybe one day we’ll bring it back.”

“I can see it being rather nice, all curled up in the little observatory, looking at the stars,” Matthew told her.

“Well, if you want to buy me a telescope, be my guest,” she said.

“I mean, technically, I am your guest already,” He told her. “So I might actually owe you one.”

She laughed and look her head. “You aren’t a guest. You’re welcome here.”

“Are you cold?” He asked, reaching for her hand.

“A bit,” She shrugged.

“Why don’t you show me the abbey now?” He suggested.

They headed down the hill, down towards the house, snow just beginning to fall. The sun was nearly entirely below the horizon now.

Would they kiss again? Mary really, really wanted to kiss him again. Honestly, she wanted to do more than just kiss him. But she would certainly settle for kissing.

It was warm inside the abbey. Mary was constantly grateful that she could enjoy living in an old abbey in a modern age where she didn’t have to worry about lack of indoor heating or plumbing.

“Welcome to Downton Abbey,” She told him.

His eyes were wide, taking in the foyer, where the large tree lingered in the center of the house, the stairs encircling it.

“Did you decorate this yourself?” He asked, stepping forward to look at the tree.

Mary nodded, “A mix of my grandmother’s decorations and things I found at antique shops.”

“It’s lovely,” He said. “You can see whole stories on this tree.”

“We have that in common, don’t we?” She said, toying with a vintage angel ornament.

“What?” He asked, pulling his eyes from the tree to look at her.

“We both like stories,” Mary said.

“Oh yes,” He said.

They moved into salon. She put on a few low lights, revealing the garland hung around the room and the string of cards that she and George had worked to put up together. Mary bent to light the fire, luckily a gas fire and easy to light.

She straightened to find Matthew right behind her. Very close.

Oh God. He was going to kiss her again. She knew it. She very much wanted him to.

“It’s quite cozy in here,” He said.

She nodded, her nose brushing his, as he hands fell to her waist.

“One of the best qualities of Christmas,” she murmured. “Excellent coziness.”

“I’m glad we feel the same way,” He said, looking at her in the eyes.

His stupid disarming bright, bright blue eyes.

Then their lips were on each other- all over each other. Mary felt silly at first, her coat still on. But, she soon realized, coats, like other things could be quite easily removed.

Was this really happening? She thought dizzily, when Matthew lowered her down before the fire. The old ornate Persian rug felt funny beneath her bare shoulder. But he put a kiss behind her ear, then at the crook of her neck, then tip of her shoulder, then at this part of her stomach that made her positively squirm. And by the time his lips reached the jut of her hip, she was quite sure of three things:

1)    Her life was slowly turning into a Matthew Crawley film.

2)    If not that, her life was definitely a more risqué version of a Downton Book

3)    She was a hundred percent okay with this.

–

The next morning, she awakened in her bedroom to feel a warm body beside her and a phone ringing.

Matthew. Right.

The night before had been nothing but excellent and she was still both dazed and sore from the whole affair. In fact, all she wanted to do was stay inside and avoid snow and responsibilities with him.

But alas, her phone continued to ring.

She slipped out of bed, pulled on a dressing gown, and grabbed her phone, ducking into the corridor.

“Hello,” Anna’s voice pipped up. “I just thought I’d tell you that I’ve got George in the car and we are headed towards York.”

Anna had been in London visiting friends that past couple days and was able to pick up George from his grandparents. Mary was grateful that her friend was able to save her a trip.

“Oh that’s delightful,” Mary said. “So I’ll see you in a few hours?”

“Definitely,” Anna said.

Mary smiled, “I’ll start making a pot of soup and you can have lunch when arrive.”

“Oh brill. Here, I’ll put George on,” Anna said.

“Hello George darling,” Mary cooed.

“Hello Mummy!” George replied.

“Did you have fun in London?” She asked.

“Lot’s of fun. Grandmama took me to the museum and then ice skating and then we got lots of toys at the great big toy shop,” He rattled.

“That sounds quite lovely,” Mary remarked.

“I missed you, Mummy!” He said.

“I missed you too, my darling,” She soothed.

“See you soon? With lots of hot chocolate?” He asked.

“See you soon,” She told him.

She ran a hand through her hair.

Shoot, she definitely had sex-hair. She was going to need a shower before her son and best friend arrived. And unfortunately, she was going to have to kick Matthew out.

No matter how much she just wanted to just climb back in bed with him.

She reentered her bedroom, hoping to make a b-line for the en-suite, but Matthew was awake and lounging on the bed. She took a deep inhale. He looked like some sort of Greek god stretched out, naked, his hands behind his head.

“Good morning,” He said.

“Good morning,” She replied.

She sat gingerly on the side of the bed.

“I heard you on the phone,” He said. “Who is this Mister George? Anyone I need to be jealous of?”

Mary let out of a snort of laughter. “Oh no. He’s- He’s my-“

But she couldn’t bring herself to tell Matthew the truth. It was easier this way to just be Mary. Mary, 28, book publisher, light-weight, abbey dweller, lover of stories and old things. Not Mary Crawley, professional mummy.

She wouldn’t trade George for the world and would gladly live her life with just the two of them in their large house without complaint. But she also knows that when it comes to dating, children are baggage. As soon as you mention a child, everything becomes serious. All of sudden there are excuses like, “I don’t want to meet George in case things don’t work out,” or “I don’t know if I’m ready for a family.” And then just like that everything fizzles out.

Mary knows because she’s done this time and time again.

It’s probably better this way. Matthew is just a blip in her life. A famous film director dropped into her world for the holidays, but to be whisked off in the New Year. He’s not permanent. He can’t be. There isn’t any point in him knowing about George.

“Never mind,” Mary said, shaking her head. “What do you say about hot shower?”

Matthew smirked and followed her. She was grateful for men and their one-track minds.

–

A few hours after Matthew had left Mary’s cottage, he found himself curled up in a corner of Sybil’s cottage. More snow was falling outside and he was thumbing through another Downton Book he’d pulled off his shelf.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Mary. About her soft brown hair, as it fell just over shoulders. About her easy smile once you got to know her. About how deliciously wonderful she’d looked naked against that Persian rug.

She was smart, driven, and beautiful. Who would have ever thought he’d find someone like that in a small country town? After his break up with Lavinia, he hadn’t thought that anything remotely resembling affection was in his future. But for a brief moment, in her lovely abbey, Matthew had seen a bit of future worth having.

It was as the sun began to dip low that he made his mind. He was going walk back up to her house and tell her what he thought. Sure he’d just met her, but he had to give it chance.

He put his book down. It was now his fifth Downton Book completed since arriving and his favorite, a collection of Mary’s grandmother’s journal entries. He grabbed his coat and scarf. The snow was still falling. He didn’t think it actually snowed this much in England, but this week seemed to be an exception.

His stomach tingled as he walked up to the house. He shouldn’t be nervous, hardly anything made him nervous, but yet he was. He hoped that she wouldn’t be put off by his frankness in just showing up, but he thought she might like it. She was a quiet woman alone in a large house, maybe she needed something to shake her life up.

