It was a big house, much bigger than the one he had worked for previously. He knocked on the door that was supposed to enter into the servants hall. It was answered by a maid with fiery hair, who gave him a quick smile. "Are you the new chauffeur?"
"I'm applying, anyway," he replied, holding out a hand. "Tom Branson."
She looked slightly surprised, though whether it was from his forwardness or his Irish accent he didn't know. But she took the proffered hand and shook it firmly. "Gwen Dawson. I'm a maid here. I'll show you to Mr. Carson."
Gwen led Tom down the hall into a small room where a butler with a stern grey face was pouring wine through a decanter. "Mr. Carson, the new chauffeur is here," Gwen announced, nodding and ducking out of the room again.
"Mr. Branson?" Carson pointed to a chair in front of his desk. "Please, take a seat. So you've come from Ireland? The woman you worked for gave you a good reference."
"She was a dear," he said, "although there wasn't much for me to do. She was the only one, and she had a single car, and she never let me go above 20 miles an hour."
Carson shook his head. "I should think that is fast enough."
"Perhaps. But I'll adhere to whatever the family may ask, although I'm not willing to put lives at risk."
"You seem very sure of yourself."
Tom shrugged. "I'm a good driver, and it's my job to drive people."
"Well, yes..." Carson did not look exactly pleased, but he had nothing more to say in response. "If Lord Grantham is not busy, I'll have you meet him and he can make a final decision. I see no issue with you, and we've hardly had many replies to the advertisement."
"Thank you, Mr. Carson..." Tom replied.
Carson nodded, though no smile touched his face. He was about to stand up when a dark head popped through the door.
"Mr. Carson? Oh, are you busy?" Sybil Crawley opened the door completely and stepped into the room. "I'm sorry if I'm keeping you away from something, but have you seen Gwen? I was needing her and she didn't respond to the bell."
With a disapproving shake of the head, Carson stood up. "Perhaps she took ill. I know Anna wasn't feeling well either. Let me check with Mrs. Hughes." He left the room, leaving Sybil alone with Tom.
"Are you the new chauffeur?" she asked brightly. "I'm Sybil. I'm the youngest of the family."
Tom nodded cautiously. "I'm applying for the job. I'm Tom Branson."
"I suppose I'm not supposed to call you Tom, but as you don't officially have the job yet, I suppose it's alright. As long as you don't mind," Sybil said.
"No, not at all. In fact, it's rather nice to be treated like a human," Tom replied flippantly.
Sybil's face fell. "Do we really treat you so badly?"
"Aristocrats in general, yes. I don't know about your family. Even if the rest of your family does, I get the distinct feeling you won't," Tom said.
"Good. Because you are humans, and anyone who treats you like you're not isn't worth your service. Even if you do get paid..." Sybil sighed. "Sometimes I think about the way things are and wonder why they are so messed up. Why some people have everything and some have nothing. It's odd, really."
Tom smirked at her innocence. "It's more than odd, it's downright unfair."
"You're right, really," Sybil said. Before she could speak further, Carson entered the room again.
"Gwen is apparently airing out the guest rooms used in the hunt, but she's been sent to your room, so I suggest you meet her up there," he said, opening the door wider, stepping out with Sybil and closing it behind him "Is there an issue with Mr. Branson that I should be aware of?"
Sybil's eyes widened. "Not at all. In fact, I rather like him?"
"Very well, milady. A word of warning, however, it might be best to show him how things work around here?"
"In terms of what?"
Carson sighed. "I'm not sure Mr. Branson quite knows his place, and you'd do well to encourage him to not converse with the family as if they were friends."
Sybil opened her mouth to retort, but nothing came to her mind before Carson went back into the butler's pantry. She turned on her heel to go upstairs.
Gwen was standing by Sybil's bed when Sybil reached her bedroom. "Milady? You wanted me?"
"Yes, I did. I know you were saying that you wanted to become a secretary. I personally think that is a wonderful ambition, and I'd like to help you with it," Sybil said.
Gwen stared at Sybil in confusion and slight disbelief. "You want to help me become a secretary?"
"Of course I do! Did I not make that clear?"
"It's just so... odd, I suppose. You're not supposed to help your maid find another job, that's not the way it works."
Sybil shrugged. "I've always had odd ideas. Luckily for me, they usually work."
"But how could you pull this off. I'm sorry, milady, but a seventeen year old who has never worked a day in her life might not have any resources to help with..."
