A/N I really don't know anything about cricket so apologies in advance to those that do ! I'm not altogether convinced Branson would play cricket but for the purposes of this story he does :-)

Matthew looked at his brother-in-law with frustration and wished that he would put his damn newspaper down for once.

"But whyever not ?"

"Cricket," replied the Irishman "is a game invented by the English and introduced into every country they have occupied. It's a sign of imperialist domination."

"It's just a village cricket match, Tom - not the Battle of the Boyne…"

"I'm not playing."

"But we're a man down," said Robert testily, "and the village team has beaten us every year since the war. If you don't play then we'll have to use Barrow and he is useless with his injured hand."

Tom lowered his paper and looked sternly at his brother- and father-in-law. They just didn't get the point.

"I'm sorry - but in all conscience I can't. You're just going to have to manage without me. I haven't played for years, anyway"

Robert sighed. He was only too familiar with Branson's capacity to dig his heels in.

"Leave him to his paper," he said to Matthew. "We'll have to think again."

Sybil was sitting on the floor of the nursery with her daughter, playing with a stack of wooden bricks that she herself had played with as a child. They were busy building them up, only for Niamh to push them over, clapping her hands and laughing in delight when they fell. She was so engrossed that she didn't notice her father until he knelt down beside her.

"I can't believe she's grown so much since we last saw her," he said, offering his granddaughter a brick.

Sybil smiled.

"People keep saying that. I suppose we don't see it, being with her all the time…."

"They change so quickly when they're that age," he said a little wistfully, taking the brick the little girl offered him in return and thanking her gravely. In truth, Robert found himself quite smitten with his granddaughter, despite himself. He just tried not to show it too much.

"We don't usually see you in the nursery without Mama….."

"Well, I thought I would come and see how you were getting along"

They sat for a while, both talking to the baby but not to each other. Robert never visited the nursery on his own and Sybil suspected there must be an ulterior motive.

"Matthew and I have just been talking to your husband.'

"Oh ?" said Sybil warily, "what about ?"

"The cricket match."

She looked up from the baby and studied her father, waiting for him to continue and wondering what on earth Tom had done now.

Her father gave an exasperated sigh.

"He flatly refuses to play. Something about cricket being imperialist or some such socialist nonsense"

Sybil frowned at this.

"You know, Papa, I really don't think he's played for years…." she said vaguely, having no idea why Tom was trying to get out of playing and quite frankly not wanting to get involved.

"We're desperate. The village has beaten us every year since the war ended. If he doesn't play we'll have to use Barrow."

"It's only a game, Papa"

Robert looked at his daughter incredulously.

"What do you mean, its only a game ? We can't let the village beat us again !" He looked at his daughter pleadingly. "Can't you talk some sense into him ? He's letting us down rather badly."

"Papa, you know what Tom is like about his principles….."

"Hang his principles. He's just being unreasonable for the sake of it." said Robert a little belligerently

"I think that's a bit unfair…."

"Please, Sybil, just talk to him. You seem to be the only person he listens to.….."

Sybil sighed. Whatever Tom's reasons for not wanting to participate, her father was quite determined to see it as yet another example of his unreasonable behaviour.

"Alright," she capitulated "I'll talk to him. But I don't think it will make any difference."

Dinner was a little tense. She could tell that her father was annoyed with Tom by the frosty glances he was throwing him, as if Tom's refusal to play was an affront against him personally. Somewhere in the depths of her memory she recalled her mother-in-law telling her that Tom had been a keen cricketer in his youth, but as she'd never once heard him express any interest in the game, she'd not really taken much notice. But he obviously had played, and, she thought, if she could persuade him to join the house team and get them out of a crisis, it might just soften her father's attitude towards him a little.

Later that night she was seated at the dressing table in her old room, rubbing in hand cream and watching her husband in the mirror as he sat in bed reading. Sensing her gaze on him, he looked up from his book and met her eye in the mirror.

"Papa came to talk to me in the nursery this morning," she began

"Oh yes ?"

