A POV scene that dares to ask, "what was Branson doing while Sybil and Gwen were sneaking out to Malton for Gwen's interview?" That was certainly the question on my mind while watching Episode 5. Ok, I confess, this was my favorite chapter to write (so far!), so I hope you enjoy it too! Please let me know what you think! THANKS!

Chapter Thirteen

He didn't like it. If truth be told, he hated it. But he also hated the fact that he could see her logic behind the scheme: stay behind; keep anyone from wondering where Lady Sybil and Gwen have disappeared to. Yes, it did make sense to have someone there to do those things…but why did it have to be him?

He had been in the garage, preparing to do some work on the engine of the Rolls-Royce, when he heard footsteps crunch on the gravel just outside. "Is it for me William? Does someone want the car—"

"No, actually, but I do need to speak to you urgently."

Branson nearly banged his head on the lid of the bonnet, rising so fast at the sound of Lady Sybil's voice. He was surprised to see her there. Normally William, or another lad from the house would come and fetch him if the car were needed; but she wasn't here for the car.

"Milady…" he looked around quickly to see if anyone could spy them talking, but it looked like the others were all busily working inside. "Is something the matter?"

"No, no, nothing like that," Lady Sybil reassured. Just as he had done, she also did a quick look around, before continuing in a hushed voice. "Gwen received a reply, to an office in Malton—she has an interview today at 10 o'clock!"

Branson felt his face light up with a smile at her words. He had really gotten into Lady Sybil's "scheme" so to speak, of helping Gwen find a job. When he wasn't busy with the cars, he would sit down and go through her collection of old papers, seeing if there was anything of interest in the advertisements. He had learned about the Malton position through one of last week's papers, one which Lady Sybil had confiscated from his Lordship's library when she was "convinced" he was finished with it.

"That doesn't give us much time," he declared, shutting the bonnet and reaching for his livery jacket.

"Oh no! No, you misunderstand," Lady Sybil whispered, before doing another look around to make sure no one could hear them. Branson stared at her, confused. "I won't be needing the car," she explained.

He was even more confused now. "But…how will—"

"I'm taking the governess cart; they're hitching Dragon up as we speak. Gwen is upstairs, hopefully in her room and getting ready by now; she's going to tell everyone that she's ill, which will provide the perfect excuse in getting her away for a few hours. I'll drive the cart—I've already told Papa that I'm visiting an elderly lady in Malton, which I will do while Gwen has her interview—and then we'll be back in time for tea, simple as that! Don't you think?"

He was speechless. He hadn't given Lady Sybil the proper credit when it came to plotting and scheming. "You're…you're driving a horse and cart to Malton?"

She nodded her head, her excitement over the whole plot lighting up her face. "What, you don't think the daughter of an Earl knows how to lead a horse?"

Branson attempted to smile at her joke, but his brow only furrowed further. "Are you sure…I mean, beggin' your pardon, milady, but…are you sure that's safe?"

Lady Sybil let out a rather unladylike groan, and folded her arms across her chest, her blue-gray eyes rolling ever so slightly. "Oh not you, too. I'm perfectly capable of driving a cart; I've done it before—"

"Beggin' your pardon, milady, but when was the last time you drove a horse and cart through Malton?" he interrupted. "I was there only a few days ago with his Lordship, and there were motorists who have more in common with maniacs than gentlemen—"

"Oh, you sound just like Papa," she grumbled.

Branson was a little taken aback by that, but he couldn't help but grin slightly. "Well, his Lordship has good sense. Why take a horse when I can—"

"Because I need you here!" she hissed, her face growing pink with exasperation. She looked around quickly, as if afraid someone had overheard her, but they were still alone.

In the short time he had gotten to know Lady Sybil Crawley, he had never seen her come close to losing her temper…or turn that particular shade of pink. His grin only widened, and he couldn't help but adopt a bit a smug pose, folding his arms across his chest and leaning back against the car, one ankle folded in front of the other. "Alright, I'm listening…"

Her eyes narrowed slightly at his stance, but she took a deep breath and lifted her chin ever so slightly, trying once more to appear haughty and in control. "It makes perfect sense to have someone here, someone who can, well…keep others from wondering where either Gwen or I have gone."

