A/N:So this is my first ever period fic. Be gentle with me - you know how I love my comfort zone of modern AUs! But it's an idea which I've had in my head for a very long time and I decided to give it a try. However – WARNING, it's canon compliant, so if you can't bear to read anything which relates to Sybil's death, then stop right now.

I've always thought that even though Tom couldn't travel back to Ireland, his mother would surely want to meet her granddaughter and see her son again. This is set in 1923, shortly after the S4 Christmas special, so Sybbie would be not long three. It was very tempting to extend it to include Mrs Branson's interactions with various family and staff members, but in the end I decided to limit the scenes to those involving Tom, Sybbie and Cora only.

I have never felt as strongly as many of you about the gentrification of Tom, but that's not to say that I have been happy with the way he has been portrayed. This tale works around the storyline Julian Fellowes has chosen to write, it does not represent what I wish had happened from the start.

Tom heard the soft hiss of escaping steam fade to its conclusion, the intermittent slam of carriage doors, a cheery greeting from afar. Then he saw her. A swirl of dense mist dissipated and she stood alone, a small, worn case at her feet, hands tightly clutching her bag to her waist. He recognised her Sunday best dress, the hat she had worn to two of his siblings' weddings, defiant wisps of greying hair escaping from hidden hatpins. She looked straight ahead, seemingly uncurious, her chin raised in defiance at unfamiliar surroundings. Immobile and silent, she gave the impression of a polished imposter, as if his mother had been immortalised for one of the Waxwork Museums he had often read about. She waited while he observed, certain that he would come to find her.

"Mam!" he called and raised an arm in greeting. He was standing in the wrong place. Confident that she would have rejected his offer of a first class fare, he had waited at the far end where third class passengers alighted. But she had emerged from the train's central carriages; she had conceded to a little comfort in second. He had been taken by surprise.

Her shoulders rose and she nodded, lips vanishing into a grimace, making her seem suddenly severe. She's nervous, he thought and felt startled by the idea. He always thought of her as indomitable in any given situation. But he had only ever known her in one of her home environments – either Dublin or Galway – where her standing was high and her opinion held worth. Her self-belief was on shaky ground now that she had left Ireland for the first time.

"Mam" he repeated and reached out to gently clasp her elbow. They had never been a family prone to exuberant displays of affection and anything more than a kiss would produce sharp admonishment. He leant slowly towards her and she turned her cheek to meet him.

"Hello Tom, love" she said firmly and the corners of her mouth lifted a little before her eyes swiftly roved over him. She took in his suit and shoes with a look of surprise, before smiling again and concluding with a nod. We expect everyone to look exactly as they were the last time we saw them, he reflected. We make no allowance for the evolution of age or circumstance. The three suits he had owned during those few months back in Dublin were all purchased together for considerably less than the price of this one. But he had earned famine wages back then and now it was important to offer an air of authority among the tenants.

Tom's lips twitched in wry amusement. Already he was conjuring up ways of justifying his position to her, to validate his decision to stay. Her parental impact hadn't waivered over the years and her children still inevitably sought her approval.

"You look very well, Mam. Let me take that case for you." He tipped his head to one side. "I've got the car out the front. You know, I swear you look no older every time I see you!"

Her eyes began to crinkle around the edges, the softer side of her personality emerging. "Ach, you and your flattery!" She fell in beside him, taking short, hesitant steps, glancing either side of her as they walked towards the gate. He nodded amiably at the porter, a pimply youth with arms out of proportion to his body, who had been employed last year after the last fellow had retired. Young enough to have missed the war, but harbouring a desire for an adventure of some kind, Peter had heard tales of the chauffeur who successfully wooed one of the Earl's daughters and always gazed at Tom with an expression of undisguised awe.

"Well it's true, Mam"

"Better hope you've inherited the same then. Your brother certainly hasn't."

"How is Kieran?" Ellen Branson had broken her journey in Liverpool for two nights. Kieran usually sailed home annually for a short visit, but after announcing his forthcoming marriage, his mother had wanted to set eyes on the woman in question and reassure herself that she wasn't an over-optimistic figure of her elder son's desire.