He knocked at the main door and paused as he heard footsteps approach and then open the door.

“Hello,” a voice said.

He looked down and surprised to see it belonged to such a small individual. A small blonde boy was at the door of the abbey.

“Hello,” Matthew said uncertainly.

“George,” Mary said in the distance, the sound of her feet padding to the door.

George, Matthew thought suddenly. How silly had he been to think that George was some sort of man to be jealous of.

But wait- if Mary had a son, did that mean she had a husband as well?

Matthew all of a sudden realized he knew nothing about Mary Crawley. He felt disoriented, as if his time with her was all a lie.

“Oh, sorry Matthew,” She said. “Is everything alright at the cottage?”

“Who are you?” George interrupted.

Matthew laughed, shifting awkwardly. “I’m, uh, my name is Matthew.”

“I’m George,” the boy said, putting out his small hand.

Matthew shook it. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Would you like to come in? Mummy and I were just making hot chocolate! You can have some if you like.”

Matthew agreed and walked into the foyer.

“George, darling,” Mary said. “Can you set out some biscuits for us?”

George have a little salute and ran into kitchen, slipping on his wooly socks.

“Are you married?” Matthew asked quickly, as Mary fussed over his coat.

She shook her head.

“Divorced?” He asked again.

“Abandoned because he went on a diplomatic mission to Poland and never returned. He found a pretty young thing and forgot all about his knocked up fiancé back in England,” Mary said quietly.

“Oh Mary,” He hushed.

Matthew felt his face wrinkle with concern. Poor, poor Mary. She didn’t deserve that. Raising a child on her own, feeling abandoned. Mary should have a life full of love with a man who undoubtedly loved her.

“It’s okay,” She said, lifting her chin. “I don’t need pity. It’s been almost 5 years.”

Matthew nodded, “Of course.”

George’s feet came tapping back.

“Cookies complete!” He announced. “Time for cocoa?”

Mary smiled at the boy and turned to Matthew. “Are you at all interested in hot chocolate?”

They walked into the kitchen. Mary went for the fridge and took out a carton of almond milk, which she poured in a sauce pan and began to heat up. Matthew sat with George at the table as the small boy began to assault him with questions.

“What do you do?”

“I direct films.”

“Do you get to be in films?”

Matthew shook his head. “No, I tell people where to go and what to do.”

“That sounds very boring.”

“Sorry to disappoint you,” Matthew said.

“If I worked in films, I’d want to be on screen,” George told him.

“I think you’d do very well.”

“Will you make a movie about me?” George insisted.

“I’m not sure,” Matthew said, “have you got any talents?”

This launched George into some of singing-dancing-footballing act that he did around the kitchen. It took just enough time for Mary to finish mixing in chocolate, before heading to the table with three mugs filled with marshmallows and sprinkles.

“Here we go,” she said.

Matthew smiled, taking the cup. The liquid was sweet and cinnamon-y.

“This is superb,” He said, after a few sips.

“You’ve got a moustache,” laughed George.

The boy now attempted to get his own hot chocolate moustache. Even Mary was giggling now. Well, that was until George got a little too out of hand and accidentally spilled the hot chocolate on Mary’s dress.

“Oh no!” George exclaimed.

“Oh no, indeed,” Mary said. “I’ll just go change quickly.”

Matthew watched her walk away.

“Are you going to marry my Mummy?” George asked.

“Oh well, I’m just her friend,” Matthew said.

“Oh,” George said. “it’s just that she gets awfully lonely. Just so you know. Maybe if someone married her she’d be happier. That’s how it goes in fairy tales.”

“Do you like fairy stories?” Matthew asked.

“I like all stories,” George said. “Do you want to go play a game?”

Matthew smiled, “Of course.”

George led the way to living room, where he immediately began setting up a board game on the floor. Upon further inspection, it seemed that this was a game hobbled together with five game boards and a variety of pieces from various board games and a few knickknacks found around the house.

“How do you play?” Matthew asked.

The young boy immediately began rattling off a complicated list of rules and explaining each of the unique pieces.

“Oh no, George. You aren’t not to make Matthew play that game with you,” Mary complained when she entered. She was dressed in just leggings and jumper now. Once again, she looked splendid. “He made it up himself. It takes ages to play and it’s horribly difficult.”

“You don’t like games?” George asked Matthew, a frown already on his face.

“I love games,” Matthew said.

“Good, then you’ll love this one,” the boy informed him.

So, that was how Matthew got sucked into the world of George’s Game. They played the game for hours until it was very dark outside and George fell asleep on one of the game boards.

“I’ll take him upstairs,” Mary said softly, lifting the boy and taking him upstairs.

While she was gone, Matthew inspected the frames that he hadn’t noticed the night before. Mary holding George as a baby. Mary and Sybil and George visiting London. Mary and George drinking tea together. It was evident that they were a family, George and Mary.

“I can’t imagine anyone being a bigger hit,” Mary admitted when she came downstairs.

“But I just can’t understand why you didn’t tell me,” Matthew said softly.

“It didn’t come up?” She said, but then shook her head and sat beside the fire. “No, it did. I suppose. I don’t always like to be the poor, lonely single mother. It’s nice to have a life where it seems like I spend all my time doing proper literary things, being a successful entrepreneur.”

“You are all those things,” Matthew told her, walking over to sit beside her.

“But I’m also a statistic, an un-wed mother,” She said. “The best part about my job is that I can spend my time at home reading a few days a week so I don’t have to send George to a playschool full time. And I get hot chocolate spilled on me. I’m never able to have nights out or date or have much of a life besides running Downton Books and being a full-time mum.”

Matthew nodded, realizing that he couldn’t be upset with Mary. Not for this.

“Do you despise me for not telling you?” She asked, her tone indifferent.

“I could never despise you,” He whispered.

“You aren’t going to run away? Because I have a kid?” She asked.

“On the contrary,” He said, playing with a lock of her hair. “George only endears you to me more.”

She smiled, but looked towards the fire, a rueful look on her face.

“I was actually on my way to tell you how much I like you,” Matthew admitted. “That’s why I came up tonight. I haven’t stopped thinking about you.”

“That’s nice,” Mary said.

“Nice?” He repeated, putting a kiss behind her ear.

Just that morning she’d been flirting and giggling. Now she seemed more reserved.

“It’s just never going to work,” She said finally. “You are going to go back to LA. I’m going to stay here with Downton Books. This is never going to work. You’ll head back to Hollywood and fall in love with another actress or model or something and I’ll just be here, heartbroken, picking up the pieces again.”

“What if we found a way to make it work?” Matthew said.

“Like what?” Mary said, turning to face him.

“I don’t know, but we are both smart people. I bet we could think up something,” He told her, running a hand through her hair again.

“I don’t know, Matthew. You are asking me to take a huge risk Matthew. If you break my heart, I might not come back from it. And I can’t put George through that,” She told him.

