Chapter Nine

"Ah! Mr. Branson, would you care to join us for a cup of tea before you retire?"

Branson had just entered the kitchen to see if Mr. Carson had discarded the servant's paper, hoping to get a chance to read it before it was tossed in the rubbish heap. Mrs. Hughes was just lifting the kettle off the stove when she spotted him coming in. Branson looked around the table; Anna, the head house maid, and Mr. Bates, the Earl's valet were there, as well as the two footmen he had written his cousin about. O'Brien, the stingy and unfriendly maid to her Ladyship, rose from her seat at Mrs. Hughes' invitation.

"Something wrong, Miss O'Brien?" Mrs. Hughes asked crisply.

"Fancy a smoke, that's all," O'Brien grumbled, before turning and leaving the kitchen. Thomas, the footman that reminded Branson of a snake, also rose and followed her.

"Good riddance," William, the younger footman, muttered under his breath. Mrs. Hughes gave him a sharp look, but didn't say anything.

Branson suppressed his own smile, before thanking the housekeeper and settling himself down at the table. "Long day," he sighed.

"Indeed, it has been," Mrs. Hughes replied, pouring the hot water into the tea pot. "Milk and sugar, Mr. Branson?"

"Milk only, thank you."

Mrs. Hughes proceeded to prepare Branson's cup, while Daisy scampered into the room, her face alight and beaming, but her smile quickly disappearing at the realization that someone she had come looking for, was no longer there. "Ah Daisy, would care for a cup of tea?" Mrs. Hughes asked, while handing Branson his cup.

Daisy nibbled on her bottom lip, and looked down the corridor. "Will Thomas be coming back, do you think?"

Both Anna and Bates let out a soft sigh that seemed to have a hint of exasperation to it. Branson wondered what it was that the young kitchen maid saw in the slimy git. He barely knew Thomas, but he knew enough to know that the footman was trouble, especially considering that his closest ally was Miss O'Brien.

"I don't know, Daisy, he went outside to have a smoke," the housekeeper muttered, clearly feeling the same exasperation that was shared between Anna and Bates. "Why don't you sit down and rest your feet and have a cup of tea?"

The poor girl looked confused, torn between wanting to sit down and join them before Mrs. Patmore noticed she had gone missing, and wanting to find Thomas so she could continue her unhealthy worship of him. With one last strained look down the corridor, she reluctantly sat down.

Poor William looked even more miserable than he had when Branson first saw him at the table. "Think I'll go up—" he began to rise, but Mrs. Hughes put a firm hand on his shoulder and gave him an even sterner look, which soon had William sitting back in his chair.

"So Mr. Branson," Mrs. Hughes said cheerfully, attempting to raise spirits once more. "Tell me, how are you settling in now, after your first week at Downton?"

"Very well, thank you," he answered honestly, returning the housekeeper's smile to everyone at the table. "I appreciate the kindness you have all shared with me, in adjusting to life here."

Daisy finally turned her attention from the corridor and looked at him. "Where were you before?" She quickly added, "If you don't mind me asking," after Mrs. Hughes gave her a sharp look.

Branson smiled. "Ireland—Dublin, to be exact."

"Is that home?" Anna asked, before taking a sip of her tea.

"Aye," he answered, smiling at Daisy's giggle over his brogue. "My family has a small farm just outside of Dublin. My Mother can't abide city life; says it's all the bluster and bustle, especially now with everyone driving cars. I don't mind it so much though; when a neighboring farmer got a car, I begged him to teach me how to drive in exchange for free labor during the plowing season. I remember going to bed every night, aching all over from a long day's work, but it was worth it." His chuckle over the memory was joined by the others.

"So you always wanted to be a chauffeur?" William asked.

Branson shook his head. "No, I wouldn't say that. But I don't mind it—it suits me, at least for now."

"You sound just like Gwen," Anna murmured, a quick blush coloring her cheek at the realization of what she had said.

Branson's brow furrowed with confusion. He wanted to ask what she meant, but Daisy jumped in with her own question. "Where is Gwen? I didn't see her at supper."

"She's not feeling well," Anna said simply, before taking another sip, and hiding her face behind her cup.

"What's wrong—"

"Leave it be, Daisy," Mrs. Hughes sighed.

A slightly awkward silence fell across the table then, but thankfully Mr. Bates was able to rescue everyone by a quick change of subject. "I understand that Lady Sybil made quite an 'impression' at dinner tonight."

Anna's face lit up with a proud, glowing smile. "She was so excited. I only wish I could have been there when she walked into the room."

"Why, what did she do?" Daisy asked, her curiosity clearly piqued.

William seemed pleased to be the one to tell Daisy, since he had been upstairs in the dining room and had seen it all. "She came into dinner wearing trousers!"

"William!" Mrs. Hughes hissed.

Daisy's jaw dropped and her eyes widened. "Go on; you're teasing me, surely?"

William ignored the stern look Mrs. Hughes was sending his way, his grin growing at Daisy's surprise. "It's true! Everyone was stunned into silence, even her Ladyship, the Dowager Countess!"

"That's enough, William," Mrs. Hughes declared with some finality. "There will be no more talk about Lady Sybil and her frock."

Mr. Carson entered the kitchen then, and they all rose like soldiers greeting their general. "Well you lot are still up, I see. It's quite late."

"We were just having a cup of tea," Anna explained. "We'll be retiring soon."

