A/N Ooooh it's all happening now. The poop is definately going to hit the fan. However, that is still to come. This chapter is reasonably gentle as you would expect for a Sunday (please insert other day if appropriate.) no-one is going to leap out at you, and the cliff hanger is only a couple of inches from the ground with some nice fluffy pillows below it. My muse sits quietly rocking in the corner, all is well. (ish)

Thank you again for the amazing response to this story. I am overwhelmed. So for all your support, etc, etc, etc. Mwwwwhhhhhhaaaaa. X X

Enjoy x

She was amazed that she had gotten as far as the grounds really, before the tears started. The bench was a convenient stopping place. Sarah Smith sat, and they began to overflow. She buried her face in her hands as great sobs wracked her shoulders.

Strangely enough it had not been the scolding from Mr Carson. That great booming voice as he proclaimed how her time in service was very much at an end. Who would employ her now, how would she ever get references? She had questioned the integrity of the 'great' Lady Mary Crawley, and to Carson this was the most cardinal sin of all. Throughout his tirade she had stuck out her chin and looked him in the eye. He could not know about this Pamuk man. She was tempted to tell him, tempted to wipe the smug look from his face. Matthew Crawley deserved so much better. Perhaps she had lied about Richard Carlisle, but still, she was sure in her mind Lady Mary had been untrue. She could believe that her husband would forgive her, he was so good, yet it was so unfair to him. No, indeed, it was not the Butler's reprimand that had caused the tears. As Sarah left, her heart full of defiance, Mrs Hughes had caught up with her. The housekeeper had looked genuinely sad.

"I don't understand why you would do this to your mother."

That was all she had said. There was a kind of resignation in her tone, as though she were the injured party. It was more of a rebuke than the blustering butler could ever deliver.

Now the reality was staring her in the face. She would be dismissed, of that there was no doubt. How would she explain to a mother who had been in poor health and could barely afford to put food on the table? How would she tell her that the main source of her income was gone, and the blame could squarely be placed at her daughter's door? Moreover, the chances of Sarah finding a new position were minimal with no references. It was at this point the consequences of what she had done were finally clear.

The sobs continued. It was only after several minutes that she felt a presence, or rather a trio of presences. She looked up into the faces of the three children, all staring at her with a mixture of curiosity and concern.

"Why are you sad?" Michael asked. He had obviously been designated as the spokesperson of the group.

"Run along now." Sarah said. The tears still streaming down her face.

Lily-beth climbed onto the bench next to her and looked up into the maid's face. It was clear the children had no intention of going anywhere.

"Did you have to cut your hair?" Lily-beth asked. As far as she was concerned the only times she cried were so limited, she tried to equate to what could have upset the maid so.

"No." Sarah replied sharply.

"Did you get in trouble?" George asked, with similar reasoning.

Michael was still watching the girl; he had thoughtfully placed his thumb in his mouth.

Before Smith knew what she was doing she nodded.

"What did you do?" Lily-beth's eyes opened wide, it had never occurred to her before that an adult might be 'naughty'.

This was a difficult question. She could hardly tell the children that she was going to lose her job because she had basically called their mother a loose woman and that she had all kinds of lustful thoughts about their father.

"I said something very silly and now I will have to go home to my mother." She said.

Michael's eyes lit up. "Why are you crying if you get to be with your ma?" He said temporarily removing his thumb, before sticking it back in his mouth.

"Because my mum needs the money I make… Oh why am I even explaining this to a bunch of spoilt babies?" She said in exasperation.

"We're not babies!" George said fiercely, before remembering her tears. His little heart was touched. "I could ask Papa. He is very clever and kind. He always knows what to do when I get in trouble." George said.

Sarah shook her head. "I don't think even your Papa can save me from this one Master George." Not that he would even want to, she added quietly in her head.

A little hand firmly gripped Sarah's as Lily-beth climbed down from the bench and began to lead the maid towards their home. "You can stop crying." She said with the faith in her parents that only a four year old child can have. "Papa will make everything all right."

George took her other hand and for once agreed with his sister. "He will make it all better." They were not taking no for an answer.

For once the children's disobedience was paying dividends for Yvette Stevens. She had no doubt they would be hiding in the grounds of the Abbey somewhere, probably in the ruins which seemed to be their favourite place. Today she had deliberately brought them up to Downton. She had been distracted by design, and had forced herself to hide her smile as the three of them, true to nature, had crept away. Now she was, for all intents and purposes, forced to look for them.

She made her way up the stairs, asking each member of staff if they had seen the children. It was such a regular occurrence that none questioned her.

"You should keep them on a leash." Thomas had said acerbically as he passed her on his way down. She had merely smiled as said it was definitely becoming an option.