"He said he and Matthew asked you about playing in the cricket match."

Tom put his book down and frowned.

"Oh, I see. And he's asked you to try and talk me into it, has he ? I told him - I'm not playing",

"It's just a village cricket match, Tom"

"Yes, but I'd be playing for the big house"

So that was it.

"Is that what you're uncomfortable about ?" she asked, turning round to look at him.

He nodded.

"Why didn't you just tell Matthew and Papa that ?"

He sighed.

"Because they'd think I was over-reacting"

"So you decided to denounce the Downton village cricket match as an instrument of imperialist subjugation instead ?" she smiled

He just grinned a little sheepishly.

"I suppose when you put it like that…"

She slid into bed beside him, took his book out of his hands and burrowed her way into his arms.

"Why didn't you just tell them you didn't know how to play ?"

"Because its not true and because I didn't think of it"

"Everyone in Downton knows you're a socialist, Tom, so boycotting the match isn't going to prove anything to anyone."

"That's not the point."

"It's just a game, sweetheart," she said, repeating what she had said to her father, inching herself gradually up his chest and staring at his lips purposefully.

"No, its not. It's representative of everything that is wrong with this country. The big house up against the village….the masters against the workers.…..the haves against the have nots….I won't be part of it if it means playing for the hou…."

Sybil halted his rant by kissing him.

"Please, darling," she whispered against his lips, stroking his chest lightly with her fingertips, "Papa would be so happy if you would….."

He let out a sigh as her mouth closed over his again.

"I can't," he murmured hoarsely

"Oh well, in that case," she said, breaking away from him abruptly and shifting herself to the other side of the bed

"What ?" he asked, surprised

"I'm going to sleep. Goodnight." with that she switched her bedside light out.

"Sybil ?" he said, bewildered

She turned over to face the wall.

"Sybil, love," he whispered, reaching out to stroke her hip and kissing the nape of her neck, just underneath her bobbed hair.

"No, Tom", she said, wriggling out of his reach

"What ?" he was now totally confused. He always knew when Sybil wasn't in the mood, and she had definitely been in the mood a few minutes ago.

"You don't get to touch me again unless you play cricket."

"What !" he said, sitting up with a jolt. "You're blackmailing me ?"

"I wouldn't put it like that," she said, "think of it more as I'm withdrawing my labour."

He just looked at her.

"I'm going on strike. Until you give in to my demands." she explained

"Sybil !"

"As a socialist you should be perfectly familiar with striking as a bargaining tool" she replied

She giggled as Tom sat there with his mouth open in disbelief. Hearing her laugh, he smiled with relief, and thinking it was all a joke, he went to kiss her. She moved away again.

"I mean it. None of that until you agree to play cricket with Matthew and Papa"

"Well, I'm not going to." he said, defiantly.

"Alright, as you wish," she said, turning over again and pulling the eiderdown up to her chin. "Goodnight, Tom"

He sat there in the dark at a loss for what to do next.

"You won't be able to keep that up for long, you know"

"Oh, won't I ? You flatter yourself, Mr Branson," she replied

"Well - we'll see, won't we ?" He made a big play of turning away from her and dragging the blankets with him. She raised her head off the pillow and scowled at him over her shoulder.

"Yes, we will" she replied, giving the blankets another hard tug.

This stand-off went on for the best part of a week. Bedtime for the Bransons became an excruciating polite affair, each of them sliding into bed and exchanging a chaste goodnight kiss, before turning their back on the other and pretending to go to sleep, whereas in fact they were both very much awake, wondering what the other was thinking. In the beginning, Tom didn't really think she was serious, but he soon found out that she was. He didn't want to give his wife the satisfaction of refusing him, so he decided to stop his advances and wait for her to come to him. Sybil, on the other hand, was rather offended that he seemed to have given up so easily. She took to wandering around in her underwear rather more than she was used to, or sitting around in a skimpy towel after a bath, massaging lotion into her long slender legs. Tom could see exactly what she was up to and resolved to ignore it. Which he managed. Just.

