Author's Note: Later that day.
Disclaimer: I'm not even a custodian, my dears, let alone an owner. These characters and their settings are the work of others. I hope I do not offend with my homage.
At the appointed hour, Branson picked Lady Mary up at the front of the house. Mr. Carson walked outside with her to help her into the car.
As she got into the motor, Lady Mary greeted the chauffeur. "Branson."
"Milady," he replied. "Have you decided on a destination?"
Lady Mary shot a glance at Carson before answering, "I'll direct you as we go."
'Meaning,' Branson thought, 'she doesn't want Mr. Carson to know. Interesting.'
Mr. Carson shut the car door, and the two young people drove off.
Their ostensible destination was Ripon, so Branson headed in that direction. The coming interview worried him. Lady Mary had always been decent to him; she had been more than kind after he took Lady Sybil to Ripon for the count: he did not want to fight with her.
They drove in silence, which was unusual. Normally, when Branson drove Lady Mary, she encouraged him to converse, asked about the news, or politics, or even happenings in the servants' hall. Not today.
About halfway to Ripon, Lady Mary directed him to a take a turnoff. He obeyed without comment. About a mile further down the road, she said, "Do you know where we're going now, Branson?"
"Yes, milady. To Haxby."
"Correct."
Branson wondered if she realized… "Milady, you know Haxby will be full of workmen?"
Lady Mary raised an eyebrow, even though the chauffeur was facing the road and couldn't see it.
"Have you been reading gothic romances, Branson? Did you think I was going to lure you to a secluded spot and murder you for attempting to elope with my sister? How would I get back afterwards? Walk?" she waited, but he had no answer. "I know what's at Haxby," she told him.
When they arrived at the great house, Lady Mary had Branson find the head workman to let him know that they were there to make notes so Lady Mary could order decorations and furnishings. The man assured him that Sir Richard Carlisle had told him to expect her.
When the two arrived in the huge empty library, Lady Mary spoke. "I want you to leave Downton," she said.
Branson sighed. He took a moment to consider what to say. "You told Lady Sybil to take her stand and refuse to budge, milady. That isn't your advice to me, as well?"
"No, it's not."
Her answer hurt him, even though there was no reason he should have expected her to say anything different. He knew he wasn't hiding it well when he heard the plaintive tone of his reply: "Why not?"
"You're the chauffeur," she said, as if it were obvious.
"What's so terrible about being a chauffeur, milady?" He smiled, an Irishman amused to be paraphrasing George Bernard Shaw. "'How could driving you degrade me, if it does not degrade you to be driven?'"
"You know what I mean."
"Not really… and anyway, I won't be the chauffeur anymore once his lordship finds out that Sybil and I are getting married… so what are your other objections? Are you afraid I don't love her?"
"No, I know you do."
That surprised him. "Then why are you telling me to—"
"Branson, for your lot, being in love is reason enough to get married; for our lot, it isn't."
Branson wanted Sybil to be part of his lot. "What else do we need?"
"A position in society… an establishment…"
"This?" Branson gestured at the huge room around them.
"Yes," she agreed, happy that she'd made him understand.
"This is an empty room, Mary." The Russells had taken their books with them when they left: the ornate floor-to-ceiling shelves were empty. Was a library still a library if it contained not a single book?
"Have I given you permission to use my name, Branson?"
"No, milady."
"Then don't."
He was only surprised she hadn't told him to remember his place. He tried to think of a way to get through to her. He sent a quick prayer to the Blessed Virgin to soften the heart of her namesake. "Milady," he said carefully, "if Mr. Crawley had offered for you, even if he'd had no position except that of country solicitor, would you have refused him?" Please let her answer truthfully, and not be offended.
Lady Mary stared at him. She opened her mouth to tell him he was impertinent, that who she married was none of his business—but wasn't she telling him who to marry, or not marry? She had not attempted to do so with Sybil. She said, "I did refuse Mr. Crawley when he had no position to offer me."
