Chapter 2

That's only when young Lady Sybil went back home to the manor that she understood the reason behind the strange absence of any servant on her way: they had then all been in the large office, a part of the manor were Sybil never set foot.

And why were they all there? They were discussing the disturbing news they had just learned from a cupbearer called Thomas who heard His Lordship's secretary read out to the Earl a letter he had received.

"A shipwreck? In the Channel? You're sure you heard right?"

"Both of them? No survivors at all?"

When Sybil heard that her cousin Patrick was presumed dead, her heart immediately went out to her sister. But not to her oldest sister Lady Mary, although she was more or less Patrick's unofficial intended, no; it first went out to her other sister: she knew Lady Edith had some tender feelings for their cousin Patrick, feelings that were apparently mutual.

And indeed of the two sisters, you'd think Edith was the one grieving a fiancé.

"No, Branson, no, that's not that: when it's the number, it is indeed T.W.O. But when you mean 'also', then it is T.O.O." Lady Sybil told him, peeking over his shoulder.

They were in a small room behind the stables, a room which first purpose was to serve as both a workshop and a storeroom. But Tom had found a third use for it: since he had started learning how to read and write, he had made it his 'study'. There was everything he needed there: light, some space, slates, a stool and a workbench he could use as a desk. And privacy.

"Oh, yes, I'm sorry Milady, I should have remembered. I'm afraid I'm hopeless: even after four years I'm still making stupid mistakes."

"Don't be too hard on yourself, Branson: considering how few time we can spend on your schooling, I think on the contrary that you're doing very fine! It was merely a careless mistake, just some slip due to a lapse in attention."

Well, yes it was, and Tom was beginning to identify the reason behind his more and more frequent moments of inattention. The truth was, he had been mistaken about the girl the first time he met her: she wasn't exactly the spoiled kid he had first thought she was. Well, not totally, at least. She was indeed a bit of a spoiled kid, and it still sometimes showed, but there was in fact much more about her than just that.

As and when he spent time with her teaching him how to read and write, he discovered she was also compassionate and considerate, persevering and sometimes challenging, trusting and supportive, knowledgeable and willing to share that knowledge. A kind soul.

She could also be quite humble, too. Well, as humble as one of her lot can be, he reflected. Sometimes in the middle of a chat which he could have been having with anyone his own rank, nearly forgetting her station in life and in society, she could suddenly say something, a sentence, an idea that was so typical of people who are born with a silver spoon in the mouth, who had been raised to find only natural that everything is their due, that he suddenly remembered who he was talking with... She was quite a strange product of the combined effects of her upbringing and of what her soul wanted her to be. Of nature and nurture...

Her offer to teach him hadn't only been a well-intentioned spur-of-the-moment whim, a well-meaning passing fancy she'd gotten tired of after a short while, leaving him by the wayside while jollily going on in her own merry way. No. She had been serious about that and stuck to it, even though it was sometimes difficult or demanding.

And as and when she taught him, he had also discovered that she had become quite a scholar. While teaching him over these four past years, she had also been continuously pursuing her own education with her tutors. Her main tutor was teaching her what he knew, and made others teach her what he didn't know. This way she was beginning to be quite erudite.

In short, a bright mind in addition to a kind soul.

But the problem was, and Tom had ruefully become aware of it, that she wasn't a kid anymore. Which meant that she would probably soon get married. Which in turn meant that she would leave. And he would stay, with no tutor anymore although there were still so many things he wanted to learn... This idea had recently cast a shadow on his usually merry mood whenever he was with her.

Truth be told, she had reached marriageable age long ago, but her sisters were still unwed yet, so this sword of Damocles hanging over his schooling had been only very vague these past years.

But now, Lady Mary had finally warmed to her fourth cousin Matthew Crawley – Master Patrick's replacement as the Earl's heir – so finally her father would probably succeed in arranging this marriage of convenience that would indeed be very convenient to him: Lady Mary was obviously past the usual marriageable age, and her aloof behaviour deterred more than one potential suitor.