By the weekend, Sybil decided to try a new tack and disappeared off to Ripon with her sister for the day.

She came back with the most scandalous piece of night attire she could find. Edith had blushed when it was bought out and had to go and look at something else whilst Sybil considered purchasing it. If that didn't make Tom crack, Sybil thought, she didn't know what would.

That evening Tom returned to the drawing room with Matthew and Robert after dinner to find that his wife had already gone up to bed. He stayed for a drink to be polite, then wound his own way up the stairs.

When he opened the door to the bedroom, his jaw dropped and all he could do was stare at his wife, looking like a goddess in a pale blue silk nightdress that clung to every curve on her body as if it had been poured over her. The material was so fine it was virtually translucent.

"Hello, darling," she whispered, fairly sauntering over to him. He was speechless.

She reached both her hands up to his face, gently trailing her thumbs across his lips and chin and kissed him lighty, not moving away, so he could feel her warm breath on his cheek.

"Is that what you bought this afternoon ?" he said faintly

She nodded.

"I didn't know they sold things like that in Ripon"

"Do you like it ?" she asked, a little coy.

He nodded dumbstruck

"It's rather…short…." he said, running his hands up her thighs to its hem

She pulled away a little.

"Oh…", she said, a little disappointed, "don't you….."

"I love it" he assured her, smiling as he kissed her again.

She started to pull his jacket off and undo his tie, her lips not moving from his.

"Please say you'll play cricket, Tom, I don't want to stop….."

"Neither do I," he whispered,

She kissed him deeply, running her fingers through his hair. He'd pulled her flush with him and she could feel the muscles in arms as he held her close.

"Then you'll do it ?….."

"I didn't say that…"

"Its only a village match," she said as she felt his hands run up under the flimsy wisp of silk and find her hips.

"Wouldn't be right…." he said, his lips starting to move down her neck.

"Please, Tom, do it for me…..I miss you…..I want you…..I don't want to deny you …"

"Then don't," he said against her collarbone, where he had just pushed the thin strap off her shoulder.

"Oh, but I must," she said, breaking away from him and managing to look very disappointed. She continued to stare at him, lips slightly apart, breathing quick, shallow breaths that made her chest rise and fall rapidly.

"What are you doing ?" he whimpered, incredulously.

"Just say yes, Tom, please, then we can both get what we want…."

He looked at her and knew that he was crumbling, that no protest could be worth more than the feel of his wife's warm body next to his.

"I don't have any cricket whites" he said, taking a step towards her

"Borrow some of Matthew's…" she said, moving closer into his arms and placing her palms on his chest

"They'll be too big…." he said, brushing his lips against her cheek

"I'll take them up…." she reached up and kissed the corner of his mouth

He closed his eyes and sighed.

"Alright then"

A few seconds later the scrap of blue silk was on the floor.

The next time the Matthew and Robert gathered the house team together at the nets, they had an additional, if rather unwilling, player.

"I'm only here because Sybil got round me," he said a little crossly

Robert smiled. He knew he could rely on his daughter's deviousness.

"We're just working out the team order. How much have you played ?" he asked

Tom look decidedly shifty.

"A bit," he replied "but, like I said, I've not played for years."

"What position did you play ?"

"I was a bowler"

"Well, here you go then," said Matthew, handing him a cricket ball, "let's see what you are made of"

Matthew picked up his bat and fasted his pads and took his place in the net. Tom looked at him dubiously. He looked the epitome of the public-school educated, sporting English gentleman in his cricket whites; the sort of man who had built the Empire, who had ruled both England and Ireland as if by right for centuries and who strode across this green and pleasant land as if he owned it, which, usually, he did. Well, thought Tom, let's see if a working class lad from Dublin can't give him a bit of a surprise...

