Thanks again for the wonderful comments and reviews! You're really helping fuel my writing muse! Another "short" chapter, building up to the garden party, and the end of Volume I. But Volume II is on the horizon (which will be a part of this over-arching story) and I have been brainstorming ideas for my "missing years" companion piece. I'm open to suggestions if you have any, or what you would like to see when I start writing Volume II (which will be the events of the second season). For the time being, I hope you enjoy this journey into Sybil's mind!

Chapter Thirty-Six

July 24, 1914

She saw him! Gwen saw Mr. Bromidge, she had a proper interview and everything! Oh I can't stop smiling; I can barely sit still and write! It's going to happen, truly, I feel it, I really do!

I was so worried, after a week had passed and no word had been heard, but it was like kismet; he arrived to oversee the final installments for the telephone just as I was passing the library. I was on my way to the garage, needing to talk to Branson, needing to air my worries over the lack of response from Mr. Bromidge, for it had been plaguing my mind for several days. He's so good, Branson; how many times has he had to put up with my complaining? He never patronizes me, or rolls his eyes, he just listens and waits to share his thoughts when I'm finished venting, never once interrupting. Oh but I'm wandering off topic!

I couldn't be silent; I had to ask why we hadn't heard from him. And Mr. Bromidge told me the most extraordinary thing! That there was no "proof" that Gwen knew anything about hard work. I was momentarily flummoxed, and immediately corrected him. Perhaps I should have looked twice at Gwen's application? I hadn't realized she left out the fact that she currently serves as a housemaid. But I shouldn't judge too harshly; so many people have preconceived notions. I'm sure she assumed, as Mr. Bromidge had guessed, that he wouldn't be interested in hiring a housemaid to come and work in an office, thinking housemaids are too far beneath such positions. When I was in London and dared to mention to any of Aunt Rosamond's friends that I had an interest in politics, I was met with so many condescending smiles and titters of laughter that I began to feel utterly discouraged to share anything. But thankfully, Mr. Bromidge isn't that kind of person (meaning he's not snobbish about housemaids; I have no idea what his thoughts are when it comes to politics). He agreed to meet with Gwen right then and there, and I immediately set up the interview in the library, and then stood guard while the two of them spoke.

I can't help but giggle at Papa's look of annoyance when I more or less ordered him away. I was rather like a lioness, guarding her den. How tempting it was to put my head to the door, to try and catch what they were saying! But I didn't. And the interview wasn't that long, which in some respects should cause some worry, but…the look on Gwen's face when she exited the library; I saw what I hadn't seen in so long…a glimmer of hope. And Mr. Bromidge looked quite pleased as well! Yes, yes, I do think this will happen!

As soon as I was able, I ran to the garage and more or less burst through the door, causing poor Branson to jump and unfortunately bang his head on the bonnet lid of Papa's Renault. I felt awful about that, and probably spent the first twenty minutes of my time there apologizing. But Branson just laughed any pain away, and urged me to say whatever exciting news I had to say, so I did, I told him everything that had happened, about Gwen's interview and Mr. Bromidge's comment about housemaids and hard work…and then about how I just…how I just felt so positive, so sure, so…confident, that she's won the job. I know, as I've heard Mrs. Patmore say, I shouldn't count my chickens before they hatch, but…ooohhh I'm so excited! Right now, I just…I don't know, I just want to run! I want to go outside and run barefoot through the garden grass, I want to feel the wind whipping through my air, I just…I can't sit still! Sleep is impossible! I know that my skin is going to be crawling with excitement and anticipation over the next few days while we wait for an answer. Oh God, please let it be soon! I think I will go mad if I have to wait very long!

Oh, silly girl, this isn't about yourself—poor Gwen, I wonder what's going through her mind right now? I wonder if she's feeling the same confidence and excitement that I'm feeling? Or is she feeling doubt and dread? Oh I should have been more attentive tonight, when she was here. I should have asked after her, I should have asked for her opinion on how she felt the interview went and what sort of questions he had asked. Was it my imagination? No, no, I'm sure that was hope I had seen in her eyes! But she's been disappointed before, maybe Gwen was simply putting that look on for my benefit? Oh Lord, how selfish I'm being! Tomorrow, I will find her and hopefully have a chance to talk with her about these things—that is, of course, if I can pull her away from Mrs. Hughes.

