Dear readers, it's going to be a bumpy ride!
I will post thoughts on this very long, very emotional chapter on tumbler (magfreak dot tumblr dot com) later this weekend. But for now enjoy. Please, please leave a review and let me know what you think.
"I want to marry Sybil."
"Sybil?"
Tom could see there was surprise in Robert's face—shock, rather. He'd expected that. And some anger, even. But there was something else. Confusion?
"Yes," Tom said quietly. Starting to feel nervous under Robert's stare. "Since our families became acquainted, she and I have become close . . . friends. Perhaps you've noticed we have similar interests—"
"So that's what this is about?"
Tom was taken aback by the interruption. "I'm sorry?"
"You're here to ask if you can marry Sybil?
No, it wasn't confusion, Tom realized now—or perhaps there had been confusion in Robert's tone a second ago. Now it was something else. It was skepticism.
"Does it surprise you that much?"
Robert realized that he was in the middle of a different conversation from the one he thought he'd walked into, and it threw him rather of kilter.
Had that not been the case, perhaps things might have unfolded differently.
One day earlier
Crossing the main hall on her way to the drawing room from the library not too long after breakfast, Edith saw Dr. Clarkson coming down the stairway. She stopped short, surprised to see him in the house so early in the morning.
"Good afternoon, Lady Edith," the doctor said, tipping his hat but not slowing down on his way out the door.
Edith watched him go and didn't proceed to her own destination until he was out of her sight.
When she made it to the drawing room, she found her sisters, Sybil with a book on her lap and Mary standing by the window. Inscrutable expressions on them both.
Edith had expected and hoped that on the family's return from London, the happy news of her engagement would launch the house into a celebratory mood that would last until her wedding day, a few months hence, marking her final days of residency at Downton as the best of her time there. She could be forgiven for believing that it was ever thus in her life: The moment she secured a modicum of happiness, something else would come along to upend it. Contrary to her own beliefs, however, Lady Edith Crawley was not born under an unlucky star. It would not prove to be true over the course of her entire life that her happiness always brought with it something to temper her joy.
But it was true in this case.
The announcement of her mother's pregnancy and the subsequent revelation that Matthew had proposed to Mary and then taken back that proposal in light of the pregnancy had thrown everything and everyone into disarray. Tomorrow was to be the day that Edith and Anthony would be feted in earnest for the first time since their engagement was announced, and it seemed that no one in the house save Edith herself was in any mood for celebrating.
"Was that Dr. Clarkson I heard coming down the stairs?" Mary asked, not looking at Edith as Edith came in and sat across from Sybil.
"Yes," Edith replied. After a beat, she asked, "Is it normal that he's been back twice this week? Mama and papa said that there was nothing amiss, despite her age, but . . . I suppose I can't help but worry."
Mary sighed. "I don't know. She barely left her bed yesterday, but it's only tiredness, according to papa."
"That's normal, isn't it?" Edith asked.
"It is, but the stress of everything is likely taking its toll," Sybil said. "Papa suggested last night whether we shouldn't postpone the garden party."
"I don't know what's stopping him," Mary said. "I say just cancel the thing and be done with it."
Edith felt her cheeks grow red. She didn't know whether Mary was goading her intentionally, but alas, she took the bait. "I suppose you would. No surprise."
"Pardon me?" Mary said.
"Something in this house is actually about me, for once, and you'd just as soon make like it wasn't happening."
Mary rolled her eyes. "Everything is about you, Edith, including, apparently, my concern over our mother's health. Let's do make sure nothing happens to mama or the child but only as long as it doesn't interfere with your schedule."
Edith snorted. "Oh, please, don't pretend you're worried about anything except what will happen to you now that Matthew has thrown you over. Ever since—"
"ENOUGH!"
Sybil's sudden outburst surprised both Edith and Mary, but before either could form words, Sybil stood up. "For heaven's sake why must it always be like this with the two of you! Why do you have to turn everything into a fight?! Why, Edith, must you insist that Mary's current attitude be only jealousy of you? Surely, you know what it's like to be disappointed. And you, Mary, why can't you just let Edith be happy? Yes, things are complicated at the moment and we're all worried about mama, but there's nothing wrong with her being happy. You have both always been so concerned with how selfish the other is that you're both barely able to care about anyone else! You know what my world revolves around? You two! For my entire life, I've had to arbitrate your ridiculous, meaningless rivalry. Do you know what? I'm done. I'm trying to do something with my life, so if you'll excuse me, I'm going to study!"
Now full of remorse over what had obviously been brazen selfishness on her part, Edith tried to run after Sybil, but Mary's stopped her.