He examined the ball, tossed it up and down a few times and spun it in his fingers experimentally as he walked away. Robert stood by the net, watching Matthew whilst the other members of the house team, Jimmy, Alfred, Lynch and assorted grooms and hall-boys looked on curiously as the former chauffeur turned, frowned at Matthew, then began his run up.

Branson was quick, Robert thought immediately as Tom charged towards Matthew. He watched as Tom brought his right arm up and over his head in an elegant arc and the ball flew from his hand like a bullet from a pistol. It bounced over to Matthew's right, then swung wickedly in the opposite direction, completely wrong footing him. The ball narrowly missed the wicket, and in the end flew harmlessly into the net beyond with a resounding thump.

Matthew and Robert stared at each other. No-one in Downton could bowl with that pace and no-one on the House team could make the ball spin like that.

Tom came over to retrieve the ball

"I'm a bit rusty," he said, "I'll be better once I've warmed up."

"Rusty ?" asked Robert faintly

"I'll give it another go," said Tom, "and I'll put some pace on it this time"

Matthew gulped and Roberts eyebrows shot up.

As Tom was walking away for his second ball, Matthew could see him limbering up his powerful shoulders and loosening his wrist, idly spinning the ball as he walked. Matthew took a firmer grip on his bat and shifted his weight in front of the wicket nervously. He needed to concentrate.

This time he was prepared, but Tom was as good as his word and the ball came in a lot faster, swerving inward on the bounce. Matthew tried to hook it but missed and this time the ball found its aim, taking out the middle stump of the wicket. Matthew just stared at it, then looked up at Tom who was jogging towards them with a grin on his face.

"What are you like with a bat ?" asked Robert enthusiastically.

The day of the annual Downton Village cricket match turned out to be a beautiful English summer's day, warm and sunny, with an endless blue sky. Sybil watched as her husband struggled into a pair of Matthew's cricket trousers that she had taken up the day before, but were still far too baggy, making him look, in all honesty, slightly ridiculous. But there was nothing she could do about it.

Tradition dictated that the house provided lunch for the villagers in a large marquee before the match started. Matthew had taken command and called a team meeting over lunch to go over tactics. If they won the toss, they would bat first, Matthew and Robert opening, followed by Tom, Jimmy, Lynch, then several of the grooms with Alfred, who was about as much use with a cricket bat as he was with a serving platter, in last. Matthew then proceeded to go through what he called their 'intelligence' about the other team. Tom folded his arms and tried very hard not to laugh. For someone who had tried to persuade him it was only a village cricket match, he was taking it very seriously indeed. It seemed that the main threat came from the Drake boys - both very handy with the bat, and the elder one had a reputation as a fearsome fast bowler.

In the end, they won the toss and Matthew put them in to bat, so Tom went and sat with his wife to watch the beginning of the game. Sybil had brought down a blanket from the nursery for herself and Niamh and was sat on the ground. Niamh had immediately been whisked up onto her grandmothers lap and was contentedly playing with her beads whilst Cora made a fuss of her. Mary and Edith were still in the marquee, not at all interested in the match. Sybil shuffled next to her husband and tucked herself into his side.

"How did Matthew's talk go ?"

Tom rolled his eyes

"Don't even ask," he smiled. But before he could go any further there was a loud shout by the village team as Robert's wicket fell.

"Oh - Papa's out already…."

"17 runs - that's not good," said Tom, "anyway, that means I am in…." he got up, grabbing one of Robert's old cricket bats and his gloves.

"Good luck, darling," smiled Sybil

He smiled back over his shoulder.

Matthew's and Tom's partnership started well. They added runs steadily, despite the best efforts of John Drake. But things took a turn for the worst when one of Tom's shot skipped off the direction of the boundary. He looked up from his stroke to find Matthew already coming towards him. They made several runs easily, but then Tom spotted an outlying fielder catch up with the ball, so once he got to his crease he stayed put, yelling "No !" at Matthew to tell him to do the same. But Matthew, high on their good performance so far, wasn't listening and came charging in for another run. It wasn't till Tom bellowed at him again that he realised his mistake. Panicking, Matthew turned back, only to find that the ball was flying through the air to his wicket. The younger Drake boy had a good aim - the wicket fell and he was out.

