The local authorities arrived rapidly and the body was examined, measured and carried away. Sybil and Matthew watched all of this with a kind of rapt attention, as if watching a play performed slowly for their benefit. From these routines they learned the basics of the man's life even if there were gaping holes regarding the precise mechanism of his death. His name was Dan Malone he was the owner of a tavern. He apparently had no wife or children, but no one could know for sure. The barest bones of information, but strangely interesting all the same, if one had any imagination, and Sybil had always had a abundance of imagination.

The constable blustered in coughing and talking at the same time, asking a series of bumbling questions. The man by the name of Frederick looked to be around the age of 60 with a bulbous reddened nose. He was overstuffed into a uniform that seemed ill suited to encompass his girth.

When Frederick finally turned his attention to them, he sighed and coughed, a wet, phlegmatic sound that made Sybil wish she had a bottle of cough mixture. "Would you mind if I sat down?" He asked tiredly. Matthew stood and offered his own chair, then crossed the room to fetch another for himself. "Not as young as I used to be." He said apologetically. "My son got called up and so I got the old job."

Matthew wasn't certain just how to respond to that so he said only, "It's an admirable thing." Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sybil trying to cover a smirk, it reminded him of a salty desert and a moment when he thought… He pushed the memory from his mind explaining, "I don't know how much assistance we can provide. We were merely eating when the gentleman collapsed."

"Did you know him?" Sybil asked interestedly. Having lived in a small village most of her life she recognized that small populations generally nurtured a spider web style of interdependence.

The man coughed, reaching for his handkerchief he said, "He ran the local pub. Not the sort of chap to have any sort of trouble." With this he blew his nose loudly. Wiping it he added, "Malone's father was from Germany." He shrugged, "No surprises the climate you know."

"I don't understand." Sybil said not linking his words together.

"I believe he's saying that Malone's ancestry meant trouble with the local population."

Frederick merely snorted, causing Sybil to exclaim, "Beastly."

"Them's the times." The constable said. "Never less his business suffered. The corner will likely cite heart failure."

Sybil leaned forward engaged by the man's words. "Did he have a history of heart complaints?"

"Not that I'm aware of." The Constable said, "But the sudden drop, the death. It suggests heart disease."

"Heart failure certainly," Sybil agreed thoughtfully, "But disease perhaps not."

The constable seemed to notice her uniform for the first time, "You are a nurse?"

"Yes at the casualty hospital."

The man nodded, "Commendable work."

Sybil ignored the hint of superiority she heard in his voice. It puzzled her that so many men seemed appalled by the notion of well bred ladies entering nursing. "It is." Sybil answered slightly more pointed than necessary.

"Is there any further way we can assist you?" Matthew questioned, lest Sybil tear off on one of her tangents.

"No, no." The man said and promptly lifted his handkerchief to his nose and blew for several minutes, which rather ended the conversation..

"He wants a simple solution." Sybil surmised irritably as they pulled away from the restaurant.

"He's tired, half-worn out." Matthew said adding, "Pressed back into work due to the war." He recognized at some level he was forever a solicitor offering alibis and excuses for everything.

"That doesn't excuse him not doing his absolute best."

A smile tugged at Matthew's lips as he replied, "I thought you'd let go of your romantic notions."

Sybil smiled before asking, "Brother you feel like making a side trip on the way back to the hospital."

"Are we going to talk to the village doctor?" He asked. Sybil smiled brightly which was incentive enough for any side trip she might request, Matthew decided.

The doctor was pottering around his garden when Matthew and Sybil arrived. The owner of the restaurant had provided both his name and his address and they arrived within 10 minutes. Like the constable, Dr. Avers was an elderly man who had retired some years ago. Unlike the constable however he was lively and seemed engaged in their account of events.

"Malone was a character," He said puffing on his pipe. His wife had welcomed Matthew and Sybil into their home and provided them proper tea and some tasty biscuits though she apologized that due to the war she'd had to resort to some interesting recipe ingredients.