"He's well" she replied and once again, her expression relaxed while she spoke of one of her offspring. "Grace seems a nice young woman. I hope she knows what she's letting herself in for, but with any luck she'll see him on the straight and narrow. I've cleaned and tidied until my hands nearly bled, so she'll not have to move into the pigsty I found when I first arrived. It's a mystery to me how he's managed to get so thick around the waist when he still seems unable to cook for himself."

"He eats in the pub mostly, I think" Tom replied, coming to a halt by the motor and lifting her case over on to the rear seats.

"Is this yours?" she asked and her eyes narrowed with unhidden curiosity. "Or is it…" Only a fleeting pause prevailed."…her father's?"

"It's mine" Tom replied firmly and opened the passenger door, holding out a hand to help her in. "I need it for my job." He wasn't certain whether his mother was disapproving of such extravagance or anxious that he was beholden to his father-in-law for even more than employment and accommodation. But he didn't want to begin that conversation any earlier than was necessary.

She showed unexpected familiarity with the process – leaning forward to place her bag on the seat before hitching up her skirt on one side and stepping lightly up. Twitching features betrayed his line of thought and he spotted a bare hint of a smirk as she made herself comfortable and placed her bag firmly on her lap.

"Kieran has his own car too, you know."

"Of course"

"He took me out for a little spin."

Took me out for a little spin? Since when had his mother used such a turn of phrase? Tom found himself grinning, feeling relaxed for the first time as he climbed up beside her.

"Well hold on to your hat and I'll take you for another."

"You drive carefully now."

"I always do, Mam."

"I reminded Kieran of your brother-in-law's demise at the wheel."

Tom's mood felt instantly sombre – the twin weight of grief which still so often encased him without warning and threatened to derail any stability he managed to occasionally convince himself he had found.

"I always take it steady." he said sadly, avoiding any further gaze to his left and fixed his eyes on the road ahead. "That's why I was such a good chauffeur."

ooOoo

He had managed to persuade Robert and Cora to spare his mother the ordeal of a formal welcome outside the house. Although it contravened their instinctive sense of hospitality and etiquette, Tom had pressed upon them his desire for Ellen to feel as relaxed as possible during her short stay. She would find the grandeur of Downton daunting enough without being subject to such an ordeal. In truth he couldn't bear the thought of watching Carson's haughty eye of condescension, nor provide Thomas with another opportunity to try and score points off him beneath his mask of civility.

He suggested to Robert that he visit Mr Drewe under the pretence of discussing a new feed supplier and by doing so, ensured that his mother had only Cora's enthusing greetings to contend with before dinner. Other family members had made themselves scarce, whether intentionally or not he didn't know. Rose was in London once again, Mary spoke of visiting a local acquaintance and Edith had declared herself busy until tea with whatever it was she found to occupy herself nowadays.

He watched his mother sit stiffly on the edge of the sofa in the library, her posture rigid through effort. Cora was better at informality than most of her kind and despite the initial stilted exchange, it proved a shrewd move to eschew tradition in this way. They made courteous conversation about their living children in a way that seems to come naturally to women across all social divides; motherhood offers a rare opportunity to bond, irrespective of class. Any mention of Sybil was short-lived; his mother offered her belated condolences and Cora gave a gracious but hastily concluded response before moving on to another subject. His late wife was the only reason for the two women to share a room but Tom couldn't face the cascade of emotion which speaking her name aloud once more might evoke. As usual he felt sharply torn between wanting to bring her into the conversation to keep her memory alive and desperation not to revisit the night she had been taken from him.

Tea was poured, slices of Mrs Patmore's exemplary fruitcake satisfactorily consumed. Once again the two women found themselves bound by comparable traditions. Only the quality of china betrayed the shift towards his mother's unfamiliar environment.

"You must be tired after your journey?" Cora suggested kindly as they reached a satisfactory conclusion.

Ellen shook her head. "It wasn't a long journey from Liverpool and Tom was kind enough to make sure that I was quite comfortable." She smiled at her hostess. "I've not travelled often by train and this is my first time in England. I found it very interesting, the time passed quickly."

