Author's Note: This story picks up where an earlier story I wrote, In the Early War, left off.
The first days at the training college passed quickly as Sybil settled into her quarters, learned the names of her fellow nurse trainees and began her basic education. She had decided to tell no one that she was Lady Sybil, self-conscious for the first time of how such a title might be perceived by others. She was almost immediately glad of her decision, remembering the way the head nurse's face had lit up when Sybil had suggested that she'd rather be known simply as 'Sybil' or 'Nurse Crawley.' The head nurse had plenty of experience by then dealing with the coddled daughters of the aristocracy and was pleased that this one had seemed so different. She had been good to her word and told none of the nurses, trainees, or doctors of Nurse Crawley's background. Once or twice Sybil had nearly given herself away, as when she struggled with how to open or close the shutters or when the instructions for making a poultice had included a directive to "knead it as when making bread." Each time Sybil had breathed deeply and waited for someone to correct her, always rewarding them with a broad smile and words of thanks.
Sybil made friends quickly and her closest friend was a woman named Caroline whose room was two doors down from the small quarters Sybil shared with the very pleasant, if quiet, Emily. Over tea the first week Caroline shared that her desire to become a nurse stemmed from her own brother's death earlier in the war.
"I just couldn't stop thinking that he didn't have to die," Caroline said, bitterly. "If he'd been an officer or a gentleman, someone would have tended to him, but instead they let him die on a filthy floor."
Sybil was shocked. "You don't know that, about them letting him die because he was an enlisted soldier, I mean."
Caroline laughed.
"Come now, you don't really believe that, do you? They take care of their own. When a working class lad like my brother is injured or killed, they figure there are a thousand more just like him. They'll move heaven and earth to save the son of some bloody duke, as if we haven't got enough of those," Caroline nearly spat the last sentence.
Sybil nearly winced, and was glad she had told no one of her family's background.
"I think that's terrible," Sybil began, "the government, the military, the doctors, they should provide the same care for all of the men. After all, they're fighting for the same king and country."
Caroline agreed, then moved on to lighter subjects. The conversation remained with Sybil, however, and when she sat down to write her first letter to Branson, she included a mention of it.
Dear Branson,
I trust this letter finds you well and that you keep your word and not leave Downton in my absence. It is hard for me to believe only one week has passed since we parted. The coursework is demanding and the men we see each day have suffered the most dreadful injuries, but I feel good knowing that I will be able to ease their pain and help the war effort, however small my part may be. I am so thankful to Daisy and Anna for teaching me a bit of cooking and cleaning before I left home. I've told no one here of my background and goodness knows I would have been found out by now if I'd not known to put a kettle on or make the toast! As it is I've struggled with such simple tasks as fastening the shutters and kneading a poultice; I really must learn to do more of these chores when I return home. I have made friends with several of the other trainee nurses, especially one called Caroline who told me that enlisted men do not receive the same care as officers and gentlemen. Can you imagine? I'm sure you can, actually, but I couldn't. I think it is good for me learn these things so I can understand other causes in addition to the women's vote.
I am faithfully your friend,
Sybil Crawley
Anna sighed when she opened her letter from Lady Sybil and found the envelope for Mr. Branson. Her own letter was kind enough; Lady Sybil thanked her profusely for teaching her how to make a bed and sweep a floor and described her life at the training college. Yet, she also knew that the letter had likely only been written so as to include the decidedly longer letter for the chauffeur. Anna had agreed, as always, to pass letters along to him, but she wished for a moment that it were possible for Lady Sybil to write directly to Mr. Branson without having to go through her. At least Mary had asked her to order the car for a drive into Ripon later today and so Anna had a reason to set out for the garage, Lady Sybil's letter safely tucked into her apron pocket.
"Good morning, Mr. Branson," Anna called, entering the garage.
"Good morning, Anna."
"Lady Mary asked me to order the car for this afternoon. She needs you to drive her to Ripon. Also, a letter's come for you in the post. From Lady Sybil."
Branson smiled and reached for it.
"She was a bit worried about being away from home for so long when I left her. I hope she's written that she's settled in well."
"She said as much to me, Mr. Branson, so I'd say, yes, she's doing well there. It's quiet now that she's gone, isn't it?"
"Yes, she's certainly a bit…livelier than Lady Mary and Lady Edith," he laughed.
Anna could see that he missed her and wished she could acknowledge this. Instead, she did the next best thing. "I best get back to the house, Mr. Branson, but I'm happy to post a letter to Lady Sybil whenever you'd like to send a reply. Good day."
"Good day, Anna, and thank you."
She nodded, just a quick incline of the chin, and they parted. As she walked back to the house she couldn't help but think, again, that he was peculiar. Just last night he'd gotten all of the staff stirred up about the war, arguing that America was sure to enter any week now, and he'd be the first to cheer their entry while Mr. Carson and William held the position that the countries in Europe should be left to settle their own affairs.
"Because we've done such a job of that so far!" Branson had exclaimed irritably before snapping his paper shut and excusing himself for the evening.
She could not imagine what Lady Sybil saw in him, but then again, Lady Sybil loved a good argument and in that sense she had no doubt that Mr. Branson and Lady Sybil brought out the best in each other.
No shortage of letters arrived for Sybil at the training college, as her mother, Mary, Edith, Granny, and even Cousin Isobel wrote regularly, but it was the envelope bearing Anna's tight script that caused her heart to beat a little faster at the end of her third week. She had not heard from Branson yet and hoped every day that he might finally write. Opening Anna's letter she was rewarded with an additional envelope, which she knew would be from him.
