A/N: So I apologize for the mass updating that's going on. I want to get some of it out of the way before the weekend, and because I want to see how this goes over with the larger fanfic community.

Y'all have been incredibly supportive, and for that I am thankful.

Disclaimer: I don't own Downton Abbey.

Disclaimer Pt. 2: This chapter (chronologically) belongs after S2EP2, but contains references to events from S2EP5 and S2EP6, because reasons.

Enjoy~


May 1917

Mairead wasn't surprised to hear that Tom and Lady Sybil's affair had been found out by none other than Lady Mary. It was bound to happen sooner or later, and the Lord knew it would be much worse for the two lovers (specifically Tom) if they'd been discovered by O'Brien or Mr. Carson.

It was sure to be trouble if O'Brien found out, anyone could see that. Even keeping to herself hadn't spared Mairead from the wrath of the lady's maid, though she had the good luck of escaping with no more than a scolding, and not a sacking. Mairead didn't believe in people who were completely, one-hundred-percent evil, but she found herself questioning that belief as she spent more time in the servants' hall doing Lady Sybil's mending while O'Brien worked on Her Ladyship's garments, her eyes darting to the young Irishwoman, as if the transition between housemaid and revolutionary could happen in a trice.

The older woman smelled like tobacco smoke layered over diluted perfume, and the desire she seemed to have, to want to have every member of the staff who posed a threat to her or her nephew (who was actually quite decent, and it made Mairead wonder if O'Brien was just a black sheep) spend the rest of their days at Downton looking over their shoulder made her someone to be wary of. Every ounce of self-preservation that Mairead had acquired in her career as a housemaid screamed to be cautious around this woman. She was ambitious, that was for certain, but her ambition was dangerous, seeing as there was nothing the lady's maid would stop at to achieve her ends.

If O'Brien found out, only the Lord knew what would happen. Mairead assumed that she'd tell Her Ladyship, who would then tell His Lordship, who would then tell Mr. Carson to sack Tom and that would be that. Sybil would be devastated (Mairead regretted admitting that she was starting to care for the woman Tom loved, if only slightly), and Mairead had the feeling that the lady would make good on her promise to run away with Tom, something she knew His Lordship wouldn't stand for.

Carson finding out only meant a quick, probably unexplained sacking of the chauffeur, and perhaps a mention of the affair to His Lordship. That was the kind of man the butler struck her to be, the kind who dealt with the source of the problem in a way that drew little to no attention to it. It kept the house running smoothly, that Mairead wouldn't deny, and she couldn't complain if she was still making a decent sum with no unpleasant expectations of her.

She wondered if Anna suspected anything, especially after finding the note addressed to Sybil begging forgiveness for an action that Tom never went through with (and thank God for that!). To be honest, Mairead wasn't sure where her opinion on the head housemaid stood, whether she could be trusted or not. She wasn't as irritable as O'Brien, which was always something to be thankful for, but instinct told Mairead that the amount of kindness Anna was capable of displaying was meant to make harsh remarks sting even more. No one could be that nice, not without having something to hide at least.

It amused Mairead, how in her previous post she'd known figures similar to many of the staff of Downton. Her mother, though easily younger by decades, was a female reflection of Mr. Carson, her fading brown hair done up in a knot that was purely functional, her stern, always-level voice compensating for the lack of authority usually commanded by her lithe figure, and her way of executing every task with deadly precision. The butler of Downton and the housekeeper of the Downing family differed in that he was more Duncan than Lady Macbeth, which was how Mairead saw it after reading Macbeth (it'd been a gift from Sam and IsibĂ el for Christmas a few years ago, along with her brother's copies of The Taming of the Shrew and As You Will). O'Brien was a close match to Mrs. Peters, who'd been lady's maid to Mrs. Downing when Mairead left, and known co-conspirator with Mr. Downing's valet. Anna's kindness could be found in memories of Kate, the dark-haired kitchen maid who was somehow able to soothe even the most violent tempers (the scullery maid used to remark on how Kate could probably convince the unicorns to come back to England, which was a silly notion, given that unicorns probably didn't exist in the first place).

"Mairead, Mr. Branson asked me to give this to you," Mrs. Hughes said, presenting the housemaid with a plain envelope that had her name written in her cousin's neat handwriting on the back.

"Thank you Mrs. Hughes," came her reply as she took the envelope, opening it with her thumbnail (a crude method, but it was rather efficient, so Mairead could hardly complain). She wondered what her cousin had to say, that he couldn't say it to her straight-on.

The housekeeper nodded. "You're very welcome," she said. "Now don't be long- the gong'll ring any minute now."

The gong.

Only recently had Mairead had to "heed the gong," as Alice put it, seeing as Lady Sybil had asked for Mairead to train as a lady's maid, which Anna had agreed to, saying it would be a good experience for the third housemaid. Of course, this served as a cover, allowing Mairead to be the (somewhat reluctant) go-between for her cousin and the youngest Crawley sister. She had no intention of progressing beyond being a housemaid, but it was nice, she supposed, to have a chance to prepare for the inevitable day when she would be head housemaid. It would come eventually, that day when she sat in Anna's place at the servants' table, but for now she was stuck with O'Brien's nephew on one side and Lucy on the other. By the time that day came, all the Crawley sisters would be married, and there'd be no point in having a lady's maid's skills, unless O'Brien took ill or left.