"Let her go."
Edith turned back to Mary. "I'm sorry. I didn't want her to go off like that. Shouldn't we go see what's wrong?"
"She's worried," Mary said quietly, sitting down on the sofa, in the spot Sybil had just vacated. "About mama. About Tom too."
"Tom?"
"You know they meant to tell papa when we got back from London that they want to be married."
"Meant? Are they not going to now?"
"They haven't changed their minds, obviously, but I think Sybil wanted to do it at the party, and with everything with mama . . . She's afraid it won't end well."
"She doesn't want to give mama another reason to worry," Edith finished.
"You know Sybil. "
"But does it have to be a worry?"
"Can you predict how papa will respond? Especially now when so many things are up in the air?"
Edith shook her head. "Poor darling. It hadn't even occurred to me that she'd be worried about such a thing." Edith looked over at Mary only to see her roll her eyes. "Oh, don't give me that. I only meant that she and Tom are so clearly in love, it hadn't occurred to me that they'd meet with any real obstacles. Surely, papa will come around, even if he objects at first. Don't you think?"
"I don't know what I think," Mary said after a pause.
"But Tom's part of the family, in a way. He's Matthew's brother."
"But what happens if Matthew is no longer heir? What place would Tom have with us? It's not so clear cut, you see. Nothing is anymore."
"At least not until the child is born."
Mary sighed. "The child."
—-
"It's ironic, don't you think, O'Brien?"
The lady's maid fluffed Cora's pillow behind her, as Cora shifted back into a reclining position on her bed after Dr. Clarkson's examination of her. "Pardon me, milady?"
"So much time spent these past few weeks—these past few years, really—worrying about what's to become of my daughters and I turn out to be the architect of their unhappiness."
O'Brien stood back up and saw that Cora's eyes were full of unspilled tears. O'Brien had been with the Crawleys slightly more than ten years, which was quite a long time, but still not long enough to have seen Cora with child before. She wondered whether her previous pregnancies had made her this emotional. O'Brien knew that Cora, like any American, could be rather maudlin. But this was on another plane altogether.
Still, O'Brien was curious as to where all this introspection had taken Cora.
"I'm not sure what you mean, milady."
"Oh, don't you see! My darling Mary was going to be mistress of this house, and now she's not because of me and this baby. Edith, poor dear, is meant to be the center of attention during her engagement and all this family is focused on is this pregnancy. And, Sybil. Oh, Sybil!"
Cora looked up, locking eyes with O'Brien, which seemed to have stopped her rambling, as if she were about to make some sort of revelation and decided to hold back at the last minute. O'Brien couldn't help but wonder about what Cora could possibly say about Sybil that was a secret to O'Brien. It made her instantly curious.
"What about Lady Sybil," O'Brien prodded.
"Never mind. The point is I can't help but blame myself for how upset everyone seems lately. And I'm doing this poor child a disservice, too, by holding so pessimistic a frame of mind when I should be joyous."
"We all must deal with life's lumps as we come, even children."
Cora sighed. "Especially children."
"Would you like me to draw you a bath, milady?"
"No, the dowager countess said she would visit this morning. Best not make her wait."
As if on cue, there was a knock on Cora's bedroom door. O'Brien walked over to open it and saw Alfred on the other side.
"The dowager countess," he said, stepping aside for Violet to step forward.
"Thank you, Alfred," Violet said, walking all the way into the room. "O'Brien, some tea please."
The lady's maid saw that as her cue to leave, and she followed her nephew down the servant stairs.
"So, what did Dr. Clarkson say?" Violet asked as she sat down on the armchair in the corner of the room, near the head of the bed.
"He is still suggesting bed rest, but has relented on tomorrow. I'm to stay in a chair in the tent."
"Good. No sense in putting it off."
"Poor Edith," Cora said. "I feel like I've ruined her moment."
"Well, it's just the engagement party, not the wedding. But what of Robert? Did he go see Murray or didn't he?"
"He did, and it's all settled, at least for now. Murray will write the title of Downton Place over to Matthew as soon as he can find time to make the trip from London. The current tenants can stay as long as Matthew likes, and will be asked to resign the lease with Matthew's name."
"But isn't this all too hurried and premature," Violet said, a look of concern over her face. "What if it's not a boy? There can't be any guarantees."
"Robert is settled on the matter and won't budge, I'm afraid. He feels he owes it to Matthew to give him something meaningful to honor his investment in Downton, and I don't disagree."
"I suppose that's true," Violet said. "Still, it seems rather odd to me that they didn't wait."