Milady,
You will continue to find me at Downton for some time to come, so do not worry on that account. So you haven't told the other nurses you're LADY Sybil Crawley? I will admit that you never fail to surprise me, and for that I am thankful. Life would be a bit dull if we could predict one another's next thoughts and actions too frequently, would it not? From your letter, it sounds as if you have found yourself a good friend and wise counsel in Caroline. I am also glad she is opening your eyes to the ways of this war in new and different ways than you knew. As regards women's voting rights, you might be pleased to know that Asquith as resigned as Prime Minister and has been replaced by David Lloyd George. It looks as if you and all others who have worked for the vote may yet have your way.
Faithfully yours,
T. Branson
Sybil laid the letter in her lap and smiled. She didn't know what she had expected, certainly when she thought rationally she knew he would not have written in anger, but nevertheless she was relieved that the tone of his letter was so normal. She opened her blue book, gently turning the care-worn pages and allowing her mind to focus on him for another minute before closing it and sliding this new letter between its pages.
"Sybil, dear, you look quite pleased with yourself this afternoon. Have you received happy news from home?" Caroline inquired gently, entering Sybil's room. Her roommate Emily looked up kindly, a bit ashamed for not noticing her roommate's good fortune.
"Yes, Caroline, I suppose I have." Sybil smiled shyly.
Seeing the pile of unopened letters on the bed next to Sybil, Emily startled a bit.
"But, my, it doesn't even look like you've opened your mail!" Emily exclaimed.
"Oh those. I've not opened those yet. Just another one I was waiting for." Sybil regretted the words as soon as she'd said them.
"Did you receive a letter from your beau?" Emily asked.
"Well, I, I mean, I haven't got a beau," Sybil stammered. "It was a letter from a friend."
Emily and Caroline raised their eyebrows at one another.
"Are you sure about that?" Caroline pressed.
Sybil felt her cheeks flush and decided to them half of the truth.
"I, well, you see, he's my friend, my very dear friend. I think perhaps that he might like it if he were my beau, but I think it's best, I mean, I think that we're better as friends. I don't think…no, I know my family would not approve."
"You don't sound very convincing," Caroline observed while at the same time Emily asked, "Why ever wouldn't they approve?"
"He's Irish," Sybil said plainly. She wasn't sure it was true that her parents would object to an otherwise suitable Irishman, but many for many of the English, Irish blood would be a reason to object to a match and at that moment Sybil wanted the conversation to end.
"What's his name?" Caroline asked.
"Tom. Tom Branson."
"Well, I wish you and your Mr. Branson all the luck in the world. God knows there's enough sadness and death these days to last us all many lifetimes. We need all the love we can muster," Caroline's words came out with such force that they took Sybil by surprise. With them, however, the conversation ended and Caroline bid the two younger women a good evening as she prepared for her overnight nursing duty.
The days slid by more and more quickly after that until at last it was Christmas Eve. When Sybil wrote to tell her mother that she would be working on Christmas she did not tell her that she had volunteered to do so. In truth she was not ready to return home yet but also she saw her sacrifice as one more good work on the part of the war. So many of the young women had brothers or beaus in the army, men who would either be returning on leave or would not be, thereby leaving an empty place around the table. Although she knew her parents would miss her, and also Matthew, she could not help but feel that many of the other families would feel the loss more sharply and so at last she had volunteered to work. Her mother had been displeased upon learning that Sybil would not return to Downton for Christmas, but Robert, Isobel, and even the Dowager Countess had rallied to convince her that she was overreacting. Besides, Robert had argued, with petrol harder and harder to come by, and with her course ending in January, it didn't make sense to ask Branson to drive all the way to York to bring Sybil home for a short Christmas visit.
Shortly after Christmas she received a card in the mail. It was unsigned, but its brief note gave the sender away immediately.
Last year a book, this year a card, next year will milady receive anything at all?
After the holidays the training sped by in a rush as the nurses studied for their examinations and worked longer hours at the hospital. By now they were virtually full-fledged nurses and were called upon as such to deal with the freshly wounded and even to assist with the occasional operation – or amputation. Sybil had been sick after witnessing her first amputation, but as with so many things that seem so horrible at first exposure, she became accustomed to even this ghastly procedure. She had a natural bedside manner and it was evident that not only did the doctor's appreciate her calm and competent manner, but the patients appreciated her reassuring smile and steady hands. She began to think that maybe, just maybe, nursing could be a real profession, not just a way to help the war effort. But first she must help the war effort.
Branson was struck immediately that the Lady Sybil he met at York in January was not the same Lady Sybil he had parted from in November. She seemed calmer, yet harder, more world weary in every way.
"Branson, I'm so glad to see you," she said warmly.
"Nurse Crawley, now, isn't it?" he teased.
"Oh, but it is. Hard won, too."
With that she launched into a recap of her two months at the training college, pausing only while Branson started the car, then continuing from back seat. She told him about Caroline and Emily, the chores they'd all had to do, the various doctors and patients who had left and impression on her and, not least, the amputations. To say he was impressed would have been to understate his emotions entirely. Listening to her describe her days – arising at 5 to start the fires and have breakfast, coursework and nursing shifts beginning at 7 and lasting for 13 hours with only short breaks for luncheon and tea, then dinner and reading lessons until 10 o'clock – left him utterly exhausted. She was a woman with a purpose, and while the things she had witnessed had been more savage than he could imagine, she seemed truly happy to him for the first time since the war began. He hoped there was still a place for him in her new world.
Arriving at Downton, the entire family stood ready to meet the new Nurse Crawley. As she stepped from the car she gripped Branson's hand firmly and said, "I'll need to be at the hospital by 7 tomorrow. Can you bring the car around at 6:30?"
"Yes, milady. 6:30 tomorrow. I'll be here." With that Branson drove the car into the garage, pleased to know for once when he would see her again – and that it would not be two months hence.