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The night had been wonderful, everything that Sybil had hoped for it. They were now wed, and had spent the night celebrating with their friends. Food had been plentiful, wine had flowed, and Sybil couldn't remember a nicer night. When she and Henri had finally fallen into bed, they were both exhausted. They were even more exhausted when they finally fell asleep. Things were as close to perfect as she could have ever imagined.
The cries were what woke her. They pulled her from sleep foggy and confused. Henri started to stir as she slipped from their bed, wrapping a robe about herself to go investigate. There was nothing that should have woken her in their rooms, certainly not what sounded like a baby.
She shook her head, trying to clear the mustiness settled in the crooks and crannies of her brain. There, near the doorway was a basket, and in the basket was an infant dressed as if for a christening. She knelt beside it, hushing the child as she reaches for it.
"Henri?" Sybil calls out to her husband. She picks the baby up and rests her against her shoulder, rocking back on her heels as the child nuzzles against her neck. "Henri, something's wrong."
Something's very very wrong if there's an infant in their rooms who is not supposed to be here. She smiles at the oddity and her way with understatement. There's a piece of paper poking out from the basket, and Sybil snags it, her brief glance turning into a much longer look.
It's a baptismal certificate. A baptismal certificate for her daughter, her daughter with Thomas Branson.
"Well, if I can't stop you I see no point in a quarrel. It'll be a very different life to the one you might have had but if you're sure it's what you want."
"I am."
"Somehow none of that seems to matter when we're in Dublin. Class and all that just fades away. I'm Mrs Branson and we get on with our lives like millions of others."
"We need peace, and safety. Downton can offer us both."
"I do believe in God, but all the rest of it, vicars, feast days, deadly sins, I don't care about that. I don't know if a vicar knows any more about god than I do. And I love Tom, so very very much."
"I love him." The memories flooded in, and were she not sitting she would have fallen. Suddenly it all seems so plain, the life that she'd had. Leaving Downton, trying to elope, finally moving to Ireland with Tom and marrying him. Their life there and how they had loved one another. How frightened she had been for Tom and how they had gone back to Downton. She had convinced him to stay there and it was there that she gave birth to their daughter and there that Sybil is sure that she died.
Which means this little girl is her daughter. Sybil looks up to Henri, tears streaming down her face as she sees the face of the other man that she loves. "I love him, and this is our daughter."
The cries were what woke her. They pulled her from sleep foggy and confused. Henri started to stir as she slipped from their bed, wrapping a robe about herself to go investigate. There was nothing that should have woken her in their rooms, certainly not what sounded like a baby.
She shook her head, trying to clear the mustiness settled in the crooks and crannies of her brain. There, near the doorway was a basket, and in the basket was an infant dressed as if for a christening. She knelt beside it, hushing the child as she reaches for it.
"Henri?" Sybil calls out to her husband. She picks the baby up and rests her against her shoulder, rocking back on her heels as the child nuzzles against her neck. "Henri, something's wrong."
Something's very very wrong if there's an infant in their rooms who is not supposed to be here. She smiles at the oddity and her way with understatement. There's a piece of paper poking out from the basket, and Sybil snags it, her brief glance turning into a much longer look.
It's a baptismal certificate. A baptismal certificate for her daughter, her daughter with Thomas Branson.
"Well, if I can't stop you I see no point in a quarrel. It'll be a very different life to the one you might have had but if you're sure it's what you want."
"I am."
"Somehow none of that seems to matter when we're in Dublin. Class and all that just fades away. I'm Mrs Branson and we get on with our lives like millions of others."
"We need peace, and safety. Downton can offer us both."
"I do believe in God, but all the rest of it, vicars, feast days, deadly sins, I don't care about that. I don't know if a vicar knows any more about god than I do. And I love Tom, so very very much."
"I love him." The memories flooded in, and were she not sitting she would have fallen. Suddenly it all seems so plain, the life that she'd had. Leaving Downton, trying to elope, finally moving to Ireland with Tom and marrying him. Their life there and how they had loved one another. How frightened she had been for Tom and how they had gone back to Downton. She had convinced him to stay there and it was there that she gave birth to their daughter and there that Sybil is sure that she died.
Which means this little girl is her daughter. Sybil looks up to Henri, tears streaming down her face as she sees the face of the other man that she loves. "I love him, and this is our daughter."
