Chapter Seven

They were fighting again. But it was what her sisters were good at. Sybil bit her lip to keep from smiling at the thought. If only Mary and Edith put as much energy and effort into the fight for women's rights as they did to their own foolish squabbles—women would have had the vote six years ago.

They were in the car, on their way to Ripon for the final fitting before she could whisk her new frock home. Sybil couldn't help but grin at the thought, which surprisingly caught Edith's attention.

"Something amusing?"

"No," she lied.

Edith rolled her eyes, and without so much as a breath, picked right up where she and Mary had left off.

Sybil rolled her own eyes, and quickly caught the reflection of another pair of eyes, twinkling with amusement from behind the steering wheel. Sybil covered her grin with her hand, but kept her eyes locked with Branson's for a moment, whose eyes shared her mirth at the spectacle around them, before returning his attention to the road.

How silly her sisters could be. And how silly were the things that they argued over. Though she was the youngest, she always felt like the oldest child, sent in to serve as referee to their quarrels. When Papa had more or less announced to their family that Mary and Patrick were to be engaged, Edith looked truly heartbroken. Mary obviously didn't care for Patrick in the same way, but that didn't stop her from flaunting the engagement in front of Edith. Immediately a row began, and once again, though only fifteen, Sybil found herself in the uncomfortable role as peacekeeper. After Patrick's death, the same thing happened all over again; Mary snapped at Edith's wailing, while Edith condemned Mary for being heartless and showing no sympathy. And then, with the arrival of their cousin Matthew, their unending game of trying to humiliate and out-do the other only escalated further. Was this truly all they could think about?

How she wished she could have traveled to Ripon by herself. How she wished it were like the other day, when it was just her and Branson in the car. She enjoyed their brief chat on politics, and she was eager to discuss with him everything she had read in those pamphlets, but of course that would be completely out of the question with her sisters present. Mary was a little more sympathetic to her feelings on women's rights, but at the same time, both her sisters teased her for being "obsessed", as they put it. Besides, it wouldn't be so much the topic of conversation that they would disagree to, but who that conversation was with.

She recalled that earlier drive, how they drove past the cottages Matthew was overseeing in being repaired. Feeling a little bolder with this outspoken chauffeur, she chose to initiate the next conversation, and mentioned her cousin's name, and the project he was working on with the cottages. Branson nodded his head, and Sybil was able to see him smiling in the driver's mirror. He then complimented Matthew, calling his work both noble and progressive. Sybil beamed, as if she were the one receiving the compliment. This then began another conversation; apparently the other night, while waiting to take her grandmother back to the Dowager House, he had been sitting in the kitchen with Mr. Bates who was going through her father's collars, and placing the old ones in the missionary barrel. He told her it struck him as amusing that anyone would think giving old collars to someone in need was a great act of charity. "I had said, 'I know it's meant to be kind, but I can think of better ways of helping the needy than sending stiff collars to the Equator'."

He suddenly paused, remembering that he was speaking about his employer with one of his employer's daughters. But Sybil wasn't offended by his words, not at all. She was fascinated by them! And she must have surprised him with her grin, because in truth, it was the first time anyone spoke to her as if she were an equal. Being referred to as "Lady Sybil" did get tiring. And she always thought of Anna and Gwen as dear friends, and when they were with her in her chamber, she felt they could speak freely with one another. But outside of her chamber, it was endless curtseying and very little speaking, and if there was any speaking, it was either, "yes, milady" or "no, milady", with the occasional, "I couldn't possibly say, milady".

She did hope Gwen would find a job as a secretary, for many reasons, but there was one particular, selfish reason—perhaps then, the two of them could speak to one another as friends, and not as mistress and servant.

With the possible exceptions of her cousins Isobel and Matthew…Branson was the only person who spoke to her and treated her like an equal.

Well, to a point. Like Anna and Gwen, he too was forced to put on a more formal persona when others were around…like now.

Sybil sighed and leaned her head against the side of the car, trying her best to drown out her sisters, and just focus on the sounds of the engine instead. Her eyes drifted once again to the driver's mirror, and once more, she caught Branson's kind eyes, looking back at her.

A soft smile curled at the corners of her mouth. Like magic, everything else seemed to disappear, save for a smiling pair of Irish eyes.