"What do you mean?" Sybil asked curiously.

Once they'd sat down Matthew had remained silent, not out of disinterest but rather because this side of Sybil did interest him. He remembered a small slip of a girl who had very modern ideas and interjected them regardless' of her parents or grandmother's opinions. Still, that girl was not nearly as direct as the woman before him had clearly become.

"Eh," Avers said, "Tricky, secretive, and he was new here."

"Oh," Sybil questioned taking in everything, "How long had he lived here?"

"Only 12 years." The doctor said causing Matthew to smile into his hand. "His pub made a potful, but I was never easy with him." As if anticipating Sybil's next question he said, "He was secretive, shady almost. I never felt I had the full story."

"Do you know why he might be secretive?" Sybil's questions were so good Matthew half wondered if she had some experience in this line. So much of war was hunches and hopes, she seemed adapt at both.

The doctor shook his head, "No idea."

Sybil said, "May I see your surgery?" It was so out of the blue, Matthew lifted an eyebrow, but Sybil merely rose and followed the doctor into his surgery,

Mrs. Avers turned smiling toward Matthew. She had been so quiet that he'd forgotten she was there. "Could you do with another cup of tea, lad?"

Recognizing the faint hint of a Scottish accent in her tone he answered, "Eh." She smiled and walked toward the kitchen, leaving him alone in the small den. The small comfortable house was not unlike the one in which he'd grown up. The cozy hearth lined with two or three family pictures drew his attention and he rose to inspect the photographs. The first was a photo of a younger version the Avers with a small boy seated on her lap. Beside it was a framed military image of a determined looking young man in a Navy uniform. Looking at the image, Matthew thought that most houses in the empire probably had a similar picture. Young men under glass forever. It felt ghoulish and wrong so many dead, and yet there they sat on hearths and tables looking young and unsullied, as if war was just a grand vacation one never came back from….

Staring at the image he was startled by Mrs. Aver's soft voice beside him saying, "Our boy," Matthew smiled causing her to add, "He'd taken over his father's practice. He joined up straight away. Said King and Country came first. He's somewhere in France." Matthew detected both pride and sorrow in her tones. Shaking her head she said, "We haven't heard from him in a bit . Corse he's so busy with his work. But the waiting and the wondering." She walked out mumbling about the new pot of tea being nearly ready. Her words caused Matthew to think uneasily about the letters from Edith and Robert that he'd left unanswered for far to long., and the letters from Downton that he never opened. The thought remained even after Sybil returned and they had tea and concluded their visit.

As they were walking toward his automobile, Sybil began rambling, revisiting the particulars of this case which clearly interested her greatly. "A reasonably healthy, reasonably young man dies." Sybil noted adding, "No previous health issues or complaints. It feels a bit pat to me."

She glanced up at him expectantly as if wanting an answer causing Matthew to say, " I have absolutely no medical training and alas law school precluded my entry into the world of detectives and sleuthing."

"Come on you must have an opinion." As if expecting an unwanted reply she said, "A healthy man with secrets dies and the locals want to shut it up totally ignoring that some of the locals hated him. That screams mystery and ill doing."

"Shall I fetch your deerstalker and calabash pipe?" Matthew queried in a matter of fact tone.

Sybil narrowed her eyes responding, "Funny."

Matthew glanced at his watch, "While I wish we could carry this on to ever higher levels of crime, deception and intrigue the time."

Sybil glanced down at the watch pinned on her uniform. "It's to soon." She said sadly. His appearance, dinner, the lovely mystery it had all gone to quickly. It felt as if mere minutes had passed instead of hours.

"I can visit you again." He promised stepping closer to her. "Now that we're both here." He said referring to England. That pleased her so much she stood on tip toe to kiss his cheek.

Focused as they were on each other, they did not notice Dr. Avers staring at them. And they obviously could not know he walked from that window, to the phone and that once his call was connected he said only, "We may have a problem."