He rested his head on her shoulder, resigned that despite how much he absolutely adored this woman, she would never be his.

“Tell you what,” Matthew proposed. “I’m going to spend Christmas with my mum in Manchester before coming back here for a few days. ‘While I’m there, I’m really going to do some thinking about how to make this work. If I can come up with an idea for how this could possibly work, I’ll tell you then.”

Mary nodded, her eyes still trained on the fire. “Okay.”

Matthew grinned, “I’ll think of something. Until then, Happy Christmas.”

–

Christmas came and went. Sybil was still in America. Mary’s parents came up from London. She hosted them in the abbey and they did the usual- presents, Christmas dinner, and a game of charades. It was nice to see them, as always. They doted over George, complained about Mary’s lack of love life, and commented on nice the Old Pile looked for Christmas.

As her parents left the day after Christmas, she knew this meant that Matthew would be returning soon. The thought of him and his proposition made her nervous. In her fit of nerves, she decided it would be best to drive down to York to check on the shop. She took George with her. They took their time in York, walking along the castle walls, wandering through the shambles. Anything to avoid driving home.

However, eventually they really did need to get home to start dinner and bedtime routines. Mary looked out the window as they approached the estate, seeing the lights in Sybil’s cottage on and knowing that meant that Matthew was back.

Just knowing he was there, her heart skipped a beat.

It was silly wasn’t it? To put him off just because she didn’t want to take a risk? It was silly to not give him a chance.

But it wasn’t. The last time she put her heart out there, she got so impossibly hurt. She couldn’t imagine doing it again for a man she had only really spent time with for three days.

So then why was the thought of him leaving already starting to break her heart?

She got home and immediately started on work on dinner. She needed something to throw herself into. As she was putting a chicken in the oven for roasting, she heard the doorbell ring. It was him. Definitely him.

In hopes of not disturbing George, she went outside instead of inviting Matthew in. If he made her cry, well, at least her son wouldn’t see.

“Mary,” he said, when she exited, closing the door as quietly as possible.

“Hello,” she replied softly.

“Will you be alright? It’s a bit cold out here,” he told her.

It was snowing again! She could hardly believe it.

“I’ll be fine,” she replied.

Her stomach flitted with nerves again. What would he say?

“I did some thinking and I know it’s going to be hard and I know we each have baggage and that we’ve each lived separate lives. But I really do think we should try, in some sort of way, to give this a chance,” he declared.

“Okay, but how?” Mary gasped, running a hand through her hair.

Matthew gave a huge grin now. “I have just the idea.”

She pursed her lips together and tried not to smile, but he did look quite excited to tell her.

“Well I found your grandmother’s journals in my shelf of Downton Books and I loved it. Mary, you did such a good job of piecing together her story. It’s marvelous. It’s exactly what I need to do next for my career. Don’t you see? We can work on the film together- you can help with the writing and historical information. I can produce and direct. And best of all we can film it here- this way, I won’t have to leave. At least not yet. But by then, well, we can figure out the details. But what do you think?”

Mary’s mouth opened in a very un-Mary-like gasp.

“Well, I think that that’s quite the proposition,” she told him.

“And?” He said, encouraging her.

And well, she could think of tons of ways this wouldn’t work. What if the filmmakers didn’t treat her grandmother’s journals the right way? What if they cast the wrong person? What if having the film set in her house was a disturbance? She could think of tons of ways this could go disastrously wrong.

But she couldn’t say no.

Not when it was the best and most intriguing idea she’d ever heard.

“Yes,” She said softly, as he swept her off her feet into a spin. Her lips were on his and it all just made sense.

–

“Just letting you know,” Mary said to Sybil over the phone. “Matthew will be here for New Years actually. He’s not staying in your cottage, so don’t worry, but he’ll be here for the party.”

They had actually just returned from sledding with George and the two boys were dusting the snow off of them in foyer while Mary spoke to her sister.

“Oh M. Crawely is staying with you is he?” She laughed. “Interesting plot twist, because um, well I’m bringing Tom back with me as well.”

“The composer?” Mary asked.

“The very one,” Sybil replied. “He’s actually been telling me about an interesting new project him and Matthew are already working on. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that?”

“Hmmm,” Mary said. “Sounds like we’ll have a lot of catching up to do when you return.”

“Oh yes,” Sybil agreed.