"Still, would you like Tom to show you to your room so you can relax a little?" Undeterred, Cora pressed the point of protocol and Tom stood, feeling unexpectedly anxious that his mother should comply and not unhinge their amicable cohesion.

"Shall I….?" he began before Ellen interrupted.

"I'd prefer to see my granddaughter, if it's no trouble? I've waited more than three years for a chance to meet her, I'd not like to wait any longer."

"Of course you would!" Cora smoothly altered her course and took to her feet, brushing an imaginary crease at the front of her dress. "Tom?"

He breathed an inward sigh of relief. "I'll take you up to the nursery right away. She may be having her afternoon nap, but if so she'll be up soon enough. It's a dry day, we can take her outside for a walk if you'd like?"

Cora clasped her hands before her and offered her most benevolent smile. "I'll look forward to seeing you later at dinner. Tom will ring for anything you might need." She hesitated, remembering how intimidating their dining arrangements might feel and waved a hand nonchalantly around in the air. "It's only my husband and daughters here tonight." A mischievous smile crossed her face as she leant companionably forward. "Robert's mother can come across a little formidable at times so we thought we'd postpone her arrival for another evening, after we've all got to know one another better!"

Ellen seemed to revel in the conspiracy. "Ah well, isn't that to be expected by any mother-in-law?" she said in a jovial manner before remembering that the role also reflected on each of them and immediately reverted to her earlier grimace of discomfort.

Tom swiftly guided his mother out of the room and towards the stairs.

"Shall I show you to your room first, Mam? Jimmy's taken your case and one of the maids will have unpacked for you." He saw Ellen's visible discomfort and immediately raised his hands in apology. "It's what they do, Mam. There's no point in protesting about such things."

"My undergarments were in that case" she hissed and he gave a solemn nod, appreciating her unease, casting his mind back to his and Sybil's first visit back, when every move had caused disquiet on either side.

"They're used to seeing such things, I'm sure. They'll hold no interest."

A sharp sniff made Ellen's displeasure apparent, but she chose to change the subject. "And who's in this nursery with Sybbie? Who looks after her when you're not here?"

As ever, discussion of his and Sybil's daughter provided an instant wave of pleasure. "There's a nanny and a nursemaid to look after her and George. They're both very good. Sybbie seems fond of them, it's a blessing for me to know that."

He cast a glance towards her as they reached the summit, anticipating further scrutiny. "You know Mam, it's really no different than when Liam Rafferty brought his cousin in to look after his girls after his wife died. He had to go to work, he couldn't do it all by himself."

His mother looked affronted. "I never said it was!"

Without warning, he narrowed his eyes. "You have that look about you…"

"I have no such thing!" Her admonishment complete, she strode forward along the corridor before coming to an abrupt halt, uncertain which direction she should take. The familiarity of their verbal joust felt so comforting that Tom was unable to contain a smile and he lightly touched her arm before pointing his finger. "Around that corner and up another staircase. They keep them up on the top floor, so you can't hear the crying down below!"

It wasn't the seamless introduction he might have hoped for. Sybbie had only recently woken, she was crotchety and out of sorts. Even the unexpected appearance of her father so early in the afternoon could not cajole more than a brief cessation of tears. The unfamiliar woman beside him brought forth further inexplicable sobbing, her head buried in Tom's lap as he sat on a nearby chair and gently stroked her back. Nanny bounced George up and down in her arms nearby and tried her best to entice a more favourable response.

"Your grandmother's come all the way from Ireland to see you, Sybbie. She'll be sad if you don't say hello to her."

But Ellen Branson had raised six children and frequently minded her five grandchildren who lived close by. She was not perturbed by the familiar petulance of a toddler.

"Well it's no bother. I'll just play with this Noah's Ark over here.." she said lightly, easing herself gently to the floor with her back to Tom and Sybbie. "Now, I've seen one of these before, I think. The animals all go inside and I think there are three of each of them…"

Sybbie's head shot up, her interest now raised. "Two" she said clearly, narrowing her eyes with surprise at such a fundamental error.