Sybil showed Gwen a devious smile. "I have contacts..."
"Wait, what do you want me to do?" Matthew asked, squinting at Sybil. Their corner of the drawing room flickered with firelight.
Sybil rolled her eyes. "Just keep an eye out for secretary positions. Especially at your office. And tell us if you see anything. And maybe offer Gwen some tips on interviewing since she quite rightly pointed out that I have no real working experience beyond charities and the like. But you do work, so you would know."
"So she's your maid, right?"
Sybil nodded.
"But you're looking to find a different job for her..."
"Yes, something that she will be really good at, and something that she truly wants to do. She's taken this course. I believe that she can take this path."
Matthew sighed. "But she's a good maid too, right?"
"Yes, but she can excel so much more. It's not right for us to force her into a life that isn't right for her."
A puzzled look still remained on Matthew's face. "Look, I see what you're trying to do, but I'm still a little bit confused as to why. Is it just a middle class thing, or do people like keeping good servants in the upper classes too?"
"That's a universal thing. It's pure logic."
"Yes, well, why are wanting to find another job for a good servant?"
Sybil looked him straight in the eye. "What if you weren't a lawyer? What if you were only a footman, but you had gone to law school and you wanted to find a job as a lawyer. What if the only thing between you and becoming a lawyer was the lack of someone to support you? That's what Gwen's problem is. And I'm going to be the person who supports her. So that she can follow her dream."
"You should be a lawyer, Sybil," Matthew said. "You craft a strong argument."
Sybil grinned, but her face quickly became serious again. "So do you agree? And will you help?"
"I'll do what I can," he said, taking a sip from his coffee. "I can't guarantee you anything, but I will certainly try."
"Thank you!" Sybil replied, ecstatic. "I'm certain Gwen will be incredibly grateful!"
Matthew forced a smile. "I certainly hope so."
Mary looked over the booths at the fair with a familiar sense of melancholy. It had been a long time since she was a child and carefree at the village fair. Now, everything seemed to carry baggage. The bottles of beer were as dark as Pamuk's eyes when he stared at her with frightening desire. The corn sold was the color of Matthew's hair. Everything was a reminder of what had almost been, what she had almost become. And she missed the days when it wasn't.
She spotted a blond head weaving carefully between crowds of people, and Mary soon realized that he was guiding a bicycle. Naturally, it was Matthew, and he approached her slowly, a sheepish smile forming on his face as he got nearer. "I didn't realize it was the fair today, I wouldn't have taken my bike otherwise. Too much of a hassle."
"Do you have a chain?"
"No, that's my issue. I don't trust people not to steal it, and I would struggle getting to work without it, so I can't have it stolen."
Mary laughed lightly, "I think it's rather sweet how much you ride that bicycle. You look ridiculous but it's not a bad kind of ridiculous."
"Just the kind of ridiculous that makes everyone avoid being a country solicitor?" he questioned.
"Sure, if that's what you would like to think. I think the reason nobody wants to be a country solicitor is because it's incredibly boring, but I'm sure the bike helps."
Matthew glanced around the fair. "There's a game over there, knocking over the milk bottles. Would you like to try it?"
"I'm certain I can beat you,'" Mary said, smirking. "So of course I'll take you up on that. I'm assuming you're no sportsman?"
"You were the one who taught me how to ride a horse, I'm sure you can see for yourself. But to reassure you; I am certainly no sportsman. Happy now?"
Mary smirked and quickened her steps. "We have a game. I'm looking forward to beating you."
They arrived at the booth, the Coconut Shack, and Matthew pulled a couple of shillings out of his pocket and handed them to the person at the booth. They each received three balls to throw.
Mary was much more focused than Matthew was, and he found himself mesmerized by her concentration and skill. She could knock over most of the bottles; he only got one. "You're far better than I am," he said sheepishly.
"Most men would never admit that they were beat by a woman. I told you I would beat you, anyway," Mary commented. "Sybil will be so proud of me. She's a big believer in women being equal to men."
Matthew smiled. "I've noticed. But I don't disagree with her."
"That's good. That lowers your chances of being murdered by her in the middle of the night."
"Sybil is far too nice to do that. She is not capable of murder."
Mary raised a dark eyebrow. "Sybil Crawley appears adorable and sweet on the outside, but if you mess with her, you'll regret it. Believe me, as her sister, I know it very well."
"And you?"