"If it's a boy, he'll have it as compensation, and if it's not, then it's his to do as he pleases, anyway. It's his doing we're not living there any more."
"It's Tom's doing. He came up with the scheme that allowed for you to return before the farms were up and running again, and able to pay for the maintenance of this house."
"Matthew's fortune paid for the move and the modernization of the farms. I grant that Tom has helped but he wouldn't have done so were Matthew not the heir." Cora paused. "You're not saying we have to pay him something too, are you? I don't know that we could afford that, and the Tom I know wouldn't ask for anything."
"You're certainly right about that," Violet replied. "But I don't want his contribution to get lost."
Cora smiled. "You're quite the champion for Mr. Tom Branson."
Violet pursed her lips. "He's the only person in this family with any sense, and you know that as well as I do. And anyway, it will be Isobel who will point out that he should be given compensation. Robert should be prepared for that."
"What's left to give him, if Matthew takes Downton Place? I don't know what money there is to offer. Remember that Mary still has to be married, and even if Edith may not need a dowry, it would be wrong to send her off to Sir Anthony with nothing."
"Can Matthew be entreated to make his offer to Mary again? Even if he's not the heir and not what we'd hoped for her, it seems long past time that she settled."
"Settle for no house and no title?"
"I'm sorry to seem so callous, but honestly, beggars can't be choosers. Or is there a line of of dukes waiting for her that you're not telling me about?" Violet sighed. "Not breaking the entail hurt her chances. There's no denying that now. With Downton Place she'd have a respectable position and continued connection to the family so that the title of countess may yet be hers. What more can she ask from any offer at this point?"
"I don't know that Mary can be expected to take Matthew under these circumstances."
"She should. If she accepts him now, he'll be assured it wasn't about Downton and the title. And surely, he'll fall for her in earnest."
"Why, Violet. You really are a romantic underneath it all."
Violet looked taken aback, which caused Cora to laugh.
"I've been called many things, but never that."
"And if the baby is a boy or a better offer comes along?"
"Then Mary can change her mind. Heaven knows she does it daily."
"I don't know that she would want to. Believe it or not, I think she really loves him, more than even he realizes. The problem is Matthew. He's too honorable a person to let her make her commitment without know what she's accepting."
"What a predicament," Violet said, tapping her cane against the floor. "Doesn't he know I have no patience for honorable people?"
Cora laughed again, and as she did so, there was another gentle knock at the door. It was O'Brien again with the tea service Violet had requested. The two women remained quiet as O'Brien served them. It wasn't the sort of thing she normally did, but she had volunteered to bring it up to her ladyship's room because she knew doing so would pay dividends.
Having stood outside listening before she came in, she had procured several good pieces of information and it wouldn't be long before she put them to good use.
—-
Sybil hadn't meant to blow up at her sisters, but as the date of the garden party neared she was growing more nervous as to what would happen when she and Tom finally told her mother and father that they wanted to be married. Since the day Tom had officially proposed, the day of her ball, and now only a matter of a few weeks had gone by, but much had happened so far as the affairs of her family were concerned.
And nothing bigger than her mother's ill-timed pregnancy, setting up the potential disinheritance of Matthew, which in turn had flipped Mary's world upside down once again. Only the happy news of Edith's engagement had tempered all that upheaval. The news had come, however, at the expense of Mary's pride. And Sybil could tell that Edith was sore about the fact her own mother was stealing a bit of her thunder. She empathized with both Mary and Edith, but they were continually taking their muted frustrations out on each other, leaving Sybil to arbitrate their squabbles as always. The same part of her that empathized with her sisters for not being given the attention they sought also wanted them to acknowledge the challenges Sybil herself was facing as her future—both professional and romantic—loomed ahead.
It was at times like these that she missed Imogen and Gwen, either of whom would happily lend her a friendly ear for her to unburden herself. But as Sybil looked out the window from her room, after leaving her sisters agape in the library, she realized the person she most wanted to see in that moment was Tom. She knew that he was at the partnership now and that she would see him at dinner, but the wait seemed too long just then. So, determined, she dressed to go out and called the motor for a drive to Ripon.
Once there, outside the partnership's offices, she insisted to Pratt that he drive back home as she'd made other arrangements for her return despite his assurances that he didn't mind waiting. Once he was gone and out of sight, Sybil entered the office and asked at the reception if she could see Mr. Tom Branson.
The young woman stood from her desk and walked down the hall. Looking over the typewriter on the desk, Sybil smiled and thought of Gwen. Another moment later, the secretary was back and escorting Sybil down the corridor, where Tom was waiting, standing just outside of his office with a bright but surprised smile.