"What's that?" Ellen called, not turning her head. "I've got two horses here, but I can't find the third…" She patted the floor around her with one hand and Tom smiled at the informality of gesture, long-forgotten memories resurfacing of the brief periods in which his mother had found time to play during his own childhood.

His daughter began to cross the room, her ill-temper now forgotten. "Two horses" she said giggling. "Look! And two birds, two elephants."

Ellen nodded solemnly. "Do you have elephants out on the farms around here?" she asked and her granddaughter squealed with laughter.

"Noooo!"

The game progressed in a similar manner, allowing Sybbie to take charge. Ellen fell happily in with her instructions and Tom watched in silent admiration. He loved to play with his daughter but it didn't come instinctively to him. He was the penultimate child in the family and most members of the next generation had come along after his departure from home. There was no precedent for him to fall back on, only his recreational memories of youth. Sometimes he felt that his own imagination was experiencing a rebirth alongside that of his daughter.

"Ah she's a lovely girl" his mother said approvingly after Nanny took Sybbie into the next room to dress her for a walk. "You've done well, Tom."

He felt an all too familiar clench around his heart, the magnitude of their loss enhanced by her implication. "I've had a lot of help" he replied more gruffly than he intended.

Ellen placed a hand on the small of his back and her slight of touch made his throat unexpectedly constrict with emotion.

"As most families would. You said yourself, there's no difference in principle. We all help take care of our own if we can. But Sybbie knows who her father is and there's a bond between you. I could see that from the start."

He nodded and made an effort to raise a smile. She was owed a discussion about his future, but he didn't want to have it here with Sybbie shortly to emerge from the next room, excited by the prospect of an expedition outside. Before any satisfactory thoughts emerged, his mother took two steps away from him.

"You should be proud, love" she said softly.

ooOoo

The following afternoon, Tom knocked gently on his mother's bedroom door and hearing her familiar tone, stepped inside. She sat knitting in a comfortable high-backed chair by the window and the rays of late summer sun shone over her like lights upon a stage. All of a sudden he was struck by how absurd the image seemed; his mother plucked from a modest Dublin street and transported into the grandiose surroundings of Downton Abbey, as if his two worlds had collided with one encasing the other. It felt like a deep and convoluted dream, in which unrelated issues become inexplicably entwined.

Ellen let her knitting drop to her lap. "Are you finished with your work, love?" she asked and when he nodded, began to wind the wool carefully around the needles. "You don't need to stop on my behalf, I'm quite content here. I don't want you to leave anything amiss" she added with an air of caution.

"It's fine" he said and walked towards her. "I've done all that's urgent and anything else can wait until after your visit. I haven't seen you for such a long time, I can put a few things to one side for the time being."

Ellen bent down to put her knitting in the bag which rested at her seat. "I can't remember the last time I sat down for so long. I can't shake the feeling that I have a task which needs attending to."

Tom smiled. "Well you may as well enjoy it while you're here. What were you knitting anyway?"

"A little jersey for Sybbie." His mother glanced only briefly in his direction and he could tell that she was embarrassed. "I know she has no need of new clothes and she's got far finer things to wear. But I've always made jerseys for my grandchildren and I don't want to treat her any differently."

"She'll love it" he replied firmly and sat facing her on the bottom of the bed. "I want her to understand where the other half of her family comes from and it'll be something to remember you by after you've gone home."

Ellen rummaged around in her bag, now avoiding his gaze. "I don't know if her Nanny will want her wearing such things."

"Nanny will dress her as I ask." The words came out more forcibly than he intended and his mother looked across at him. She remained silent, but all his life there had been occasions when she didn't need to say anything in order to make Tom feel about six years old again. As so often over the years, he wanted her opinion but was fearful of what it might contain. He bowed his head and took a deep breath.

"Do you think I've done wrong by staying here, Mam?"

He watched her face soften. "I don't doubt your reasons, love."

"But I don't fit in here, I'm not one of them."

"No." Ellen placed her hands in her lap and hesitated. "But you chose to live here in the big house. You said before that there's a smaller property which comes with the job."