And once Lady Mary would be married, her sister Lady Edith would be all too willing to take anyone her father arranged to marry off her to, if only not to be outdone by her already married sister – Lady Mary and Lady Edith seemed to always be at odds about everything, at each other's throats, and Lady Edith was often trying to compete with her older sister.

So Lady Edith would probably soon follow Lady Mary at the altar.

Then would come Lady Sybil's turn... and although he knew he would try to be happy for her when this day comes, he knew it would feel like a real loss to him. Not only from a purely educational point of view but also on a more personal level: little by little a kind of friendship had burgeoned between them. Well, as far as masters and servants could be considered 'friends', of course! Friendship required reciprocity and equality, and by no means could a mere stable boy be considered equal to a noble lady; not according to society's standards anyway.

Tom let out a sigh. Lady Sybil mistook the reason for it:

"Don't lose heart, Branson. You've already made so much progress! You can't know how proud I felt the day you gave me back the book of hours I had lent you a few days before, and you told me you had read the Song of Songs from beginning to end!"

He chuckled at the memory:

"I remember, Milady. You also asked me if I hadn't felt too shocked at its content..."

A very light rosy blush coloured her cheeks and her forehead.

"Well," she said, "I was very young then..." she found as an excuse.

He smiled.

"But old enough to understand certain things, apparently..." he teased her.

"And to feel a bit shocked myself," she defended herself.

He chuckled again.

"And now, Milady?"

"Now I'm shocked that you seemed to understand them perfectly, mister!" she retorted in a teasing voice.

"Is there anything I can say in my own defence?" he asked with a grin.

"Hmm, I don't think so," she answered.

"Well, in that case," he playfully replied, "I think I'll just keep quiet and go back to working on my handwriting, Milady"

"I think that's the wise thing to do, kind sir..."

He picked up the quill and dipped its end in the black ink.

Strangely enough, no one in the manor ever wondered where Lady Sybil was or why she was spending so much time outside. Especially near the stables. Perhaps they were supposing she had discovered some passion for horseriding? But anyway, everyone was so focused on Lady Mary and the cautious pavane-like relationship she was 'dancing' day after day with the Earl's heir that no one was really paying attention to what the nerdy bluestocking last daughter could be doing. Probably buried nose-deep in some parchment somewhere in the park.

"I still have a very long way ahead of me before I'm able to write down full texts about what I think and what I want to express..." Branson sighed.

And just like that, as much on an impulse as when she had offered to teach him to read, she blurted out:

"You could dictate it to me!"

He raised his head to her, stupefaction and questioning painted all over his face.

"Well, yes," she went on, "I'd write it down for you. I'd be your scrivener, in a way..."

He was totally taken aback: what? But that would be a real reversal of their respective situations! He couldn't... She couldn't... he couldn't give the orders, she couldn't act the servant here... and certainly not his servant!

"I... I..." he stammered, "Milady, I would never dare dictate to you..."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous! What you have to say is important, your views are interesting!"

"But what's the point, Milady? I don't have anyone to address letters to!"

"You could address them to me!"

"But there is no need to write them down for that, Milady! We can see each other two or three times a week!"

"It does not mean I don't want to read or re-read your ideas and your reasoning!"

"Still," he objected, "it would feel strange for me to dictate to you, since you're my master's daughter... and my tutor, in addition to that!"

"Don't see it like that, Branson!" she said. "Or on second thought, do: I'm your tutor, yes; and I'll also be your secretary: let's say that it balances this all, it would make things even. So, what do you say of that?"

He thought for a few seconds. The offer was tempting. Very tempting indeed. Leaving a trace of his words, and thoughts, and ideas... Exactly what he was hoping for, when he started to learn four year earlier... And the idea of spending even more time with Lady Sybil wasn't downward unpleasant either, the two of them were getting along nicely...

"I say 'deal', Milady," he finally answered.