Carson nodded his head in approval, before turning his attention to Mrs. Hughes and asking to speak with her in private; all Branson could hear was it had something to do with the wine ledger. As soon as the butler and housekeeper were gone, Daisy immediately turned to Anna, her voice hushed as she asked, "So Lady Sybil came down to dinner, dressed like his Lordship?"

Anna couldn't help herself, and immediately burst out laughing at Daisy's question. Even Branson couldn't help but chuckle at the kitchen maid's misunderstanding of William's description of Lady Sybil in "trousers". "No silly," Anna giggled. "Not like a proper gentleman's suit, but…oh how to describe it—like a dress, only instead of a flowing skirt, there are trouser legs."

Poor Daisy still looked confused. "You mean there's a skirt over the trousers?"

"No, no, there's no skirt over the trousers, simply that the material flows like that of a skirt…" her voice faded as she realized she still wasn't helping the kitchen maid understand. "Oh if only I had a picture, you could see what I mean—"

"Harem pants."

Everyone fell silent and turned to Branson, whose eyes were focused on the last bit of tea at the bottom of his cup.

"Hair-im pants?" Daisy asked.

Branson sighed and looked up from his tea. "Have you ever heard of the 'Arabian Nights', Daisy? Did anyone ever tell you the story about Aladdin or Ali Baba?"

A sudden realization washed over Daisy. "I think I once heard Mrs. Patmore say that name, when talking about sesame seeds. She also said something about genies and magic carpets, like out of a fairy tale. Oh! You mean Lady Sybil looked like a princess from one of those stories?"

Branson couldn't have put it better. "Exactly."

Daisy was beaming, so happy that she finally understood what William and Anna had been talking about. Her happiness was short-lived, however, when Mrs. Patmore's shrill voice echoed around the kitchen, demanding to know where in the name of everything holy she had disappeared to. Without another word, Daisy leapt to her feet and immediately ran in the direction of the booming voice, while the others winced in sympathy for the tirade of complaints they knew was coming her way.

Anna turned to Branson then, her expression filled with curiosity. "How did you know what Lady Sybil was wearing?"

Branson swallowed the sudden lump that had risen in his throat and he quickly downed the leftover contents from his teacup. "I…I was just passing the drawing room window on my way back from the garage, when I caught the sight of her, entering. That's all." He looked up and caught Bates' gaze; the valet knew as well as he that the windows facing the drawing room were nowhere near the garage. Thankfully, he didn't say anything, nor did Anna.

"Well, as Mr. Branson said, it has been a long day. Best we all get some rest before the next," Bates announced, rising from the table. William and Anna rose as well, bidding one another and Branson goodnight, before turning and heading up the stairs towards the servant quarters. "And I believe you wanted this, Mr. Branson?" Bates asked, holding out the servant's paper, the very thing that had brought Branson into the kitchen in the first place.

Branson smiled and thanked the valet, but before Bates released the paper, he caught hold of Branson's gaze and murmured in a low voice, "I'm sure she was a vision."

He felt all the color drain from his face at Bates' words, but the valet only smiled kindly, released his hold on the paper and without another word, turned and began making his slow ascent up the stairs.

A vision? That hadn't been the word that had first come to his mind upon seeing her enter the drawing room with a proud smile and cheeky air all about her. Giddy, girlish, mischievous, different—yes, perhaps that was the word that best described her above all others.

Lady Sybil was different; different from her sisters, different from any aristocratic lady he had ever seen, different even from any girl he had ever known. She had been beaming when she exited the dressmaker's shop earlier that day, hugging her parcel as if her life depended upon it. When he helped her into the car, she gave him a cheeky little grin, as if the two of them were partners to some hair-brained scheme. Her delight was catching, because all he could think about during the drive back to Downton was what design the seamstress had created for her. Her excitement radiated everywhere, and soon he too was eager to see how the others would respond upon whatever revelation lay within that parcel. It was almost like that day he drove her to Ripon by herself, and had given her those pamphlets.

Just as she cuddled her parcel, he remembered how she reverently held those pamphlets, as if he had given her the greatest treasure in the world. Any girl seemed to go mad over receiving a new frock, no matter what her social class. But how many treated a few pieces of paper as if they had been handed spun gold?

Indeed; Lady Sybil was different. And all the proof was there when she walked into that room, finally revealing the mysterious frock she had been beaming about.

He was glad he had decided to sneak around the other side of the house to catch a glimpse of her. It was a great risk, he knew; Mr. Carson would not approve at all, let alone his Lordship. Why in heavens name was the chauffeur skulking about? But thankfully no one did see him—but he did see her.

She waltzed into the room, looking smug and playful and making an obvious show of her legs in her blue harem pants. He half expected the Dowager Countess to have a fit of the vapors at the sight. The entire room seemed speechless, and all they could do was gape while she haughtily put her hands on her hips and tilted her head, clearly satisfied by the reactions she was receiving.

…And all he could do was grin—after he got over his own initial surprise, of course.

He had seen pictures in papers and magazines of women in such frocks, but never on another person, and never on someone like—

Well, needless to say, the frock, the design, everything…it all suited her perfectly.

He shut the door to his cottage and immediately slumped into his arm chair, the paper draped over his leg. Try as he might to concentrate on the printed words, he knew his mind would not be able to properly focus. Perhaps Mr. Bates was right to use that word: vision; because his head was still reeling with vision after vision of Lady Sybil…giddy, girlish, mischievous Lady Sybil…twirling about in her harem pants, standing and smiling proudly…because she was different.

The thought brought a proud smile to his face, and a swell to his heart. Surely that was from pride as well…


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