–

All that can be said about their New Year’s celebration is that the scene was the perfect ending of a Matthew Crawley film. There was feel good song playing, everyone well-dressed in their holiday finest. There was a lot of drinking and dancing: Sybil swaying with George, Matthew swirling Mary, and Tom ducking into to steal a dance with Sybil. It was magical and happy and the daudience was left with such an overwhelming feeling of togetherness that they couldn’t help but believe the main couple would endure anything and like a fairy tale for grown-ups, would live happily ever after.

~~~~ Thank you, thank you!! What a fantastic scenario, set-up and story - a perfect blend of The Holiday and M/M deliciousness (the ‘proposal’ was a genius touch!). I enjoyed it so much! Happy Christmas!!!

[chocolatecakesandperioddrama]

Hi!! How would you rank these Downton characters in order of how much you personally love them? Robert, Cora, Mary, Edith, Sybil, Matthew, Tom, Carson, Hughes, Anna, Bates, Violet, Isobel.

Alright, @downtonabbeyandausten I’ll try to do this but sorry, but I hate rating them all separately. Hope it’s alright to group them.

Cora: If I love anyone of the given characters it’s her. Without going into detail she is my favourite. She’s kind and also strong and I adore her and Robert’s love. Oh, and her faces….

The ones I like

Edith: By far my favourite Crawley sister, simply because I like her development through the show and always felt a bit sad for her being the ‘left out’ child between more glamorous Mary and rebellious Sybil.

Robert: Donk, a bit slow most of the time but he loves his wife and daughters.

Violet: sassy, witty quotes, tough cookie

Isobel: sassy, witty quotes and helping the lost causes

The ones that are alright

Anna: certainly had her moments, more likeable in the early series than the end which is caused by the story that just got more and more absurd.

Sybil: lovely, modern young woman. Strong will and determined to do what she thinks is the right thing. Liked her while it lasted, but her story was pretty much told.

Mr. Carson: Could Downton even exist without him? Strong, traditional values but also really, really cares for the people and things he loves. Great relationship with Mrs. Hughes and with Mary.

Tom: Mr. nice guy chauffeur turned …. Yeah, what exactly? I liked him and was as sad when he left as I was happy when he returned. Great character development but not one of those I kept.my focus on.

The ones I don’t really care about

Matthew: Alright guy, but let’s face it we all knew he would end up marrying Mary somehow so why not spare us the constant back and forth between the two? I didn’t like him at all when he was being stubborn.

Mrs. Hughes: She’s one of those I think I should care about more. She’s a good advice giver and can keep a secret if needed, and she’s cute with Mr. Carson.

Mr. Bates: I don’t even know what to say about him. He was there and that was alright I guess, didn’t mind him, didn’t like him.

Now, if there is one of the regulars I really, really don’t like, it’s Mary: She is self-centered, mean and jealous and acts upon that. She thinks she’s better than the rest of the world. By far my least favourite Crawley sister. But, to end this on a positive note, she was loyal to those she really cared about.

[largemaxa]

Downton Abbey

(SPOILER ALERT: don’t read this if you haven’t seen the show and want to be surprised when you watch it)

With distressing news of the pandemic, cultural tension, and economic disaster coming in every day, in addition to a quarantine advisory keeping much of the country at home, binge-watching streaming TV for a diversion from reality is perhaps a near-universal coping mechanism. Of course, not just any TV show will provide the required pleasant escapism: some modern dramas and action shows have ratcheted up intensity to almost unbearable levels, with kidnappings, hostage situations, or brutal humiliation and ruin setting in even before the end of the first episode; such shows leave me more wrought with anxiety than when I started, and I generally bow out of watching quickly.

But Downton Abbey, the British historical drama which ran from 2010-2015 and just left Amazon Prime, does provide this pleasant escapism. The visual details and general execution are consistently exquisite—from the acting to the cinematography and set decoration—transporting us vividly to upper-class life in early 20th century England. These craft details are so enrapturing that one almost forgets that the show is essentially a "soap opera" (as James Fenton notes in his review of the show in the New York Review of Books). But I would advise any viewer to embrace this designation rather than be embarrassed by it, as what it really indicates is that the show provides a steady schedule of pleasures and plot points within an uncomplicated moral framework.

The show depicts the incidents and intrigues occurring at Downton Abbey, an English country estate held by the aristocratic Crawley family, from 1912 to 1926. The time period the show covers is as important as the physical setting for the show's context, as the changes of this period when the aristocratic system was giving way to a modern world (with fewer privileges for the aristocracy, an increasingly empowered working class, and more technology for everyone) constantly impinge on the attitudes and choices of the characters. The main plotline running through the show centers around this very issue: what will happen to Downton in this changing world? How should it be managed in the face of these changing economic and cultural realities—indeed, will it even survive?

The main characters responding to this situation are Robert Crawley (Hugh Bonneville), the current Earl and head of the estate, his eldest daughter Mary (Michelle Dockery), and a distant cousin Matthew Crawley (Dan Stevens), who is made the heir to Downton after a surprising circumstance and a legal technicality. The first few seasons are propelled by the will-they-or-won't-they romantic tension between Mary and Matthew and Matthew's adjustment from the world of the middle class, where he started out as a lawyer before learning the confusing norms of his new world. He eventually accommodates himself to Downton, and brings energy to the task of modernizing the estate with a variety of new schemes like cottage renovation and efficient management, but tragedy strikes, and Mary has to go on with the work herself (luckily at least with a new heir secured in their young son). Some of the most fun moments of the show come when we see Mary—previously known to be elegant to the point of severity and even coldness—attack the world of pig farming and land management with zeal.

But even though the aristocratic family enjoys primacy and privilege within the social world internal to the show, the depiction of the world of the servants is equally important to the show as a work of art, and we are equally invested in their lives, emotions, and ordeals. In fact, after Lady Mary, who is arguably the main character, some of the servants' lives are as important to the show as many of the family members: the good Anna (Joanne Froggatt) and her romance and ordeals with her persecuted husband Mr. Bates (Brendan Coyle), the conservative monarchist butler Carson (Jim Carter), and the sensible and good natured housekeeper Mrs. Hughes (Phyllis Logan). In fact, classic white-male patriarch Robert Crawley, who is the figurehead of the family and vested with the most social power within the show's world, is not at all the main character of the show, and in later seasons he seems to almost fade into the background as a source of irrelevant reactions that are out of touch with the times.

This isn't to say that the servants are especially championed as *more* deserving or better than the family; they are simply depicted as having a different "lot" in the world, with different duties and troubles than the ones in the upper part of the house. Though their resentments about the inequality are depicted, the question of whether the arrangement is politically fair isn't raised as an artistic question—there are few scenes where the true injustice of the arrangement is highlighted. For example, in extravagant large formal dinners that are a major plot device in the show, the camera's focus is squarely on the intrigues of the aristocrats (with the camera work sharply pinging back capturing their fine attire and quick banter) and not on the subservient, possibly even degrading work that the servants have to do, as the camera keeps them squarely in the background.