"Hmm…but how am I supposed to convince them that Gwen is in her room, when I'm not allowed anywhere near the maid's quarters? Or that I know about you driving the cart to Malton when theoretically, you and I have not had this conversation?"

Lady Sybil's mouth fell open, and Branson bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at the baffled expression on her face as she tried to think of a sharp retort.

"Well…you're clever, I'm sure you can think of something," she coolly replied, tilting her chin a hair higher than before. "Look…make fun all you want, but it does make sense to have someone here, someone who I can trust to keep things calm in case anyone becomes suspicious."

The swell Branson had felt in his chest all those nights ago when he had seen her in her harem frock, struck once again. The smug smile melted slightly to one of genuine tenderness. "Aye, at the very least, you can count on me for that."

The pink color of Lady Sybil's face only seemed to darken, and she quickly lowered her gaze, as if examining the straps of her shoes. "Good," she murmured, before clearing her throat and lifting her eyes once more. "I just wanted to let you know—so you would understand why—"

"Why I'm being abandoned here while you girls get to have all the fun."

Her eyes widened at his words, and she opened her mouth to protest, but quickly closed it when she saw the smirk spreading across his face once more. He couldn't help it, he had to tease her…at the very least to save them both from the somewhat awkward moment they had just found themselves in.

She made a gesture as if she was going to swat his folded arms, but it only earned her a deep chuckle from his chest. "You know, I was going to say I would miss you, but I don't think I will now," she huffed.

He sobered slightly at her words, although there was still a teasing air in his voice when he said, "you would miss me?"

Lady Sybil's face darkened even further, her eyes wide and her mouth open. "I…I mean…I meant Gwen and I would have missed…oh!" He couldn't help it, no matter how hard he tried; he couldn't help laughing at her flustered state. She let out a sound that could only be described as an outraged shriek, and then proceeded to throw her small fist at his chest, which only caused him to laugh harder as he attempted to duck from her oncoming attack. Despite herself, she was laughing too, and the both of them may have continued like this if a deep voice hadn't cleared his throat to get their attention.

"Milady?"

Both of them immediately froze, and the world around them came crashing back.

He had forgotten himself. Branson straightened his back and purposefully moved away from Lady Sybil, who had spun around to face Lynch, the Downton groom, who was standing in front of her and who had come to let her know that both Dragon and the cart were ready.

He opened the bonnet of the car once more and proceeded to act as if he had been tinkering with the engine this whole time, not daring to look up and meet Lynch's gaze. Lady Sybil muttered her thanks, and an awkward silence fell over the garage as the groom finally turned and slowly walked away.

The awkwardness didn't lessen even after the last of Lynch's footsteps could be heard.

"Well…I…I best be going," she finally managed to say. "Thank you for your understanding, Branson."

"You're welcome, milady," he replied, his eyes never once leaving the engine. There was another pause, before he finally began to hear the retreating sound of her footsteps upon the gravel drive. Only then did he lift his eyes to watch her retreating back.

He would keep his end of the bargain. He would do as she asked, even though he wasn't comfortable with the thought of her driving a horse and cart while others would be driving cars around her. But she was a fully capable woman, he continued to remind himself. Fully capable of taking care of herself…and leading a horse…and applying for secretarial positions…and diligently plotting an elaborate scheme to get a housemaid to a job interview in another village…

Was there anything she couldn't do? He was beginning to wonder…

The day passed slowly; too slowly in his opinion. Neither the Earl nor the Countess nor either Lady Mary or Lady Edith needed the car. He wasn't even summoned by her Ladyship, the Dowager Countess. He spent a large bulk of the day in the garage, working on the various cars, trying to keep his mind from wandering to a certain lady and her secret journey, but it eventually became impossible, especially when the afternoon hours crept by and there was still no sign of the horse and cart.