Tom nodded and cast his mind back to those desperate weeks in the aftermath of Sybil's death, when blinkered by grief, he had grasped at the sliver of comfort her family had provided.

"I thought it was best at the time, but three years have passed and I'm wondering if it's time to move on now."

He expected a swift reply, certain that his mother would hold strong opinions on the subject. Instead he was surprised to find her giving it careful consideration.

"It's a good job, Tom. It's no use throwing it aside unless you have something else within your grasp. I've always wanted better for all of you than factory work or service and so did you."

"Yes" he admitted. "But not simply by marrying into it. That makes me no different from the system I've always fought against. I've become what I always despised."

"Do you enjoy the work?" Ellen asked him and he expelled an heavy sigh as he considered yet again how long-held beliefs had collided uncomfortably with an instinctive sense of self-preservation.

"I do. It was tough at first, learning the ropes. As you know, I didn't have much to go on, only summers at the farm, years ago. But I learnt on the job alongside Matthew and now I think I'm quite good at it. The tenants seem to respect me. They know I'm trying to make the best decisions for the long-term future of the estate and not simply trying to rob them of a decent living. Things have turned around and I find that satisfying. And I like being on my own for much of the day. It takes me away from the house and allows me to clear my thoughts."

He cast a glance at his mother but it was still impossible to gauge her opinion as she listened carefully.

Finally she spoke. "The family seem fond of you in your own right. Unless it's all for my benefit, but to me it doesn't appear as if they only want you here because you're Sybil's husband."

"I think they are and I'm very fond of them too. All of them. But they're trying to turn me into something that I'm not."

"You've had more pain than any man ought to know by your age, Tom. The Crawley family as well. You've been able to take some comfort from one another."

"Having Sybbie here has helped them, I think." Tom admitted. "And she's had family around her as she grows up. It's not the same as having her mother, but I felt it was better than strangers while she was still so small."

"We all make sacrifices for our children, love." Ellen tipped her head to one side and well-worn creases emerged around her eyes as she smiled. "Do you really think I wanted to spend the rest of my life in Dublin?"

"Did you not?" The thought that she might want to be elsewhere had never crossed his mind.

"I'm a country girl at heart. I grew up amongst hills and trees, not grimy streets and stale air."

"But you've always said it was home for you now?"

"Home is where you make your family. I fell in love with your father and Dublin is where the work was. We made our family there and I've still three close by, so I can be of help with the little ones. I'll not leave now. But if we could ever have made a living in Galway, that's where I'd be."

Tom felt ashamed that he'd never appreciated the full extent of her selflessness. "I didn't realise, I'm sorry" he said sheepishly.

"You've no need to be sorry. Most parents choose to put the needs of their children above their own if they can, but you only learn that after you have one yourself. It's what's best for you and Sybbie that's important now, rather than only what's best for you. You can't come back to Ireland, you took care of that…" He winced, shame at previous actions resurfacing once again, but his mother didn't press the point and continued regardless. "…so you've kept her close to her family, even if they're not your own."

"I've given some thought about us going over to America. Having a fresh start. We've family there too, after all."

"Your cousin Brendan?" Ellen's eyes flashed with surprise. "Sure, you never got on with him, even as a child!"

Tom felt faint stirrings of irritation. "Well I'm not a child anymore and I'm not planning on living with him. But it would give Sybbie some sense of her Irish family, even if we can't go to Ireland."

But his mother was still engrained in their past. "I was forever having to separate the two of you. You were like tinder when we put you together."

"I think we can probably manage not to wrestle each other to the ground nowadays." Tom murmured, racking his brain at how best to move the subject forward. "And anyway, Cora is from America as you know, so there's other family there too. Mary has said she could introduce me to people."

"And American nepotism sits better with you than the English version, does it?" his mother retorted sharply and Tom was struck silent. The idea of distancing himself from the Crawley family went hand-in-hand with his own independence, but his mother was right. If he wanted to start afresh, he needed to do it of his own accord.

