Chapter Text
August 1939
Downton, Yorkshire
"It's a pity isn't it, all this nasty business with the Germans," said Robert Crawley in disgust, folding the evening newspaper across his knee. The family was gathered in the library—summer was coming to an end, and soon George would be going off to university. After completing his schooling at Eton like his grandfather, he had secured a place at Cambridge, and was rather looking forward to university life. Tall, blond, and handsome like his late father, Michael Crawley, George had his entire future mapped out securely for him—after university, he would do what other young, landed men did and go on a world tour, following which he would return to Yorkshire to assume the care of Downton from his mother. Not that she needed any help—Mary Talbot had had the affairs of the estate well in hand for nearly two decades, and wasn't going to retire from her duties anytime soon.
"It is," replied Cora, looking up from her sewing. In her late sixties, she was as sweet-faced as she had been as a girl, and still spoke with a slight American accent, despite her years in England. "I thought we were done with them at the end of the Great War."
"But Grandmama, the reason they've rallied up again is because of how utterly humiliated they were at the end of the Great War!" said Sybbie earnestly, "The terms imposed on them nearly broke their economy, and now they want revenge!"
George quirked an eyebrow at his fiery cousin.
"Come Sybbie, don't tell me you sympathise with the Germans," he teased.
She shook her head emphatically.
"Not at all," she said, "I strongly disagree with their discrimination of Jews! Hitler is an evil, evil man!"
Tom Branson chuckled from where he was seated near the fireplace beside Lucy, his second wife.
"Spoken like your mother," he said, raising his cup of tea in his eldest child's direction, "You get more like Sybil everyday."
Lucy smiled fondly at Sybbie, reaching over to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear.
"Having political opinions is all very well, Sybbie, but don't you go and get mixed up in all that trouble," she said, her eyes filled with concern.
Sybbie opened her mouth to respond, but was interrupted by the arrival of Barrow, the butler. The dapper, silver-haired man had been at Downton since he was junior footman, and while he performed his duties flawlessly, there was something about him that made the junior staff just a little wary.
"Evening post, Your Lordship," he said, bearing an envelope on a silver tray. Robert reached out to take it, but Barrow hesitated.
"What is it, Barrow?" asked Robert impatiently.
"It's addressed to Her Ladyship," replied Barrow demurely, his eyes lowered.
"To me? Goodness! I wonder who it's from!" said Cora, taking the letter from the tray. Barrow straightened up and left the room, clearly having enjoyed the little scene. Mary, from where she was seated on the sofa, noticed, and rolled her eyes.
The room was silent with an air of polite expectation as Cora scanned the letter, her light blue eyes moving rapidly between the lines before widening slightly.
"Well, it appears we're to have a visitor," she said finally, folding the letter neatly on her lap, "A niece of mine, from America."
"Niece? What niece?" asked Mary incredulously, "Uncle Harold never married. Does he have an illegitimate child we're unaware of?"
"Don't be crude, Mary," said Cora reproachfully, "This niece is a somewhat distant relative—her name is Miriam Levinson, and she's seventeen. She's the granddaughter of my father's brother in Cincinnati, which actually makes her your niece, Mary. Her mother has written to ask if Miriam can stay with us for a while."
"Goodness! For how long? And why haven't I ever heard of this niece of mine before?" asked Mary.
"Well, my mother and Miriam's grandmother never really got along, so after my parents moved to New York, the two families lost touch," replied Cora delicately.
Mary snorted.
"Well, a relationship with Grandmama isn't for the faint-hearted," she said, taking a sip of her tea. Tom threw her an amused glance.
"How long will this Miriam be staying?" asked Robert.
"Her mother doesn't specify," said Cora, checking the letter, "All she says is that with all the conflict that's been happening of late, she doesn't think she'll be able to take care of daughter very well in America, and wants to know if we can look after her till things settle down. Her son, Miriam's brother, has joined the army, and is usually away from Cincinnati, so it's only the two of them at home."
"Her name sounds Jewish," observed Sybbie.
"She is," replied Cora gently, "My father was Jewish, you see. Unlike him, his brother married a Jewess, which is why Miriam and her brother are Jews."
"It's not a particularly good time to be a Jew, is it?" asked Mary lightly, sipping her tea.
Tom suppressed a cough, but Robert replied gravely, "I think we must take Miriam in, if that's what her mother wants. What do you think, Cora?"
"I agree," said Cora, "Given her circumstances, I think she'll be better off with us at Downton than with her mother in America."
"How come they're poor?" asked Mary bluntly, "I thought Grandpapa's family was quite wealthy."
"Your Grandpapa was wealthy," said Cora, "He made his fortune in business. His brother did well, too—certainly well enough to keep his family in comfort in Cincinnati. I heard that Miriam's father suffered losses in the Wall Street crash of 1929, which is why they're not very well off at present."
"Where's her father now?" asked Tom, "You mentioned that it was her mother who wrote to you."
Cora paused.
"I remember my mother telling me his losses were so great, he shot himself," she said finally.
"Poor devil," said Robert, scanning the letter.
"And poor Miriam," piped in Sybbie. George grinned.
"Grandmama, I do believe Sybbie's found her next project!" he said cheekily, shooting his cousin a grin.
"George, behave," said Mary, unable to hide her own smile.
"I'll write to Mrs. Levinson and tell her that we'd be happy to host Miriam," said Cora, "And be nice to her, you two."
"Of course," said Sybbie immediately, “We’ll take good care of her, won’t we, George?”
“Of course, Cousin,” replied George with a twinkle in his eye.