"…And then we'll be back in time for tea, simple as that! Don't you think?"

He should have forced her to walk inside the kitchen and throw endless pinches of salt over her shoulders for uttering those words. He did eventually wander into the kitchen himself, hoping to have something distract him from his growing anxiety, but instead he happened upon Mrs. Patmore, practically snapping at her Ladyship about whether or not to create a special dessert for an upcoming guest. Poor Daisy attempted to smooth things by volunteering to read the recipe to the old cook, but it only made the situation worse—for Daisy.

Bates and Anna were busy mending, William was polishing the silver, and frankly he didn't care to be around O'Brien or Thomas. He found himself once more in the garage, but after the third attempt at loosening the same bolt on one of the engines, he knew it was pointless.

Something had happened; even by way of horse and cart, it shouldn't have taken them this long to return. The sky was beginning to darken and he knew that the family would be preparing to have dinner soon—which also meant that if they hadn't noticed yet, they would surely realize that Lady Sybil wasn't back.

What was he going to say? She had asked him to keep everyone calm, to ease any suspicions, to keep them from wondering if her disappearance and Gwen's sudden illness were linked in any way, shape, or form. But how exactly was he supposed to do that? That was the one gaping hole in Lady Sybil's entire plot.

"Well…you're clever, I'm sure you can think of something." He shouldn't have teased her so, because she had given him far too much credit. Besides, how could he think of clever excuses when the whole time his mind was reeling with worry?

What if something had happened to Dragon? What if the cart got stuck in a ditch? What if they had been seized by thieves? His jaw tightened and his fists clenched at the very idea. Oh God, what if they had somehow been overturned, and were now lying trapped beneath the heavy thing and no one could hear them cry for help? He would never forgive himself; he shouldn't have listened to her, he should have insisted that she let him drive her and Gwen to Malton, why in heaven's name was he still standing there?

He grabbed his livery jacket and climbed into the Renault, not caring if someone looked outside and noticed him driving off without being summoned. He didn't care if he spent the entire night driving up and down every road between Downton and Malton, he couldn't sit there and wait any longer, he had to know they were alright; he wouldn't be able to rest until he knew she was safe.

He had just started the car and turned the headlights on, when two slovenly figures, suddenly illuminated by light, let out a soft shriek.

Branson couldn't believe his eyes. "Gwen? Milady?"

There they stood, the very women he had been about to go and search for…dripping in mud.

"Turn off the lights!" Lady Sybil hissed, her voice laced with impatience and exhaustion.

He didn't need to be told twice. He turned off the engine and leapt out of the car, rushing over and taking in the sloppy sight of them. "What in God's name happened?"

"Oh it was horrid," Gwen groaned, her voice slightly out of breath. "Dragon cast a shoe not too far outside of Malton; we couldn't find a smithy and had to walk back the whole way."

Branson's eyes kept flying back and forth between Gwen and Lady Sybil, the shock still apparent on his face every time he took in the sight of them. "And…how…?" he gestured to their mud-soaked attire.

"Dragon," Lady Sybil muttered. The way she said the horse's name reminded Branson of how one might refer to Satan, himself. "He and the cart are still down the hill; he stopped to eat some berries and to be quite honest, I was finished with leading him after that."

Gwen nodded her head. "No offense, milady, but I don't think I ever want to ride in another cart again, for as long as I live."

"The feeling is very mutual," Lady Sybil groaned, her hands reaching around to rub her lower back which clearly ached after their long journey back on foot. "You best get inside Gwen and get cleaned up before anyone sees you; hopefully they're all too busy preparing dinner to notice."

Gwen nodded her head and turned to go, but gave Lady Sybil one last smile, thanking her again for all her help, before rushing to slip inside the servant's door as fast as her mud-caked dress would allow.

A warm smile lit Lady Sybil's face as they watched Gwen disappear. "I think the interview went very well; she looked so confident when I met her outside!"