The single scene where this tension is most fully brought out is when the servant Thomas Barrow (played by Rob James-Collier, and one of the most complex and fascinating characters in the show who I will unfortunately not be able to go into here) waits on Tom Branson (Allen Leech) by himself when the rest of the family is away. Branson had previously risen to his position in the family after being a chauffeur, a member of the servant class with Barrow, then marrying the family's daughter Sybil. But Barrow resents his rise from chauffeur to family member and bristles at having to wait on him. The tension is made explicit when Barrow twists the words of a reasonable entreaty Branson offered, and bitterly remarks that he is only required to execute the orders given, but Branson has no control over his mind or feelings.

Branson's unique position eventually makes him the voice of goodness and reason, and he can even be seen as a sort of moral center of the show: he's able to balance the tension of being loyal to the family while maintaining his political support for the working class. Because of our trust in his goodness, he's the only one who is able to call out Mary's misbehavior in a tense scene towards the end of the show. Mary had sabotaged her unhappy sister Edith's (Laura Carmichael) relationship with an deliberate indiscreet revelation. Edith and Mary have a climactic fight, where years of resentment come out, and Edith calls Mary an unpleasant five-letter word. But ultimately Edith's insult is not truly damaging to Mary—we feel pity for Edith, but it's not criticism that has the power to wound Mary since we can see that Edith's criticism ultimately comes from jealousy and resentment of Mary's more favored status. But Tom criticizes Mary for her behavior with a fury we had never seen from him before, and since he is able to authentically claim moral authority, Mary is finally humbled and able to see the error of her ways.

Tom's goodness is admirable, but we have to admit it's not really consequential: he ends up living a good life for his circumstances, and has an admirable fairness of mind, but he ultimately isn't actually able to do anything for the working class. The actual change (good and bad) in the show's world is mostly brought about by a variety of figures that are glimpsed at the periphery of the show, like ambitious telegraph entrepreneurs, politicians whose passionate speeches agitate the working class into riots, and unscrupulous newspapermen who expose political scandals.  These figures are mostly seen as chaotic forces of nature rather than morally good or evil—which means that Tom's goodness, the idea of "good" that the show advances, is not related to the capacity to bring about change in the world at all. But part of what makes Downton a pleasurable and effective show is that it's not ultimately concerned with the large-scale question of what changes lead to a good and fair society: we see that plenty of interesting drama can play out by considering the good and bad qualities of people acting within the social system as it existed at the time. While Downton Abbey is not a guide to ethics, politics, or anything but a relatively straightforward idea of "being a good person", it is a thoroughly enjoyable and sometimes even moving work of art.

[esonetwork]

Downton Abbey Review: An Elegant Return To The Castle

New Post has been published on https://esonetwork.com/downton-abbey-review-an-elegant-return-to-the-castle/

Downton Abbey Review: An Elegant Return To The Castle

When I sat down in the theater to see the Downton Abbey movie, I wondered if the magic of the show could be recreated. Sometimes reboots don’t work. Yet, the first sweeping shots of the Downton Abbey castle accompanied by the iconic orchestral theme on the theater screen were instant magic. It was as if no time had passed since the series finale and I had to know what all of my favorite characters were doing.

It’s been 4 years since Downton Abbey ended its series run on TV. It was a show that detailed the differences between the life of the elite upstairs world and the working class downstairs servants. Yet, you somehow felt a connection to both worlds because of the fantastic storytelling. Each episode was full of gorgeous sets, detailed character development, and one special castle.

In Downton Abbey, the Crawley family is expecting a visit from the King and Queen of England. This provides a shake up at Downton as the staff must get ready for the most regal visit they’ve ever encountered at the manor. Will it all go according to plan? Can Mrs. Pattmore make enough food? Will Carson return as butler? You just have to see the movie to find out.

I won’t give away plot details, but I can say that director Michael Engler does well balancing several storylines in Downton Abbey and bringing them all together. I’d say it’s important to be a fan of the show to follow along with the film. It assumes you understand the character dynamics and plot details. So if you haven’t caught up yet, now’s the time to binge it on Amazon Prime! The series always bounced around from one plotline to another in each episode. The movie does the same thing, but they all fit together under the plot line of the King and Queen’s visit. There is the downstairs struggle of frantically preparing everything for the royal visit (chaos ensues, naturally). Then there is the upstairs struggle of keeping the estate going. Writer Julian Fellowes makes sure that the audience remains intrigued throughout the film. No moment drags and all of the beloved characters are brought back for the big screen debut. (Except for Lady Rose! I missed seeing Lily James reunited with the Downton crew.)

As a huge fan of the show, I thoroughly enjoyed seeing each character get a special moment to shine in the movie. There are certain character relationships that are so great to see in the movie like the friendship between Mary and Anna, Carson and Mrs. Hughes, and Daisy and Ms. Pattmore. It’s the little moments at Downton Abbey that stand out. Every character gets their moment, but I’ll give you a quick ranking of who are the most highlighted characters

Mary We all know Mary (Michelle Dockery) is a boss. Downton began with Mary being DENIED the ability to inherit Downton even though we all know she was the true heir. (The 20th century was a complicated time and women couldn’t get any respect.) She also had the tendency to be a little catty towards Edith. Those days are over, so wave goodbye! Mary has come full circle. She and Edith are getting along! She is organizing events for Downton. Don’t try and stop her because this is a whole new, mature Mary.

Tom Branson Tom deserves happiness. Ever since the death of Sybil, (may she rest in peace. No one will ever be over season 3) things have been tough for Tom. He gave up his life in Ireland to stay at Downton and raise his daughter with the Crawleys. That was a very mature thing to do. He gets such a great storyline in the film and continues to show that he’s such a loyal and upstanding character. Allen Leech plays the character with such charm and ease. You go, Tom Branson.

Anna Anna is the best. We all know this from watching Downton Abbey. She is the most loyal and kindhearted person who happens to have the worst luck in the world. Thankfully, she doesn’t suffer at all in this movie! She and Bates see no time at a court house and don’t go to jail for the whole two hours. Can you say miracle? Thank you Julian Fellowes, for having mercy on the innocent. For the movie, Anna shows a strong sense of leadership when morale is low among the servants. Joanna Froggat portrays Anna perfectly.

The Dowager Countess What is Downton Abbey without the Dowager Countess? It’s not a show! Maggie Smith’s portrayal is full of wit and charisma in every scene. The film adaption makes sure she has plenty to do, keeping the fans entertained. She has a trove of one liners ready to go at a seconds notice. Violet has more to do than just fire witty comebacks though, the film presents an intriguing storyline about her relationship with a cousin.

Carson/Mrs Hughes In the 4 years since the show ended, Carson (Jim Carter) was off living that retirement life. He got married to Mrs Hughes (Phyllis Logan), settled down, and planted a garden. #Retirementgoals, am I right? When the details of the royal visit become known, Mary believes he will do a much better job organizing things than Barrow. So she asks for his help. Just like that, Carson is back, carpooling with Mrs Hughes to work. (Actually, they’re walking because I doubt they have a car.) Goodbye to that retirement life. While Carson seems to have a grumpy exterior, all fans know how much he loves Downton. It wouldn’t have been a movie without him in attendance at the royal visit. As for Mrs. Hughes, she is still in charge of the housekeepers at Downton. Don’t try to cross her because she will come out victorious in her efforts. Her relationship with Carson is so sweet. I’m happy for them. Hopefully after the royal visit, he can go back to his retirement life.