"I look capable of murder, don't I?"
Matthew nodded carefully. "I certainly wouldn't put it past you."
A light laugh escaped from Mary's lips. Her face sobered though. "I'm glad for Sybil. I'm glad she has you to watch out for her, and not just another Patrick."
"Was Patrick really that bad?"
Mary sighed heavily. "He didn't abuse me, so I guess I can be thankful for that. But he wouldn't have lifted a finger for me either. He was completely and utterly selfish, and I don't think he loved anyone but himself. And I grew up expecting that in marriage, but Sybil is so sweet and naive that a man like that would crush her completely. And you're not selfish."
"You thought I was."
"I...I was wrong. You saved me. And since you helped me when I had been nothing but cruel to you, I know you'll protect Sybil. And while I do wish she could choose her own husband, nothing against you, of course, I don't trust her judgment of men. There was a time she had a crush on Larry Grey."
Matthew gave her his confused look. "Larry Grey?"
"He's awful. Just terrible. Don't worry, Sybil's long over it now." Mary watched as he took his bike from the side of the booth. "Are you alright? With being engaged to Sybil? I mean, I know it's not what you want either but..."
"It may not be what I had planned, but Sybil made it hard to complain. I really was expecting some sort of snob..."
Mary snorted in a rather unladylike fashion. "Like me?"
"If it makes you feel better," Matthew replied. "But Sybil's so genuine, and so open, that I can't find an excuse to hate her. So if you want to tell your sister to become terrible and stuck up, I'll definitely be against the marriage."
"I'm glad you're not, actually. Because I worry about Sybil, but I don't have to worry about you hurting her."
Sybil put down the letter, glanced at herself in the mirror, and sighed.
"Is there anything wrong, milady?" Gwen asked, pulling Sybil's hair back.
"My friend, Amelia. She came out last year, and she's written to me about how utterly miserable she is with her husband. Her parents forced her into the marriage..."
Gwen pressed her lips together tightly. "And you're afraid that is going to happen with you and Mr. Crawley?"
"No, actually. I'm glad it isn't much worse. A part of me still wants to protest since this takes away my choices, but I'm grateful that I won't be completely miserable like Amelia. It kind of puts things into perspective." Sybil forced a bright smile as Gwen finished her hair. "I'm going into Ripon to get a new dress made today, but I'll definitely keep an eye out for any advertisements. You're going to become a secretary, I'll make sure of it."
"Thank you, milady," Gwen replied, unsure what to make of Sybil's generosity. "I've been told to inform you that your mother is waiting for you to join her downstairs to go to Ripon."
Sybil nodded and left the room, heading down the stairs.
Matthew kneeled next to his bicycle, groaning. The tire was definitely flat. There was no way he was riding home on it. And even once he got home, he wasn't sure how to fix it. He ran his hand over the tire again and sighed.
"Having some trouble?" asked someone from behind him. An Irish accent.
Matthew looked up and saw a young man who he vaguely recognized as the new chauffeur at Downton. He stood and dusted off his pants. "Actually, yes. My bicycle has a flat and I don't really know how to repair it."
"You're Mr. Crawley, right?" he asked. "The heir to the family?"
"Yes..." Matthew said. "And you're the... chauffeur, correct? I'm afraid I don't know most of the servants yet."
"Tom Branson," he replied. "Yes, I am the chauffeur. But I suppose even the family doesn't know most of the servants, so you're in good company."
Matthew shook his head. "But you're people, first and foremost."
Tom smiled. "You're different. That's good, stay that way. Now, about this bicycle. I could repair it for you, but I could also teach you how to do it yourself so that you're not stranded next time this happens."
"I suppose that's a better way of doing things," Matthew said.
"I have the things back at the garage if you don't mind the walk back to the house," Tom said.
Matthew picked up his bicycle. "I don't mind at all. Lead the way."
Sybil picked up the garment from its box and grinned widely. "This color is beautiful," she said, as Mama examined it."
"Yes, and I do love the fabric of the skirt. It's a little bit unconventional, but it's rather beautiful," Cora said, smoothing her hand over it.
Sybil had to work hard to keep from sniggering. "I'm thinking I might wear it for dinner tonight. I know it's just Edith and Anthony coming over, but I really would like to wear it."
Cora smiled. "Of course. You'd better start dressing, dinner will be soon. Ring for Anna, and I'm off to dress."