Branson turned his attention back to the mud-covered girl in front of him, the worry he had been feeling earlier drained completely, and now replaced by both wonder and humor at the present sight of her. Was it possible that she looked even more delightful now than all those weeks ago in her daring harem pants?

"What?" she asked, drawing him back from his thoughts. "Oh Lord, how ghastly I must look," she groaned. "I can only imagine Mama's shriek at the sight of me…and Papa's never-ending lecture on how I should have taken the car."

He tried to suppress his grin as much as possible, but it still managed to show. "Well, seeing as how you'll receive it from him, then there's no point in me doing the same."

She glared at him, before breaking into a smile of her own. "Thank you, Branson. That's very kind."

"You're quite welcome, milady," he said with a slightly mocking bow, to which she burst out laughing.

It had been a fair summer day, but the evening breeze did have a chill to it, and he noticed a slight shiver course through her body, no doubt made worse by her mud-soaked clothes. Without a second thought, he removed his jacket and placed it around her trembling shoulders, a gesture that caused them both to momentarily freeze in place.

"I…thank you," she murmured, pulling the jacket up a little tighter, her eyes immediately falling to her muddy shoes.

Branson said nothing; he simply nodded his head and took a step back. "You best be getting inside, milady, before anyone worries further about your absence."

"Oh dear," she moaned. "Did anyone ask? Do you think anyone suspects?"

He shook his head. "Until an hour ago none of the servants were saying anything, but even then no one seemed to put two and two between your absence and Gwen's illness."

"Well thank heaven for that," she sighed, relief flooding her voice.

He smiled and stuffed his hands inside his pockets, a casual gesture that he knew he or any servant should never do in front of a member of the house, but he didn't care. He was just glad that she had returned and, save for a layer of mud, was completely unharmed.

"Oh Lord!" she gasped, her face paling with horror. "I still need to tell Lynch about Dragon! He's still down the hill—"

"Don't worry about him, I'll take care of it," he reassured.

Lady Sybil nibbled her bottom lip, her face a mix of uncertainty and relief at perhaps not having to deal with the old horse any further. "Are you sure? You've already done so much—"

"Hardly," he laughed. "I've been sitting here all day, bored beyond all belief to be honest, wondering what's been happening, worried that the two of you were lying dead in a ditch somewhere—only to see you return covered in several layers of mud. Didn't I say you girls would have all the fun?"

"Oh yes, great fun indeed," she groaned sarcastically, before removing his jacket and thrusting it back into his laughing face. "You know, I don't feel so guilty now about leaving you to deal with Dragon." She emphasized her point by being most unladylike and poking her tongue out at him.

Branson made a gesture as if he were going to playfully grab her, to which she squealed and darted out from his grasp, giggling as she made a sprint towards the servant's door. "Go on then," he called. "Get cleaned up and put everyone's fears to rest."

She nodded her head, murmuring one last thank you and giving him one last smile, before darting inside and disappearing from view.

He stood there for a while, reflecting on the spot where she had stood, his hands in his pockets and his jacket draped through the loop one arm. Today was probably the most exciting day he had experienced in years, certainly the most exciting he had experienced since coming to Downton. If he had been told six months ago that not only would he be working in Yorkshire, but that he would also be involved in some hair-brained scheme concocted by the youngest daughter of his employer (the daughter of an Earl no less!) concerning an upstairs maid sneaking out in the middle of the day to attend a job interview to become a secretary…he would have thought that person to be an escapee from Bedlam! But here he was…doing just that…and now on his way to fetch a stubborn horse.

What would his Mother say if she could see him now? What would his cousin say? No doubt both their answers would contain the word "fool" multiple times. And maybe he was being a fool; maybe he shouldn't be letting himself get caught up in Lady Sybil's plots and schemes, maybe he should mind his own business and leave her to do the same.

But she was so infectious…so full of…of life!

How could any man not be drawn to that? How could any man resist?