Sensing his disquiet, Ellen spoke again. "All I'm saying is that you shouldn't rush to get away. Give some thought to what this place does offer you, rather than what it can't. And over time you might feel ready to take on a little house of your own nearby where you can be your own man again. Who knows, one day you might find somebody else to share it with you."

Her words clutched at his heart and their implication seeped through his body like poison. Feeling nauseous, he shook his head. "I'll never get married again, Mam. I could never love anyone else like Sybil."

"Love takes many different forms…" Ellen replied carefully, observing her son's pain "…but all have their own worth. I dare say there'll never be anyone quite like Sybil for you again, but that's not to say that you can't find a form of happiness in the future."

He stared out of the window and watched wisps of cloud pass across the sky, unable to even face the thought that one day he might be able to consider a life with someone else.

"I expect you're considered quite a catch nowadays" his mother added and he turned to face her, eyebrows raised.

"You're my mother, you're expected to hold that opinion."

Ellen shrugged her shoulders as if to dismiss the notion. "Has nobody set their cap at you yet? I'm surprised if there hasn't been one or two to even try. You've always been quite handsome when you smile."

"There was a maid…" he replied tonelessly and struggled to contain a shudder at the memory. "She misjudged my informal manner and paid for it with her job."

"Oh…" Ellen watched him with care. "Well there's many who see a man as an easy route out of one life or another. You can't blame them for wanting something better, I suppose. No, I was thinking of somebody a little less close to home. Someone from the village for example."

Tom's head swung towards her and he spoke sharply, an image of Thomas appearing unpalatably in his mind. "Has somebody said something to you?"

Only a twitch of her head let Tom know that Ellen was taken aback by his tone.

"No, but it's clear that I've upset you with all my questions, I'm sorry. It's too soon for you to even speak of such a thing, I know that love. I was too inquisitive."

The subject matter remained uncomfortably in the air, while they observed one another mutely and each considered how best to move towards more agreeable topics.

"I have a friend in the village…" Tom began and surprised even himself by the admission. "She's the school teacher and because she's a woman, some people have taken it upon themselves to make presumptions."

Ellen nodded. "I see" she said.

"We're friends because she's interested in politics and it had been a while since I'd had anyone to discuss these things with, to exchange ideas and the like. I first met her at a meeting and our paths have crossed several times since. She's very pleasant and I'm thinking about sending Sybbie to the village school if we stay at Downton, so it's in my best interests to keep on friendly terms. But there's nothing more to it than that. I've no desire to form any kind of attachment with her."

"And is she clear that you set nothing more by it?"

Tom felt instantly indignant. "I've done nothing to encourage that way of thinking!"

"But have you discouraged it?" Ellen asked and with a start he heard the echo of Mrs Hughes' words more than eighteen months earlier.

"I haven't felt any need. There's no understanding between us." He held his mother's gaze and with it sent a silent plea to not press the matter further. Ellen nodded and rose to her feet. She took small yet firm steps towards him and sat beside him on the bed.

"You still miss Sybil, Tom, I know that. It's hard, love…" She rested a hand lightly upon his arm and the gesture brought forth another wave of agony.

"I miss her every day, but I don't feel sad for myself…" he said, wincing with the effort of trying to explain his emotions. "… because I'm still alive. I watch our daughter living and laughing and I see Sybil in everything she says and does. I just feel sad for Sybil because she's missing out on so much." He concluded with a sharp gasp. "And that's just not fair!"

Ellen reached out to squeeze his hand, but before she could offer any reply, Tom let forth a cry of anguish, yearning for the time in which his mother could smooth away his pain.

"When does the sadness go away, Mam?"

Ellen bowed her head. "It never goes away love, you just learn to get used to it."

ooOoo

Ellen Branson had always loved to read. Inspiration had been ignited nearly sixty years earlier, by a village school teacher who had encouraged his students to explore a world beyond their surrounding Galway countryside. Books had offered an escape from the hard, physical demands of life which prematurely aged parents and suggested little alternative for their offspring. Ellen had been blessed with a family who encouraged learning. Provided that her chores around the farm were complete, she would find a quiet corner to read – never easy in a household of ten, but their farm had two barns and grazing sheep provided fewer interruptions than her siblings. Books were expensive and rarely purchased, but her teacher procured them from sources never revealed, confident in the knowledge that they would be returned to him unharmed, their contents devoured and savoured. But after her marriage and relocation to Dublin, she found little time for recreational pursuits. A vivid imagination frequently recalled intricate tales from her youth, but the practicalities of motherhood and domestic responsibility meant that for many years the only reading she had time for was snippets from the newspaper her husband sometimes brought home from the factory floor.