She walked along the upstairs corridor. Finally she came to the room she wanted. Glancing about, she turned the handle and slipped inside.

Nanny already knew that Lansdowne was in the library with Lady Edith, and Thomas was out of the way.

The gentleman's room was neat and tidy. She opened the bedside drawer, but there was nothing of note inside. The same could be said about the wardrobe. Whatever else Thomas might be, it was clear he took some pride in his job.

She was just about to search through the bureau, when a voice made her jump. She could not have closed the door fully behind her and now she cursed that mistake.

"Nanny Stevens. What are you doing?"

She turned to see Lord Grantham's valet, the husband of Lady Mary's insipid maid, he was looking at her suspiciously.

"Mr Bates." She said brightly, wondering how long he had been standing there. "Wouldn't you know, those children are missing… again? I thought they might be hiding up here."

"In Mr Lansdowne's wardrobe?" It was clear the valet did not think this was very likely.

"They seem to have a strange fascination for them. I sometimes worry that they will become frightened if they are mistakenly locked in." She said, trying to smile.

"Well I think you would probably be better employed looking for them outside. I believe I saw them from his Lordship's window running across the lawn." He said dryly.

"Oh thank goodness." Stevens said, with mock relief. "I should hurry down and catch them before they get into any more mischief."

Averting her eyes, she pushed passed Bates and hurried down the stairs. For his part, the valet looked around the bedroom, but seeing nothing amiss, went about his duties with a small frown on his face.

"All you need to do Mrs Branson is confess." The constable said for what must have been the fifteenth time.

"I am telling you. I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about." She replied clearly exasperated. It had been a very long interview. She was filthy, she was tired and more than a little afraid, but still she kept her composure.

The officer sighed and laid his hands on the table, fingers outstretched. The small room in the bowels of the station house was dark and damp. A single oil fired light did nothing to clear the gloom, neither did the tiny barred window which showed nothing more than the passing of the guard's feet every half an hour.

"You are the wife of a subversive. We know Thomas Branson has been writing about the rebels, has been campaigning against the treaty. We have witnesses that saw you in the street. The republicans have been quiet of late, and we know your husband was recently refused admittance to their ranks. What did the two of you decide, that you would set an explosion and show them what you could do?"

Sybil stared into the man's eyes defiantly. "That has got to be the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. I am a nurse Constable. My vocation is to save lives, not to take them. And Tom would never advocate the taking of innocent lives. That child… do you honestly think that I would take the life of a child? I have a son the same age, what mother… what father could do that?"

"You would be surprised what people will do in the name of a cause Mrs Branson, or do you prefer Lady Sybil?" He smiled as if he had shared some secret piece of information.

"My family connections are of no consequence here and they are also no secret, but you can call me Mrs Branson, that is my name. I would not be that surprised what man can do. I attended the victims of the Great War and the civil war, treated mangled limbs and broken bones. There is no way I could ever cause such injuries."

The R.U.C. officer raised his eyebrows. "I want to believe you Mrs Branson, I really do. But perhaps you could explain to me why your husband was arranging passage out of the territory for as soon as the bombing had been completed? You will of course be aware that we had been watching him since you first arrived?"

"If you have been watching us then you know that we had nothing to do with this atrocity!"

"We know that he was seen meeting with the Republicans, we know that he has been speaking to many people involved with guerrilla attacks, and we know that his wife was reported to be on the very street where a bomb went off injuring a great many loyal civilians. Are you trying to tell me that all of that is simply a string of co-incidences?"

"Yes. I am!"

The man sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "All right. Let us say I believe you." It was clear that he did not. "Perhaps you could tell us where your husband can be found."

Sybil opened her mouth and closed it again without speaking. She had automatically assumed that Tom was currently in the building, that he had also been arrested.

"You did not know that your lodgings were empty? That your husband appears to have disappeared from the face of the earth?" He asked.

She still did not speak.

"We can only assume that he has taken the passage he was arranging. But rest assured, no matter how clever he thinks he is we will find him."

"He has nothing to do with this, and neither do I!" Sybil said again.

The Constable shook his head sadly. "I admire your loyalty to your husband, I really do Mrs Branson, but I am afraid I do not believe in co-incidences. I have no doubt that both of you are mixed up in this, and it would appear that Thomas Branson has abandoned you to your fate."

"I believe I have a right to a solicitor before I answer any more of your questions." Sybil said with far more bravado than she felt.

"Of course. We can arrange for counsel for you."

She shook her head firmly. "I can make my own arrangements." She said raising her chin. "There are some advantages in family connections after all and I can assure you, you are going to be very sorry for your accusations."