I could spend plenty of time writing about other characters because the film is a wonderful collage of moments letting everyone have a storyline. Yet, I will say Daisy and Andy’s plot is a bit disappointing. She spends most of the film pouting that the royals are coming to visit while he is jealous of her flirting with a local handyman. It’s not the most thrilling storyline and it made me wonder how they ever became a couple.

The characters may give us the drama, intrigue, and comedy, but what would Downton be without the set and costume design? If you thought it was incredible on the show, wait until you see it on the big screen! The details of every set are exquisite. This is truly a spectacle film that should be seen on the big screen to admire the beauty of the grand sets. There are numerous costume changes that will impress all Downton fans. Mary’s final dress and Edith’s blue sequined Star dress were my personal favorites, but I’ll have to see it again to catch more details.

Downton Abbey marks a grand return to one of television’s most elegant shows. Fans, don’t miss out on this cinematic event. My Rating: 8/10

[yankeecountess]

requested by @incognito-princess, who said:

Prompt- WW2- South Pacific-esque- (in honor of my Grandpa who as a Navy Sea-Bee). Tom Branson- Naval Construction Battalion- Sybil Crawley- Naval Nurse- Coconut palms and banyan trees. Coral sands and Tonkinese. Bloody Mary and Bai Hai. Some enchanted evening. Will Sybil wash that man right out of her hair? Will she even want to? ;)        

There certainly is nothing like a dame.

Tom Branson had never “ogled” women (his mother would have his hide) but after being at sea for almost a year, stationed on some remote island in the Pacific where there weren’t that many women who crossed his path (or, beach, in this case), when one did cross it...well, he was guilty as charged.

And when it came to her, Lord help him, it was impossible to look away...

But what did he have to offer?  He wasn’t like the rest of these blokes, a ragtag group of British, Australian, and American soldiers. Nothing more than a “glorified boat mechanic”, or so the right and honorable Capt. Grey had sneered at him once upon a time. Not that he cared what a roach like Capt. Grey thought; Tom took pride in what he did for the Naval Construction Battalion. However, ever since she had arrived on that transport with the other new nurses...he couldn’t help but wonder and worry what she thought! Not that it mattered, really; he doubted he ever crossed her mind...

Despite all her preparation and training, Sybil would have to admit she was not prepared when she arrived at the base somewhere in the midst of the crystal blue waters of the south Pacific. How could the War be happening in such a beautiful place? But every so often, when shipmen and marines were brought to her and the other nurses at the island field hospital, she was remind that even in the midst of paradise, the War continued to rage.  And there was always the threat of a falling bomb. Her family thought she would be safer here, than staying in London. She chose to keep that detail out of her letters home.

She was also unprepared for the amount of...attention...she and her fellow nurses would receive from the men stationed there.  Nothing bad had happened, but good grief, you would think they had NEVER seen a woman before!  And...well, granted, it was quite hot there, but...still, it was a bit surprising to see so many of them go around with their shirts unbuttoned...or without a shirt at all.

She swallowed as she remembered him, the handsome, muscular Irishman who had helped her off the transport when she had arrived.  He wasn’t a soldier, which Sybil couldn’t help but be glad to learn, as it meant he wouldn’t be in direct combat. Not that she knew him that well...they had exchanged a few pleasantries here and there when their paths crossed, and yet...

No, no “and yet”. What was she thinking? Contemplating some sort of “island romance” with a man she barely knew! This wasn’t a holiday, this was work! She had come here to aid wounded allies, not moon over some shirtless Irishman. Oh Lord, she needed to make sure her next shower was even colder than the last. But no matter how hard she scrubbed her head, her mind couldn’t seem to rid itself of his handsome smile, or captivating blue eyes...

When it’s announced that there’s going to be a “talent show” (of sorts) with a dance to follow, as a means to bolster everyone’s spirits after a week of air-raids, Tom and Sybil find themselves thrust together by some unseen force--she in an oversized white sailor suit, and he...in coconuts and a grass skirt.

But despite their ridiculous circumstances (alright, his ridiculous circumstance...because he can’t help but think how delightful she looks in that sailor suit), the evening certainly is one filled with enchantment!  Especially when they find themselves alone on the beach, clothed in little but starlight...

**images not mine

[carlisle980]

Between-stairs: Isobel Crawley, Dr. Clarkson, Tom Branson

Dowager Countess

Series 1. Aside from the Chelsie wedding, Series 6 was shite.

Chelsie always

Neither. Would love to have been a spectator at the cricket match though. Clarkson. In whites. Le swoooon.

Matthew. Every other suitor of Mary’s was either forgettable or a nob.

This is hard because Sybil is the only sister I liked. But for Isobel’s sake I’d have saved Matthew.

Alfred. Hard worker; good head on his shoulders

Banna, though they weren’t of all that much interest to me. I’m pleased that they were happy in the end.

Also hard. I loved Matthew because I love Isobel, and it was hard to see him pining for Mary all those years. But I despise her, tbh. I love the characters of both Sybil and Tom. I imagine they’d have started some sort of revolution had she been allowed to live.

As a conflict-avoider I generally preferred the prevailing mood at breakfast. Though tbh I was far more interested in the happenings down in the kitchen.

Neither a film nor another series. Fellowes ruined the good thing he had. I really can’t watch much beyond the end of Series 3 and nothing beyond the episode with Dame Nellie Melba in Series 4. I wish all the lovely Chelsie moments could have been squeezed in before the drastic downward spiral of the writing. Why couldn’t they have written the proposal into the Series 3 CS, had the wedding in Series 4 and then have called it a day? I can’t countenance the way he turned Isobel from a spitfire into an old hag. Now, Pen played Isobel’s grief like a boss and as much as it hurts my heart it’s also beautiful to watch. But the second Dickie Merton came onto the scene, that was it for me. Fellowes teased the Richobel will-they-or-won’t-they thing for so many years —even well into Series 4. Clarkson is the one who was there for her always, even when she was quite caustic and sometimes just plain mean to him. Yet we were supposed to believe that Ditchwater Dickie the Dullard (who couldn’t remember a detail as significant as the fact that her son had DIED) was a superior match for her. Right. I will never watch the finale again as long as I live. Perhaps I’ll ask a friend to string together all the Chelsie bits (though there, again ... JF still couldn’t let them just be happy ever after, could he?!) and cut out the rest of it.

Make Me Chose: Downton Abbey Edition

Upstairs or Downstairs

Dowager Countess or Lady Mary

Season 1 or Season 6

Chelsie or Cobert

Horseriding or croquet games

Matthew or Henry

Saving Sybil or saving Matthew

Jimmy or Alfred

Thommy or Banna

Sybil and Tom or Mary and Matthew

Family breakfasts or family dinners

One more season or a Downton movie

[legends-of-time]

The Journey of Living at Downton

Chapter 16: April 1919 to January 1920

Masterlist

Emma and Tom had made the decision to stay in England for a short while longer so that they could attend Sybil and Billy’s wedding but by the beginning of May, they are on the boat to Ireland. The last time Emma had been in Ireland was in August 2017 so she knows that life will be very different as this is Ireland before its independence and the beginning of Northern Ireland.

Emma feels terrible going, what with what is happening with Mr Bates but Anna had insisted. She doesn’t want Anna to feel like she’s a burden to anyone so she listens and goes. It’s further along in May when Emma and Tom tie the knot in Dublin in the presence of his family on his side and the three Crawley sisters, Gemma and Anna on the other.

Emma survives meeting his family as they, despite her fears, were non-judgmental about her more English upbringing. He has two brothers called Kieran and Owen and two sisters called Bridget and Ellen. Kieran leaves soon after the wedding as he lives and works in Liverpool and needs to return for work. She also meets her new nieces and nephews. Meeting his many, many cousins is more chaotic though Emma knows that she isn’t meeting one as he lives in America. Overall, Emma is thankful for the warm welcome she receives.

