April 2, 1912

The skies over Downton Abbey were gray as slate and twice as heavy, reflecting the mood of nearly everyone inside. Rain had been threatening to fall since early that morning, but aside from a few ominous rumbles of thunder in the distance there had been no sign of any sort of storm on the horizon. Inside the house, however, was another matter entirely. An eerie calm seemed to have settled over the residents of Downton, one that appeared every month or so without fail. The servants were all walking on eggshells, careful not to say anything to any member of the family that might accidentally set them off. The young ladies had been dressed already and the car had been pulled around and was waiting for them at the top of the drive whenever they were ready, but the engine did nothing to muffle the murmuring voices of the servants as they gossiped among each other.

"Do you think His Lordship will come along with them this time? He hasn't been these last couple of months. Always has an excuse, he does—either the weather won't hold or he's too busy or he decides to make a spur-of-the-moment visit to London a few days before. It's not right, that is…he should go with them."

"It might be too painful for him still. I don't blame him…"

"Too painful? It's been ten years, Gwen. You'd think he'd want to go after all this time—She was his wife, after all, he loved her."

"The poor girls…"

By the time the three Crawley girls emerged from upstairs, long coats thrown over their dresses to protect them from the rain, the servants had already been scolded and dispersed by Mrs. Hughes, not wanting any of the ladies to hear the subject of their conversation. She smiled to them fondly and they smiled back, each of them clutching a small bouquet of hothouse flowers to take along with them as they always did, the pale purple lilacs standing out so starkly against the black silk of their gloves. Lady Mary nodded to Mrs. Hughes as she passed by, grateful for the woman's kindness. Most of the time Mary had a good relationship with the hired help—all of them did. Anna was her friend and Sybil was close to Gwen, and Carson and Mrs. Hughes had always been almost a second set of parents to the girls. However, today was different, and they all knew it. It was no secret that although the servants held the Crawley family with respect, there was one day when they could not resist speaking about their employers behind their backs: the day that the family went to visit Lady Grantham's grave.

Mrs. Hughes stood with her hands clasped in front of her, discreetly studying the girls as they waited to see if their father would be joining them. Lady Mary held her head up high as she had been trying to diligently to do ever since her mother's death ten years before. The poor child had been only ten years old then, old enough to realize that she had to begin to grow up and take care of her sisters herself. It had been an experience, watching the headstrong child she had known blossom before her eyes. Although Mary could still be selfish and willful, as all young girls could, she had grown gentle and more tender as well, taking Sybil under her wing and trying to be mother and sister to the youngest child at the same time. She and Lady Edith had never seen eye-to-eye, and if anything Lady Grantham's death had driven them even further apart, although over the years they had attempted to mend the many broken bridges between them. Mrs. Hughes could see a tear glistening in Lady Edith's eye now, the way Lord Grantham's middle daughter clutched her bouquet so tightly it looked as if she might accidently crumple some of the lilacs and she had to resist the urge to go over and put her arms around the poor girl. Such things would have been fine when she was younger, but now there were more rules than ever to follow. Finally, the housekeeper's eyes turned to Lady Sybil. The baby of the family, she had the fewest memories of her mother to cling to. Sometimes Mrs. Hughes wondered if she perhaps looked forward to these outings to the cemetery, if only for the chance to get that much closer to the mother she had never truly known. She and Mary looked the most like her, but each of the girls resembled Cora Crawley in some way…perhaps that was why Lord Grantham sometimes seemed so pained when he looked at them. Oh, he loved his daughters—there was not a doubt in anyone's mind about that. He was protective of them almost to a fault, always looking out for their welfare like a father should, but there was something more in the way that he treated them, as if he was trying to make up for the fact that they had lost their poor mother so young. She bit her lip and glanced up the stairs, wondering if he would choose to join them this time.