He stared at the wicket in disbelief, then swung round to look at his partner, who was shrugging his shoulders apologetically. Matthew frowned in disgust and dragging his gloves off in a rather overly dramatic way, strode back to find Robert and the rest of his family. He didn't even notice Jimmy coming out to bat.

"Bad luck," commiserated Sybil as he came over to find Mary.

Matthew just grunted, and threw himself down at the ground at Mary's feet.

"I don't know why he didn't run. We could have easily got another one in….."

"He did call, you know," said Robert, "Drake's youngest son had just picked up the ball at mid-wicket."

All three Crawley women looked at him in surprise. This was the first time any of them could recollect Robert defending Branson.

Matthew just scowled at his father-in-law.

"Well, I didn't hear him," he said, sulkily.

Mary looked nervously at her sister. Any perceived slur on her husband would have her up in arms defending him, and she didn't want a row.

"That looked thirsty work," she said brightly to Matthew, "why don't we go and get some tea ?"

"I think I need something stronger than tea," muttered Matthew to himself, allowing himself to be lead away.

Everyone heaved a sigh of relief and went back to watching the match. Sybil, never one to enjoy or even understand cricket, clapped enthusiastically whenever Tom hit a boundary or made a run. She even pointed out to her daughter how well her Daddy was doing. Niamh, satisfied that she had wrapped her grandmother round her little finger, was now intent on bending her grandfather to her will and was thus heartlessly uninterested in her father's performance. Robert found himself confronted by Sybil's sapphire eyes in Branson's wide gaze - and he was putty in her small, chubby hands.

Tom continued to notch up runs at a steady rate. Fortified by a bottle of beer, Matthew watched is brother-in-law's apparently effortless swing and grudgingly admitted to himself that right at this moment he was jealous of Tom. Here he was, the heir to the Earl of Grantham, and he was jealous of an impecunious Irish journalist. Not only did he play cricket better than Matthew, he'd fixed Matthew's car for him and he'd fathered a child within a few months of getting married, whereas it had taken Matthew a whole year. He was doing well in his chosen profession too, now in a good job with a respectable, if Liberal, newspaper. Tom and Sybil would never be wealthy; they probably would never even be what Robert would consider as comfortably off, but they weren't in the straightened circumstances they were a year ago, all through their own hard work. Matthew had had two inheritances drop into his lap, had survived the war, had finally married the woman he was in love with - and yet….he frequently felt his life was never simple. Tom was hard up and his future far from secure, but he had an optimistic and uncomplicated view of life that Matthew often found himself envying. He drained his beer glass and wondered why he found it so difficult to be the same.

In the end, Tom did rather well, finally being caught out. By this time there was only one of the grooms and Alfred left to bat and the score stood at 135. Matthew was not happy.

"That means in all likelihood we'll only be around 140 all out ! They'll beat that easily !"

"It's only a game," said Sybil again, thinking she was beginning to sound like a scratched record.

"We can't let them win," he said, "Oh look, Alfred's out. That's it. Tea. Time for another chat with the troops, I think….come on, Tom," he said, steering his unwilling brother-in-law away from his wife and into the marquee, "….where's Robert ?"

After tea, the village were in to bat. The team boasted a half a dozen strapping farm boys, all very good with a bat, the village butcher, stereotypically fat and florid, but surprisingly deft on his feet, Dr Clarkson, the landlord of the Grantham Arms, the grocer's boy and Reverend Travis' skinny curate. They'd always had the advantages of raw talent, strength and experience over the team from the big house and were confident of once again being victorious. Robert reckoned that this year they were in for a bit of a surprise.