Branson was shocked to his core, and looked it. Lady Mary turned away from him and wandered over to the window to look at the overgrown park outside. She didn't care what he thought.
She heard his voice. "Red velvet, yes, milady, how many yards shall I put?" She turned around. Branson stood looking at her attentively, memorandum book in hand, pencil poised to note what she wanted. The head workman stood in the doorway.
The workman said, "I thought I'd let you know we've finished the drawing room and music room, milady, if you want to see those as well."
"Yes, thank you," Lady Mary told him coolly. The man left them alone again. Branson went to the door and looked out to make sure he'd really gone, then returned to where Lady Mary stood near the window.
"So position is the most important thing, milady?"
She nodded.
He hated to say this, but she had just told him the truth about herself, so—"I think Lady Sybil is marrying me for my position."
"What?"
"When she… accepted me, she didn't say she loved me, milady. She said she was ready to travel, and I was her ticket to get away from that house and that life. She wants to work. She wants to be with someone who is fine with her having a job."
Lady Mary looked confused. "She hasn't told you she loves you?"
"She has now," he admitted, "but she didn't before we eloped."
"Yet you still ran off with her?"
"I love her," he said simply.
"Look, Branson, even if she thinks now that it would be charming and romantic to be poor—"
"I don't think—"
"—it doesn't mean she will always want that. She won't want to be cut off from her family. Sometimes she'll want to visit her old life."
"There's no reason she can't do that unless you refuse to let her. Are you going to cut her off?"
"You know I'm not."
"Well, then." Branson hoped they were finished.
They weren't. "It isn't right, what you're doing," Lady Mary said.
"What isn't right?" the chauffeur asked. He'd missed something, apparently.
"Continuing to work for my father while hiding from him that you're engaged to his daughter… I thought Sybil said she didn't like deceit."
Branson blushed to his hairline. He looked at the floor. Lady Mary studied him attentively. Perhaps she had him.
The chauffeur stared at the bare floorboards of the barren, deserted former library for a long time. It chilled him to see the room devoid of the books that would give it life. He thought of the library at Downton, its warmth, its comfort… its master, who had given him permission to borrow books from almost the moment he had entered the house. He was indebted to Lord Grantham for all the kindness he'd shown him over the years, and to Lady Mary as well. He thought again of the message Lady Mary had sent him the night of the count in Ripon.
Branson look up at her. He swallowed, and moistened his lips, and said, "I'll go and ask his permission."
"What?!"
"You're right, it is deceitful. I'll go and ask his lordship's permission to marry Lady Sybil."
Lady Mary looked like she thought he was insane. "When?"
"We can go now."
"You and Lady Sybil?"
"You and me."
"Right now?"
"Yes."
"He won't give permission."
"I know."
"He'll make you leave Downton."
"You said that was what you wanted."
Lady Mary considered her prospective brother-in-law and his offer thoughtfully. He looked chilled and upset. Why was he making this offer? "There's no need for you to do that, you could just give notice, then you could even have a ref—" she stopped. Her face became as angry as he'd ever seen her look. "You're not offering to sacrifice yourself at all! You've made arrangements with Sybil for the two of you to leave together if Papa finds out, haven't you?"
"Yes," he confirmed.
"How dare you—"
"It would be a sacrifice, milady."
Lady Mary looked at him like she didn't believe it.
"You and Edith were right. Eloping wasn't a good idea. We weren't ready to leave, and we aren't ready now. If we left today, neither of us would have a job, and we'd have nowhere to live. I have a little money saved, and so does Sybil, but it won't last long. It would be better if we could stay at Downton while we make preparations. We'd prefer your parents didn't find out until we're ready to leave again. We know it's deceitful, we're sorry, but we couldn't think of another way. Can you?"
Lady Mary loosed a sigh. "It isn't appropriate for you to ask permission when you intend to get married whether he gives permission or not."
Branson waited.
"When you're ready to leave, you and Lady Sybil should announce your engagement… you might want to tell the whole family at the same time, if you can manage it."
Branson nodded. "Thank you, milady."
"I hope so," she said.