As if on cue, Sybil followed the housekeeper's gaze to the top of the steps. "Will Papa be coming with us?" she asked Mary, trying to hide the hope in her voice. Mary was the closest to their father of the three of them and the most likely to know. She saw her sister's brown eyes flicker to the grandfather clock in the corner before she answered, no doubt wondering what was taking him so long. "He didn't say," Mary said carefully, not wanting to crush her sister's hopes but not wanting to raise them too high either. "Perhaps—"

"He 's missed the last three visits," Edith interrupted, almost glowering up the stairs. "I see no reason to expect anything different today." She busied herself with straightening the flowers in her hand as Mary sighed quietly, not wanting to provoke another fight between her and her sister but knowing that there was one brewing already. She could feel Sybil's eyes on her as she turned to Edith, attempting to keep her voice as calm as possible as she tried to reason with Edith—an impossible task on the best of days, but Edith was always more difficult when she went to visit the grave.

"I wish you'd have more faith in him," she said simply. "Just because he's missed a few visits doesn't mean anything—"

Edith scoffed. "It does and you know it. He hasn't even made any effort at all in these last few months. It's as if he doesn't want to go see Mama anymore at all."

Mary could feel her temper rising as Mrs. Hughes slipped away, knowing when to bow out of private matters. "You can be such a child, do you realize that, Edith? As I recall, you were feeling ill last time and asked to stay behind. I don't recall anyone insinuating that you didn't love Mama when you didn't come along!"

Edith's hazel eyes flashed in anger, and Mary bit her lip, regretting her words immediately. "No, but I'm sure you were all thinking it. You, perfect one who never misses a visit…" She went on, berating her eldest sister, deepening the divide between them on the very day that was supposed to bring them all together. Sybil took a breath, preparing to jump in and break them up as she always did. It was a burden that fell to her more often than not, but she had learned to accept it over the years. She liked to think it was what her mother would have wanted…

Before she had a chance, though, there came the sound of footsteps on the stairs. The three girls looked up just in time to see their father striding towards him in somber black, holding his top hat in his hands. "What's going on here?" he asked as he approached them. "Fighting again? And today of all days? Mary, Edith, I would have expected better of you…" Sybil could see his anger in the pull of his jaw, the subtle flash in his blue eyes as he turned to his eldest. "Really, Mary can't you put aside the endless feud with your sister for just one day? What would your mother think of you?!"

The girls jumped, for Robert had raised his voice without meaning to. His shout seemed to echo throughout the foyer, drowning out the clap of thunder that had preceded it. Robert seemed to realize what he had done instantly, for his face softened and a look of guilt replaced the frustration that had taken over his expression only a moment ago. Sybil saw Edith's eyes fill with tears once again, not even bothering to hide them this time. "I'm sorry, Papa," she said softly. "I…I didn't realize that you were coming…"

Robert sighed, seeming to age ten years in a matter of seconds. "I am," he replied gently, speaking as if he were afraid his daughters would run from him if he raised his voice again. "I am, and your grandmother is going to meet us there and then come back for dinner…Edith, girls, I know I haven't been very faithful to our little tradition lately, but…" His voice broke a little then, so subtly that Sybil thought at first she had imagined it. "But I do promise to try and do better now. It's what she would have wanted…" He looked into the eyes of his daughters, from Mary's warm brown to Sybil's blue, so much like Cora's that it almost stopped his heart just to look at her. "I promise…" Almost hesitantly, he offered his arms out to his daughters, trying to make amends for so much with just a single gesture. Edith was the first to move, falling into her father's embrace as she held back a sob. Sybil followed, feeling her father's strong arms envelop her and her sister and knowing that no place on earth could ever feel as safe as his embrace. It simply wasn't possible. He held them close for a long moment as Mary waited her turn. He turned and kissed them both on the top of their heads before releasing them and letting Mary come forward, hugging her tightly as well. "Oh, my girls," he said, too quiet for anyone besides Mary to hear. "She would be so proud of you…"

The moment he let go of Mary, the emotional moment passed. His eyes were free of any tears, and his voice had returned to its normal, almost businesslike manner. "Come along, my dears," he told them. "Let's go and see your Mama."