The elder Drake boy and the butcher opened the batting. Matthew had decided to keep Tom in reserve and unleash him once they had lulled their opposition into a sense of false security. John Drake met all Matthew's and Robert's deliveries with ease, treating them somewhat contemptuously, often hitting them hard towards the boundary. After half an hour, the opening pair were well entrenched and had notched up a respectable score. Robert relinquished the ball to Tom.

"Good luck, Branson…."

Tom had been watching the batsmen closely and felt he had been able to get the measure of them. He was bowling to the butcher first, a ball that came in so hard and fast and skewed so viciously that the butcher was forced to jump back from the wicket. The ball flew past him harmlessly. The next time he was ready, but could only block the shot, and again on the next ball. But Tom could see that he had unnerved him. He took another long run up, bringing his arm overhead and released the ball with an aggressive twist of his wrist. The ball bounced out to the butcher's left then veered over and crashed through the wicket. He was out.

It set the tone for the rest of the match, Tom's bowling shaking the village team out of their complacency and rattling them. But still, they were resilient and chipped away at the House team's score, until one by one, their wickets fell. After a few hours, Tom watched as Ted Drake made his way back to join his older brother in the marquee and realised that they had seen off the last of the good batsmen. That only left Dr Clarkson, the grocer's boy and the curate left to bat. The village team needed thirty more runs to win. He was fairly sure he could dispose of the remaining batsmen easily, but it was a pleasant evening, the House team were ahead and he was enjoying himself, so he saw no harm in taking things a little easier.

After a few minutes, Matthew came over to him, looking concerned.

"What are you doing ?"

"What do you mean ?"

"You seem to have slowed down…."

"Well, look at them," he said, gesturing at the anxious, skinny curate and the grocer's boy, "they're just a couple of young lads. It's only fair to give them a chance…."

Matthew looked peevish.

"No, it isn't ! We don't want to lose our advantage !"

"I thought you said this was only a village cricket match ?" said Tom with some amusement.

"It is, but we still want to win," he said, significantly

In the end, the village team crumbled and the match was over well before the light started to fade. It was a handsome victory for the house team, the first since the war and its aftermath had claimed so many of its former players. Hands were shaken and promises extracted for next year's match, and the players wandered back to their friends and families. Robert was beaming, even going as far as to shake Tom's hand and pat him on the shoulder.

"Well done, Tom. We couldn't have done it without you…"

Sybil smiled. It was the first time Robert had ever addressed Tom by his christian name. A small thing, but perhaps signifying a shift in her father's attitude. She wondered whether it would last this warm, balmy evening, steeped as it was with the benign glow of success. They would have to see what happened in the morning.

After the match, Tom was soaking in a full bath of hot water, his arms hanging over the rolled edges with his head back, eyes closed and a blissful smile on his face. Sybil liked to joke that the bathroom at Downton was the one thing that made Tom's socialist principles waver. There was no way they could afford a constant supply of hot water like this at home. He heard the door open and someone shuffle in, and opened one eye to find his wife sat on the edge of the bath in her dressing gown.

"Don't you think you're coming in with me," he said, frowning at her, "you can wait for your own bath"

"I wouldn't dream of of it," she smiled, "I think you've earnt your bath today"

He gave a slow, smug smile, closing his eyes again.

"Your father is pleased."

"Oh yes…..and Matthew too,….." she said, getting up and wandering to the window, "its a good thing you won. I dread to think what Matthew would have been like if you hadn't. I never knew he was that competitive !"

She dragged the chair over to where his head hung over the end of the bath and sat down, brushing his damp fringe of his forehead with her fingers.

"Thank you for playing, darling. Papa was right - they wouldn't have won without you."

He grinned.

"Well, what could I do ? The honour of Downton was at stake."

"I beg your pardon ?" she said, raising an eyebrow, searching his face for any trace of irony and finding none. She pursed her lips, thinking of unnecessary nights spent apart and a rather expensive piece of lingerie.

"I wish you had decided that last week," she sighed, "then I could have saved buying that… that… nightgown…."

He opened one eye and grinned at her

"Don't worry,'" he said, "I don't think it will go to waste….."