She is happy that she has done nursing during the war as it gives her a head start and shows her employers at the Rotunda Lying-in Hopital that she was capable and has practical experience. Tom's own position at The Observer, one of several small republican papers that emerged during the country's upheaval, paid little but expected a lot. But then again, Tom expected a lot of himself, and so found little to complain about, except for the hours that kept him apart from his wife. Due to her and Tom’s wages, they are able to find a small but comfortable flat in Dublin. It’s not much but it has what they need and Emma is happy with that.

Emma is thankful for Mrs Patmore’s lessons as it means that she actually knows her way around an early 20th century kitchen. Her first meal, while not amazing, is a success. 

With both of them working, Emma puts forward the argument that they should share the household chores as she feels it’s unfair for her to work and then do everything at home. This means that Emma doesn’t have to do the cooking every day. She knows that neither of them are amazing cooks but they muddle through.

She tells Tom of the consequences of the Treaty of Versailles and that the next Great War is only 20 years away.

Emma realises that as a married woman and one living amongst the working class, away from the hierarchy and stickler that is Downton, she has this new freedom. Emma gets to go to her first pub, since arriving in the past, along with Tom, Ellen and Owen. She finds herself having a blast and actually becomes drunk for the first time in forever.

Married life is a new but exciting experience, equal parts trial and error. Politics at its most basic level, Tom will often tease when they'd come to loggerheads in a spat. Negotiations often landed them in bed to iron out the details, a part of marriage Emma has come especially to enjoy.

——

In September, she begins to notice changes to her body that had not been there before. She had been feeling increasingly tired, nauseous and her chest is tender and swollen.

She was midway through scrubbing a skillet when the smell of charred bacon landed hit her. Retching over the dirty dishes and the mingled smell of vomit and grease only made things worse. She snatches up a towel, rubs for the washroom where she hugs the toilet and finishes coughing up everything short of her toenails.

“Christ.” She croaks, leaning back against the tub. Sitting up gingerly, she swishes out her mouth at the sink and rests on the toilet seat. The flushing water echoes in the bowl as her mind replayed the previous minutes. “Ugh.” She holds a hand against her stomach as a fresh wave threatens.

Then it hits her. Not the nausea, which has disappeared, but the reason for it. Could she be?

Emma makes a mental calculation. Two weeks? No, it had to be more than that almost a months perhaps? God, she should have noticed. Then again with her duties at the hospital have been ramping up over the past month, when would she have the time? Emma knows that this must mean only one thing and when she notices her period is late.

She and Tom hadn't really talked about children, other than the occasional vague reference to someday, but then again, they aren't doing anything in particular to prevent it.

She immediately goes to Doctor Caffrey during her shift to see if it can be confirmed. It is a risk, to be sure, to see him as a patient, but she is quite fond him and trusts him. She is soon told that yes, she is indeed pregnant, about a month along, and honestly, Emma feels like she’s going to cry with happiness though she does have the afterthought that this child and any she has in the next 7 years will become of age during World War Two.

Emma makes sure she gets home before Tom and proceeds to quickly write two letters, one addressed to Gemma and one to Sybil. She knows that they'll tell everyone at Downton so it saves Emma from having to write multiple letters.

She waits anxiously for Tom to come home from the office. She struggles to stay still and begins darting around cleaning and cooking to keep herself distracted.

"What is it?" Tom asks as he comes through the door of their flat. Honestly, Emma doesn't blame him for asking as she probably looks a bit frazzled.

"What's what?" Emma says innocently.

Tom smirks before giving her a quick kiss. "You're fidgeting."

Emma ignores his attitude. "I have something to tell you." He looks concerned. "It's not something bad!"

Tom lets out a relieved sigh. "What a relief. I thought—"

"I'm pregnant." She blurts out.

Tom's eyes widen. "Truly?"

"Truly."

"This is wonderful." Tom grabs her and spins as he wears a beaming smile.

She laughs. "Put me down!"

He puts her down and places a hand on her stomach. "When are you due?"

"Next May." Emma grins.

Tom smiles. "May 1920."

——

That Christmas, unlike at Downton, where the house tree glittered and towered proportionally in the Great Hall or at home, in the 21st century where the real tree with all the delicate decorations blocked the lounge windows and the fake tree in the Kitchen with the kid decorations threatening to fall every time someone tried to make their way around the table, the Branson's flat in Dublin is modestly decorated. They hadn't the time to go out and find a tree, but had, on the previous weekend, collected trimmings from one of Tom's cousins who worked at the Shelbourne Hotel. Emma had placed the greenery judiciously around the parlor: a little on the street-facing window sill, some along the banister leading to their cozy room upstairs, and the remainder on the small mantel above the fireplace. Her mother would be proud of it.

It is New Year's Eve when Emma finds a letter from Sybil when she comes home from work. She's four months pregnant at this point and they're still letting her work until she gets to the six month mark though they are already dialling down her workload.

She opens the letter to find Sybil announcing her own pregnancy. It is welcome news considering it is getting closer and closer to the date of Mr Bates' murder trial. Emma hopes it goes well but there's no guarantee plus the fact that the statistic of most women being murdered by their current or ex partner is working against him.

It is a couple more weeks before Emma hears, from Lady Mary, the dreadful news that he has been guilty. Thankfully it is not hanging but will be life imprisonment, which means they have time to overturn the verdict. Emma is glad there's at least some positive news out of all this.

——

Soon Emma gets some news that sent her squealing.

"What is it? What's happening?" Tom runs into the kitchen half dressed and looking panicked.

"It's finally happening! Lady Mary and Mr Crawley! They're getting married!" Emma cries, shoving the letter from Lady Mary in his face as if he's able to read it.

"Really? What happened to Sir Richard?" Tom asks smiling.

"Don't know, don't care." Emma dismisses. "There's an invitation as well, inviting us."

His widen. "Us?"

Emma nods. "Yes, but I'm not sure we'll be able to afford it. Shame, I hoped to see the wedding as well as Sybil, Gemma and the others."

"I'm sorry." Tom apologises.

"It's not your fault." She replies.

"I know but still."

She smiles at him affectionately and strokes his cheek before giving him a kiss.

——

A/N: Please leave comments on how you're enjoying this story and what you think.

[thephantomcasebook]

What Was Dead Should Remain Dead ... (May 1941)

It was a testament to how much she loved him that she cared. Even when everything else in life looked the same, there was always something missing. People, they couldn’t understand it unless they died. But when you give your life to something, it has a meaning, it has a purpose. There is certain finality to it, a stony quality in which you leave your mark on the world, forever. But the question that is never asked and an answer that had never been given, is what to do when you’re brought back to that world? What do you do when you return, twenty years later, and you’re no longer a martyr, no longer someone thought of reverently?

Lady Sybil sat alone in the Downton drawing room, watching the dinner party. She had a cigarette in her hand, its end burning through the nicotine and paper as she watched from afar. 

They stand so close together now, she could hardly understand it. He’s her best friend, and she is his. Wherever she goes in the village it’s “Tom and Mary” or “Lady Mary and Mr. Branson” … she didn’t mind it, truly, but quietly she began to realize when she heard such things that it truly had been twenty years. He was older now. He was as old as Papa when she died. He looked so dapper, so stately, a Motor Tycoon. She didn’t know if that was what he was meant for, had she lived. She wondered if she would have allowed him to pursue it, would’ve been at his side at the shop, been there when they opened the factory. But then she didn’t know him did she? Sybil didn’t know this important man of business, this Mr. Branson … she only knew the chauffer, the revolutionary, her husband Tom. But they hadn’t been married in a long time. Though, to Sybil, it had only been like yesterday …