As soon as her mother left the room, Sybil grinned and took the frock completely out of the box. She began to get out of her dress and burst out with giggles when Anna came upstairs.
Anna gave her a puzzled look. "Milady? Is there something the matter?"
"No, not at all. In fact, I'm rather excited. But Mama and Papa are in for a shock. And Granny, especially!"
"Because..."
Sybil held up the dress, and pulled apart the skirt.
"Pants?"
"Yes," Sybil said, giggling. "Aren't they beautiful?"
Anna pulled off Sybil's dress. "They are, but they might also give Lord Grantham a heart attack..."
"I think it's worth it for Granny's face," Sybil replied, as she stepped into the culottes and grinned. "Besides, who's to say men can wear pants and women can't?"
"You're brave, Lady Sybil," Anna said, smiling. "But should I have someone ready to go for Clarkson just in case?"
Sybil laughed and finished dressing.
She descended the stairs slowly, keeping a lookout for any servants, especially Carson, who would be so shocked that he would probably faint. The drawing room was right in front of her. Sybil took a deep breath and opened the door, striding in with a confident, "Hello, everyone," and a big grin on her face.
The reactions were mixed, to say the least. Her eyes immediately went to her grandmother, who looked like she was about to collapse. Her father's eyes were flaring, her mother's confused. Edith looked a little bit disgusted but also a little bit proud, and Anthony simply had a confused air. Mary's face was scornful, but Sybil could detect a little bit of jealously in her eyes. Isobel was surprised, but approving. She finally locked eyes with Matthew, who was grinning supportively.
She went to take her seat when a familiar face in the window caught her eye. It was Branson, the chauffeur, looking in the window and gaping, but not without a smile. She was unwilling to give him away, but she did not know what to make of it.
She had only been in the garage a few times, but she liked the atmosphere. She always envied those who could work in something that they liked. And the garage that Tom Branson worked in was not just about cars. There were books everywhere, and papers with scribbled writings on them that had nothing to do with mechanics. And she found that endearing. His life was not all about driving other people around.
"Hello..." she said hesitantly.
Tom turned around and stared at her, wide eyed. "Lady Sybil! You really should have just called for me if you wanted to go somewhere."
"No, I didn't. I wanted to talk to you, actually."
"Somehow I don't think this conversation is going to end well..."
Sybil put a hand on her hip. "Look, I'm just a little bit concerned about why you were looking in at me in the window..."
His eyes widened even more. "I heard you talking about your frock... I couldn't resist seeing your family's reaction."
"But you find it appropriate to spy on me?"
"No, of course not. But I am interested in you, if that's not so wrong to say..."
Sybil shook her head. "It would be very wrong if you said it to my parents. Luckily, I'm a bit more understanding."
"You're beautiful, did you know that?"
"Plenty of suitors have told me so, but they want something out of it," Sybil replied cooly. She knew how to play this game.
Tom, however, did not. "Well I've nothing to gain by telling you that, except that I find myself wanting to get to know you better."
"My family certainly wouldn't approve..."
"Do you like me?"
"From what I know of you, yes. But I hardly know you."
Tom sighed. "And you hardly will be able to because of class separation."
"I'm sorry, I like you, and I think we could become good friends, especially is it wasn't for society, but Tom, I'm engaged."
He stepped back. "You called me Tom."
"That wasn't even the point of that sentence."
"Alright, so you're engaged. But is it so permanent as all that?"
Sybil nodded. "I'm actually engaged to Mr. Crawley... Breaking that off because the chauffeur called me pretty would set me against my family entirely."
"But you don't want to marry him?"
"No, it's not that. I like him very much, he's very kind. We're just not... we're not in love, not like I wanted to be with my husband."
Tom sighed. "But you're resigned to it?"
"Unless you have an offer that makes being turned against my family worth it," Sybil replied. "Please, I know you were hoping for something. And I wish, so much, that things were different. But I'm sorry to say this, but I'm not in love with you either. At least, not now. We hardly know each other."
"And I'm not rich and titled."
Sybil shook her head. "That's not what matters to me."
"Would you ever fall in love with me?"
"It depends. Make yourself worth turning against my family, and we'll see." She turned on her heel and began to leave, but stopped. "This doesn't mean we can't be friends. You and Mr. Crawley are the only sensible people to discuss politics with around here."
Tom sadly watched her leave the garage.
Thank you all for the support! I hope you enjoyed and please review! :D