Mrs. Hughes is working frantically in trying to get the annual Garden Party off and running. I always find it amusing how Mama is credited for the Garden Party…and yet Mrs. Hughes is the one who does a large bulk of the work. I'm sure Branson would have a cheeky comment to make, something along the lines of "typical; the working class do the work, but the upper class take the credit". I giggle now, thinking of him saying that, I know he would say it in such a way as to make me laugh…but now that I pause and think about it…it isn't remotely funny.

Mrs. Hughes should get the credit, or at the very least, she should get "proper" acknowledgement, meaning from the whole party, not just a private thank-you from my parents when the whole affair is over. I'm not saying that Mama doesn't do any work, after all, she's the one who organizes the list of whom to invite, she writes the invitations and sends them out, she selects the music that the quartet will play, and oversees the menu that will be served…but Mrs. Hughes orders the flowers and the food, hires the labor to come and set up the tents and canopies, makes sure that the musicians have the music they need, sees to all the table decorations, hands out jobs to all the staff, making sure everything is working like a well-oiled machine...no, I'm not saying that Mama doesn't do any work, I'm just saying that Mrs. Hughes does more! And she should receive proper credit for it.

All the staff are working extra hard right now, and not just because of the upcoming party. There is a buzz of excitement going on because of Mama's pregnancy. Branson told me how several of the kitchen maids think that they should sew something, like a pair of booties or a blanket. Apparently O'Brien scoffed at the idea. She's been acting funny lately, Mama's maid. A week ago she was hovering around Mama, being so attentive, ready to swoop in if Mama dared to bend over and pick something up off the floor. But I have noticed that she seems…colder, and more aloof, these past few days. No one would ever claim O'Brien as a warm and sentimental person, but Mama does adore her for some reason, and they do seem to have a friendship of sorts. Yet recently, O'Brien's care and attentiveness hasn't been as, well, as obvious as it was a week ago. And it may have simply been my imagination, but I thought I had noticed her looking at Mama with what I could only describe as…disdain.

Things seem to be progressing well for Edith and Sir Anthony! He has called upon her several times over the last few days, and had dinner with us last night. He announced that he was going to London in a day or two, but would be back in time for the garden party. I asked him, very politely, why he was going, and he simply looked across the table at Edith, who was blushing furiously, and said, with what can only be described as a knowing smile, that he had an "important errand to run". I held my tongue, but I couldn't help grinning in Edith's direction. Then I glanced over at Mary…and my smile fell instantly.

Oh Mary…she still hasn't given Matthew an answer. He has been absent these past few nights, even though Papa has invited him and Cousin Isobel to have dinner with us every day of this week. I think he's hoping more than anyone else, that Mary will say "yes", at last. I keep clinging to that hope too…and still find it so frustrating! But this is a frustration I can't vent to Branson; as much as I trust him to be discreet, I have no right airing my sister's secrets—they are not mine to share and tell. That doesn't mean, however, that I don't want to say something! I wonder what he would say?

I just realized that I know so little about Branson's past…or his present, for that matter! I know he has at least one brother, named Frank if memory serves, and several sisters, but how many, I'm not sure. He's mentioned his mother now and then, but never speaks of his father. Is he dead? Estranged? I don't know! He has a cousin, who is closer to him in age than his own brother, and who is also a chauffeur and serves a family in Devon. But that's it! I know more about Branson's political views than I do about his own upbringing! Oh, that's terrible. It is something I must correct right away…but would he tell me anything? I mean, I don't want to appear nosey; he does have a right to keep some things in private…

What would he keep in private?

Does Branson have a sweetheart? Is there a girl waiting for him, back in Ireland? Maybe the reason he came here was to earn enough money so that he could buy them a proper house before they marry. Or is there a girl here, on staff? I've never noticed him looking at any of the maids, but then I only really see him in the garage, or on drives. What goes on in the servant's hall? Does he flirt with any of the girls there? Do they flirt with him? Oh goodness…does Gwen like him? Does he like Gwen? The two of them are quite close—

Good gracious, listen to me! What on earth has come over me? Why am I even…?

Well, I…well…

Goodness, is that the time? I should best end this entry and try to get some sleep. All of my hopes and prayers to Gwen! And…well, there really isn't anything more to say, is there?

Oh there is plenty more to say... ;o) Thanks for reading!