And she still looked as if it had been yesterday.

Sybil tried to ignore the starry eyes looks from their American Air Force guests, the stiffer RAF Officers. They all had that love-loran look that they had always had all her life when young men saw Sybil. It felt strange, alien in a way that she couldn’t quite place. She was a wife, a mother, a career woman. But she was still only twenty-four. She was a young, vibrant, woman with a husband in his fifties and a grown daughter who had never knew her till a few months ago. She wished with all her heart that she could’ve been there for Sybbie through so much, to see her through the things that had happened to her, dreadful things that Sybil would never forgive herself for not being able to protect her from. But what hurt the most was the way that beautiful raven haired girl would call Mary “Mama” with all the love in the world and Sybil was still “Oh … um, hi …” with an awkward brush back of glossy curls and a clasp of the hands behind her back.

The truth was that she didn’t know who she was anymore or even if she had a right to exist.

Tears formed in her eyes when she got to the door and looked back. There was Tom, watching her. She saw it in his eyes the spark that drew them together so long ago. And in that moment she saw the love, the longing, God knew he needed her, that he wanted her so much. But he didn’t say anything, didn’t move a muscle as he stood next to the Colonel with Mary and Matthew. The two of them were tormented by their sister and brother-in-law. She felt terrible in thinking it, but it was true.

Mary and Matthew looked very much the same as they did before he died, they came together as quickly as they parted, and they picked up where they left off at the drop of the hat. They were so good together, in lock-step, undeterred by twenty years of being parted. But then Mary had always been good about shutting off things in her life, moving on rather quickly or doubling back. Yet, Tom and Sybil couldn’t find each other, because, they were so different now, not just in character, but in age. Tom saw himself as an old man now, broken in and set in his ways, a lifetime spent without her by his side. He wanted Sybil back, but he felt that it would be dishonorable to tie down a young woman, with a second chance at life, to a man who was old enough to be her father now.

The embers of the cigarette reflected like stained glass on her tear brim blue eyes as she stood in the night dimmed foyer of Downton Abbey. She felt lost, felt a deep welling of sorrow in the very halls that should’ve been like home to her. She stared blankly at the soft glow of the communication consuls, the random RAF women on the nightshift, taking batons and moving them on panes of glass navigational displays with headphones over their hair buns. They didn’t seem to notice her, no one did … but one.

A young man, her twin in masculine, saw her from the command table that had a large detailed map of the North Sea. He had grown out raven curls and the same blue eyes, hardened by a thousand sorrows and years of adventures on four continents. He wore a peacoat of beaten mahogany leather and was not even in uniform, much less dining clothing. When he spoke he had the accent of a hard-bitten Yankee, youthful, but tough and heroic. He was a maiden’s dream …

And the person responsible for the return of his father and herself to the arms of those they loved.

“You smoking now?”

“Sometimes …”

“Fallen in with a bad crowd have we, beautiful?”

“Sybbie, really …”

“Then, it’s worse than anyone can imagine.”

“I only do it under stress …”  

“Yeah, well, can’t say I blame you … I never had the stomach for their bullshit either, especially Mom’s.” George Crawley commiserated motioning to the crowded drawing room, always having been a very rare attendant to a Downton Dinner, if ever at all.

The voice of the young ace pilot always brought her a comfort that was left residual. There was a time, since the very day he was born, in which Sybil was his unseen protector. It still came in flashes, the most dangerous, the most heartbreaking, and the most desperate moments of a young boy and young man’s life mostly spent far from home. In these strange days the only time Sybil ever felt truly herself was when she was with her nephew, the once purpose of her very duty unseen on earth. Captain Crawley didn’t flinch, move, or say a word when Sybil strode to his side to share his view of the map. The adventurer felt very much the same residual attachment to the woman, now his peer, as she did him.

It was likely to never go away for the rest of their lives.  

This heroic figure seeming to come right off an American Pulp cover or cast from the lead of an Action- Adventure Serial at the Cinema was a  serious and hard-boiled young man, and only Sybil truly knew why. He fit into their family as well as she did. He spent eight years exiled in Depression America, then four years in North Africa and Palestine. His struggles and adventures had made him as different as it got from the House of Grantham. He and Mary weren’t on good terms still, no matter how Matthew tried, and he had little to no respect for Papa’s authority. He didn’t live at Downton, but still at Crawley House, sent there to Isobel at six years old and even after Isobel’s death he remained there alone.

They spent days looking for the German’s ultimate Battleship. Though, only Papa was allowed into the control room with George and Sybbie. Yet, the rest of the family felt a deep investment and a part of the hunt for the Bismarck, even if it was just from afar. George, the commander of the “Air Expedition”, was called upon from his sector one station at the heart of the fighting during the Bitlz, along with a group of other top pilots in the RAF to hunt down and destroy The Bismarck after the sinking of the HMS Hood.

“Any word?” She asked gently looking over the map.

“She’s out there alright … but if she gets to the French Coast, to air cover …” George said quietly.

“They’ll send you after her anyway?”

“Yeah, and we’ll be quoting “The Charge of the Light Brigade” the entire way.” He smirked grimly with a shake of his head.

He turned when he felt her take his hand. Sybil had tears in her eyes, her chest shaking. The young man, who literally never had anyone care that much if he was in danger, was dismayed. When he looked up he saw that several women in uniform were watching the scene. The hard bitten war hero quietly escorted his seeming twin away to a secluded area where once, long ago, Atticus Aldridge asked his once wife Rose to marry him. Since his death saving George’s life on the last day of the “Battle of Brittan” Lady Sinderby avoided it at all costs until she spent nights there in seclusion, crying.

“What’s wrong?” he asked quietly holding Sybil’s hands.

“I … it’s nothing.” She held back sobs, her body shaking.

“Come on …” He smoother her styled curls with a deeply earned familiarity.

“I …” She placed her hands over her face in stress. “Tom, he won’t touch me, because, he thinks he’ll ruin my life! Sybbie doesn’t know me! The Medical Corp. won’t let me join, because, they think I aged out! And now, now you’re flying alone out there … when I was … when I was dead, you and I, we were team. I was up there with you, protecting you! You weren’t alone as long as I was there! Now I’m here, and … I, I don’t know what to do anymore! And I hate it … I hate it so much!”

Sybil raged, grabbing her nephew’s old leather jacket’s lapels and gave the tall young man a shake, before burying her face in his navy blue Henley giving a helpless shriek into his chest, her shoulders shaking. She cried uncontrollably as the young man wrapped her in his arms. He held to her tightly snuggling her closely as he squinted his eyes shut in deep pain that went right down to the soul.

He felt guilty, he felt stupid, knowing that he had made a mistake. He learned a long time ago in New Orleans that what was dead should stay dead. He learned at Ra-Al-Rhun in North Africa where he found the “Grail of Prague” the relic that brought life to the Golem of Prague, that what was dead should remain dead. But he had spent his life thinking that his family, himself, had been dealt shit hands. He was obsessed with making it right, of redeeming himself to his family, especially to Lady Mary who had lost a baby daughter and a second husband, because, he wasn’t fast enough to save them when he was young.

Someday, George thought, he’d stop trying to be a hero.  

.