However she had encouraged her own children; teaching each of them their letters before they started school and appealed directly to their teachers for books to be allowed home. Tom and her eldest daughter, Bridget had proved to be the most academically inclined. She had taken them to one of the city's first public libraries on Capel Street, marvelling that such opportunity for discovery was nowadays on hand to all and casting a silent wish that the next generation would be given a chance to put their knowledge to better use.

Now that her children had left home and any responsibilities towards her grandchildren took place mostly during the day, she began to spend time at Charleville Mall Library where plans were now in place for further expansion to meet the growing demand of a working population hungry to learn. She brought home mostly novels, but occasionally books on history or far flung lands, which she read by candlelight, or on long summer evenings by the kitchen window.

When Tom had first written to her from Downton Abbey and described in detail the domestic library available to both family and staff, she had felt delighted by his fortuitous placement. There had been a time in which she believed his long tenure as chauffeur was primarily down to the educational opportunities afforded to him – the shock of discovering otherwise had endured for some time. Any opposition was pushed aside soon enough, once no doubt could be cast upon Sybil's determination and her obvious devotion to Tom. And now Ellen found herself at liberty within the room she had often allowed herself to envisage, the grandeur of its imposing size and contents softened by evident use of the books it contained. She saw the hefty ledger, its open pages stretching like rising dough under the pressure of frequent entries. Books were displayed with creases along their spines, while the atlas now open on her lap bore evidence of sticky fingers after at least one unmonitored child had once gazed within.

It felt decadent to be sat reading during the day, but Tom was working until luncheon and rain had put pay to any thoughts Ellen had about taking Sybbie outside. They had played games together in the nursery until it became clear that Nanny had her routine and expected visitors to make themselves scarce while the children ate an early lunch and were settled for a short nap. Tom was taking them on an outing to Ripon later and Nanny wanted Sybbie satisfactorily fed and rested beforehand.

She heard the sound of approaching footsteps and looked up to see Cora entering the room.

"I hope I'm not interrupting?" her hostess asked, tipping her head to one side with a smile.

Ellen's tongue replied before she had a chance to curtail it. "Well it's your library" she said and felt herself flush at the impertinence.

"Not at all" she quickly added, silently reminding herself to sit up straight as Cora sat down on the chaise longue opposite. An awkward silence prevailed while they exchanged smiles across the room and Ellen wondered whether the visit was born simply out of courtesy. She felt an air of disappointment that her reverie had been interrupted and wondered whether or not she should close the atlas and put it to one side.

Finally Cora placed clasped hands upon her lap and gave a soft sigh which offered no room for doubt that the conversation would be of greater significance than social chit-chat.

"I wanted to have an opportunity to speak to you alone…" she began and Ellen felt a familiar clench of defensive anxiety which came about whenever she felt that one of her children might be subject to criticism by others, no matter how just. Yet her fear was unfounded, for Cora wanted to only raise the subject of her own child.

"…and thank you for being so kind to Sybil during her time in Ireland."

To begin with, Ellen felt a wave of relief, before it was swiftly replaced by one of discomfort. She had never been able to accept the praise of others without trying to deflect it in some way.

"Oh I'm not sure that I did all that much, she made herself part of the family very quickly and wanted to learn." Ellen gazed down at her lap for a moment before offering something more benevolent.

"She was a lovely young woman, there's no justice at all in what happened. They deserved a happy life together for many years."

"Yes" Cora swallowed deeply. "She wrote and told me what a help you were to her, how you helped her to learn new skills. She said that you spent a great deal of time together when she first arrived and that you showed her nothing but kindness."