"It is a funny thing," Sybil observed quietly. They were in the car driving back toward the camp. It was well past nine and Sybil was certain that she would have a severe tongue lashing from the Matron. Still, her dissatisfaction came from less from that likelihood, than the lack of answers about Malone's death. Beyond that too she was beginning to feel the numbing effect of going toward, rather than away from the wounded. Seeing Matthew's puzzled expression she elaborated adding, "Death." She paused thinking her observation out, needing to explain it to herself as much as Matthew. "I see it every day in the wards, you see it in the battles, but when its just a village restaurant." She stopped talking letting the idea drift away.

Mathew was quiet, reflective almost when he said, "When I first saw a wounded man I vomited. Got sick straight away. Not heroic," He said ruefully, "But I did. Last week, I walked by four men who were in my unit, dead. I scarcely noticed. " He glanced over at her, "Maybe that's the worst part of this business, I care less ,and I grow less certain I could ever care again." Sybil started to disagree, but decided no answer would really fit. So she remained silent as they bumped along the road, drawing ever closer to the dead.

Some moments later he stopped the car before the hospital. They climbed out and stood awkwardly unsure what if anything to say. They had left behind the landscape of peace and easy friendly goodbyes.

Finally Sybil decided to speak saying, "Interesting night." She offered a tentative smile.

"Most interesting." He agreed. "Dinner and a death inquiry."

More seriously she added "You may think I am silly, but I do believe something is going on in that town."

Sybil sighed not bothering to disguise her frustration, "It doesn't much matter, though. Its not as if we can get any insight."

"Perhaps we can," Matthew said leaning forward, "Dr. Avers wife invited me to spend the rest of the week with them."

"Brilliant!" Sybil exclaimed excitedly as a broad smile covered her face. "Brilliant! But," She said suddenly feeling confused, "Aren't you going home?"

"Home," Matthew repeated the word.

"Downton." She said pointedly.

"Aside from my mother there is nothing for me in Downton." Matthew pronounced in the curtest of tones.

"I don't believe that." Sybil retorted with a decisiveness she generally saved for her political discussions, "And I don't believe that you do either." Not wanting to press the point she requested, "Will you tell me how things go with the doctor?"

Matthew smiled clearly relieved at her words. "Of course."

Then with nothing left to say she leaned on her tiptoes kissed his cheek and said, "Goodnight Brother." Giving a last fond wave, Sybil turned and walked away. Matthew buried his hands in the pockets of his trench coat, watching her walk away, before returning to his car and driving back to town. As he drove he tried to cast off the guilt he felt at being so relieved to be away from the hospital and the battles and the ceaseless death. Still he felt the acrid odor of death still close-by.

Later laying in the darkness Sybil kept reliving the whole evening in her mind. The drive across the country, the meal, and of course poor Malone's death and Matthew. It kept circling back around to Matthew back to Matthew. Ever since the rally she'd been fond of him. But he was Mary's, and she did adore Branson. Now Mary was at Downton, and Branson was gone. And here they were here in this absolute nightmare of a place, together none the less.

Why had he come? Crossing a war zone to find her. Matthew was dutiful but this crossed that line. He had knocked a man down in the square. Now he had again risked physical harm for her. And why? He hadn't said. Perhaps in this life though much would forever go unsaid, she decided.

Still as Sybil drifted off toward sleep, a persistent thought kept nagging at her. Her father had tried to work his channels get her recalled to London. Her mother had written teary letters about how much she needed her at home. Granny had tried to maneuver her social contacts to effect a change. They'd all done exactly what they could do within their little Downton confines, within their restricted social roles. They all loved her, but they'd moved only as far as social roles would allow. Matthew hadn't done any of that. He'd taken leave, time when he was supposed to get away from this place, and crossed camps and borders merely to find her. It all kept circling around and confusing her. Past, present, family, the unknowable future. And it all kept coming back to Matthew.

Fresh hot tea and scones for anyone who replies.