"Of course." Mairead turned her attention to the letter, her eyes darting along the page, hoping to finish it before anyone else came in to disrupt her.

Mairead-

Please tell Lady Sybil not to come down to the garage for a while. It's too risky, and I don't dare show myself up at the house for some time either. I think it will be better for the both of us, at least until we can get it sorted out.

Thank you,

Tom

She folded the letter and slipped it into her apron pocket, making sure it wasn't going to fall out between now and the upstairs dinner. There was too great of a risk of Tom and Sybil's affair being exposed if the wrong person (meaning everyone but Mairead, Sybil, and Tom) happened upon it, not to mention she was at risk of being sacked for acting as a go-between. She could picture Mr. Carson now, reprimanding her "for encouraging and enabling scandalous activities," and it didn't make her laugh, as it might one of the other maids. She knew he'd be right, that she was doing just that, and it would all fall on her head.

As she climbed the servants' staircase to Lady Sybil's dressing room, she rehearsed her cousin's message in her head, hoping that the lady would take it to heart and exercise caution in regard to her affair. She knocked on Sybil's door softly, taking half a step back out of caution.

"Come in," the youngest Crawley sister said, and Mairead obeyed, opening the door just wide enough for her to slip through before easing it shut. "Oh Mairead, it's you! Any word from Tom?"

"Yes m'lady," Mairead answered, setting to work with helping Lady Sybil change into her dress for dinner, deftly handling the delicate fabric, as if she'd been brought up to manage the wardrobe of a lady such as Lady Sybil.

A smile spread across her face, and the room seemed to brighten (Look at you, Mairead thought. You're not even in love with her-and thank Heaven for that!- and you're seeing it all the same way as Tom. Silly lass.). "What does he have to say?"

Mairead took a breath, steadying herself and preparing her words. "He thinks you should stay away from the garage for some time, m'lady. Now that Lady Mary knows, he thinks it would be best if-"

"If he loves me, he'll brave whatever happens as a result," the lady interrupted, glancing over her shoulder at Mairead, watching as the housemaid did up the back of her dress. "He knows I'd risk so-called ruin for him, so why won't he risk the same for me?"

"Because it's different for us, m'lady." The words came out laced with more venom than intended, and Mairead could see the shock in Lady Sybil's dark eyes. "For us, this is how we make our way in the world."

"Certainly there are other ways," came Sybil's response. She was clearly trying to recover from Mairead's words, trying to be insightful, but all Mairead heard was the unawareness that the upper class had of anything other than dinner parties and balls.

"There are," she countered. "But they're by no means as reliable, nor are they guaranteed to be as safe as life in service." Best to try and soothe the wound, she thought, going to retrieve the necklace and earrings that went with the gown, leaving Sybil to seat herself at the vanity.

"Where did you work before Downton, then?" The lady seemed to have recovered from the brief spat, perhaps realizing that the world her maid belonged to was very different from her own.

There was only a moment's hesitation before Mairead answered, "Manchester, m'lady."

A look passed across the lady's features, one Mairead recognized as containing a hint of pity. But why? Was it the feigned pity of the upper class that they so often directed towards their staff or lessers, or was it genuine?

"So you worked in a factory then?"

"No m'lady." Mairead ran the soft brush through Lady Sybil's dark hair, smoothing out the curls and gently working through the small knots that came with having one's hair in the same position all day.

"Where then?"

"In the Downing household." She felt her heart quicken at the name of her previous employers, an unpleasant sort of quickening, like when you get unnecessarily frightened but are left with the adrenaline of it all in your blood for ages.

"I don't think I've ever heard the name," Sybil remarked. "When were they presented at court?"

"They're not peers, m'lady," came Mairead's reply. "Mr. Downing's father made a fortune in steel and iron, and the family's been in the business ever since."

Dark eyes lit up. "Industrialists then?"

"Yes, m'lady."

"Any children?"

His Lordship might be more upset if she married one of the Downing boys than if she married Tom, Mairead mused, coaxing Sybil's dark hair into an intricate chignon. She knew it wasn't true, that His Lordship would prefer the son of a wealthy industrialist to a chauffeur any day, especially since the Downing family had money.

"Two sons and a daughter, m'lady."

"I suppose the sons are serving now?"

"I don't know, m'lady." And I don't care.

"Mairead, you mustn't call me "m'lady" all the time," Sybil said, turning around to face the maid. "Soon Tom and I will be married, and it'll be just "Sybil," understand?"

Mairead gave the woman a quick nod. "Certainly, m'l-Sybil. Will that be all?"

A defeated sigh escaped the youngest Crawley sister's lips. "I suppose it shall. I can dress myself for bed tonight, Mairead, so don't wait up for me."


A/N: Mairead doesn't like Sybil much, does she? Well, we'll see I suppose, if she warms up to Sybil or not. And what about the Downings? What's the deal with them? I don't know. We'll see.

Until then, thank you for reading and please let me know what you think.

Thank you~