Ellen nodded and bit her tongue to prevent any further deflection from emerging. "I was glad to do so. I could see how devoted she and Tom were to each other."

"To know how happy she was in her final months…" Cora turned to face the fireplace. "…as her mother, that's given me a great deal of comfort…" Ellen heard her voice crack and compassion washed over her as she watched Cora bring a hand to her mouth while she blinked away swiftly emerging tears.

"I'm sorry" Cora whispered and cleared her throat. Watching a woman weighed down by maternal grief, Ellen made the decision to abandon any further effort at protocol and rose to her feet, closing the atlas and placing it to one side.

"My dear…" she said and with only a moment's hesitation, crossed the room to sit down beside Cora, mirroring her reaction to Tom's distress the previous day. "…there's no need to apologise…" Still weighing up the best way to proceed, she was thrown off-kilter by Cora's emotion-laden response.

"It's been three years now, but I just can't…"

Ellen's instinctive disclosure slipped out before she had time to consider its consequences.

"There's no time limit on a mother's grief. Mine has stretched for more than thirty years."

Cora's eyes widened as she held Ellen's gaze.

"You lost a child too?" she murmured and it took every ounce of Ellen's self-restraint not to share her companion's tears. So rarely discussed, the agony of her daughter's demise remained sufficiently raw to instantly rip aside any customary composure.

"Diphtheria took her shortly before her third birthday" she said slowly and concentrated on each word so that they would not betray her. She was here to offer comfort, not burden Cora with her own distress. "Tom was still a baby, he won't remember her. I don't think Kieran does either for he was only thirteen months older than Caitlin. My eldest two have some memories, although we never much spoke of her. My husband couldn't bear to, it was too much for him." Ellen nodded her head as she spoke, as if to justify the explanation. "It wasn't that he didn't care, but rather that he loved her too much. It was only by burying it all away that he could find the strength to carry on."

She stared at the rug before the hearth while her mind battled between conjuring up an image of her beautiful daughter and then pushing it away, fearful of the emotion its resurrection might release.

"I'm so sorry" Cora whispered and Ellen nodded.

"Thank you. I'm telling you so you know that it's quite understandable to feel distress even after time has passed. I'm afraid that it will never go away. As I told Tom only yesterday, you have to find a way to live with loss over the years, you can never banish it completely. A mother will always grieve for a child who's passed away. I had two others who were born too soon and I feel their loss as well, although they were never named, nor took a breath of their own."

Without warning, Cora reached over to take her hand and the first thought which came into Ellen's mind was how soft it felt, so unaccustomed to any manual work.

"I had one too…" Cora gasped "…a son" and the two women stared at one another in silence, united by their experience and unexpected confidences. Only the rhythmical sound of the clock upon the mantelpiece interrupted the stillness in the room and Ellen found herself holding her breath in an effort not to break their unconventional bond. Finally a distant bark from Isis out on the lawn brought them abruptly back to the present and they released one another.

"Why does life have to be so cruel?" Cora murmured, looking at the hearth before turning back to face her.

Ellen shook her head sadly. "I can't answer that. I only pray to God that one day men will come up with cures to these ills which have taken away our daughters and that other women in the future will not have to suffer the same."

"Some days I wonder if I will be able to bear it at all" said Cora and Ellen watched despair envelop her once again. She held no envy for the wealth and privilege her companion had at her disposal, for none of it offered any escape from the misery each had endured.

Ellen chose her words carefully, anxious not to step over an invisible line of civility. "I think we bear it by knowing that there are others who are going through the same. We can help one another by carrying on for the other children God has blessed us with and understanding that we are not alone."

For a short while, Cora did not speak and regarded Ellen with an expression void of further emotion. Finally she offered a smile. "We have a great deal in common, you and I" she suggested and sounded almost shy at the admission.

"Yes" said Ellen gently. "I think we do."

A/N 2: Information about Dublin's first public libraries was gained from the transcript of a talk by Deirdre Ellis-King on 'Dublin City Public Libraries 1884-2009: 125 years of service to the community' which I found on www dot dublinheritage dot ie