Once Sybil was inside and the door closed, Tom took both of her hands in his. "What are you doing here?"
"I don't know," Sybil said, walking into the circle of his arms. Just as he'd put his arms around her, she stepped back again suddenly. "Will someone come in and see me here, do you think?"
Tom smiled. "Not with the door closed—though I can lock it if it would make you feel better. The secretaries are a discreet lot. It's part and parcel of the work. And anyway, what happened to there's no more hiding for you and me?"
Sybil smiled and leaned into his embrace again. "Everyone's a bit on edge at home. I had to get away. Mary and Edith are driving me absolutely mad."
They pulled away from their hug and Tom led Sybil to the two chairs in front of his desk. Sybil sat down and Tom moved the second so that they were directly facing one another. Sybil smiled as he took her hands again. "It would be fair to say that my nerves are getting the better of me."
"You mean about tomorrow."
Sybil nodded. "Are you nervous?'
"Of course."
Sybil frowned. "You hardly seem nervous."
"Well, not now that you're here," he said grinning, "and it's just the two of us." He lifted up her hand and bent down to kiss it. "I do suppose I'm hiding it well. I know I tend to wear my feelings on my sleeve, but when it comes to certain things, well . . . I am good at internalizing if I have to. It's a lesson learned from mam. Don't let the enemy know you're scared, if you can help it. Not that I think of your father as the enemy. It's just an expression."
"Sometimes, I think I see him that way."
Tom chuckled and looked down for a moment. "Speaking of that . . ."
"What?"
"I wonder if it's not better if I speak to him alone tomorrow. I know we talked about approaching him together but—"
Sybil rolled her eyes and pulled her hands away from his, crossing her arms in a pout. "You think I'll pick a fight."
"I think he will pick a fight, and I'll be less easily baited into stepping into one if I'm alone."
"Two men having a conversation about the future of a woman who isn't in the room with them? If that's not a sign of our times, I don't know what is."
Tom rubbed his face in his hands. "You're absolutely right. It's ridiculous. I guess I really am nervous."
Sybil leaned forward and took his hands again. "No, it's not a bad idea. I have been known to be quite defensive in the face of my father. And to be honest, I'm having second thoughts about our plan too. Not about telling him. It's just that if feels as if there's so much up in the air about everything. If this pregnancy hadn't thrown a wrench into Matthew and Mary's plans and we weren't all worried about mama's health, it would be one thing."
"Do you want to wait until the baby is born?" Tom asked quietly.
"Do you?"
Tom shook his head.
"Then let's don't."
"I suppose circumstances could always be better," he said. "But then again, they could always be worse."
"I will soften the ground in the morning, after breakfast . . . gage his mood. And then we'll talk to him."
"Together."
"Together."
They stood up and held each other for a long moment. After pulling away, Sybil looked around for the first time. "I can't believe I've never actually seen where you work."
Tom laughed. "There really isn't much to see."
Indeed, the room was sparsely decorated. Two walls were covered wall-to-wall with books. Sybil walked over to inspect them.
"Common law and legal precedent are long and boring subjects, and take up a lot of space."
She laughed. "It feels very . . . you."
Tom laughed too. "If it really were mine and mine alone, I'm afraid it would be rather messier."
"I don't think so. I've no doubt your personal effects are not particularly tidy at Crawley House, but I know how seriously you take your work. I bet there is not one dossier out of place here."
Tom smiled bashfully. "Know me so well do you?"
"I think I do," Sybil said proudly. "In any case, I know myself, and I think the same would hold true for me."
"That doesn't bode well for our future household."
Sybil laughed. "I suppose not."
They looked at one another for a long moment. Sybil sighed and looked around one more time. "I best leave you to it."
"I never want you to leave, but if you must. Do you feel better, at least?"
Sybil stepped forward and gave him a small gentle kiss on the lips. "You always make me feel better."
—-
Later that day, as several of the servants were taking their luncheon, O'Brien was back below stairs. Cora had decided to stay in bed to conserve her energy for the garden party the next day, so O'Brien found herself in the servants hall with little to do, waiting for Alfred to appear.
He finally did, having come in from outside. He quickly walked to the livery room to change again, and O'Brien followed him there.
"Where have you been?"
Not having noticed her behind him, Alfred turned quickly in his spot in front of the wardrobe. "The village. Mrs. Patmore sent me to buy her spices again. She knows I like doing it."
O'Brien's hard expression didn't change. "Did you go see her?"
Alfred turned toward the wardrobe again and began sorting through the clothes to find his livery. "No."
"Are you lying to me?"
"Of course, I'm not!"
"Very well. See that you stick to your work and not tend to any distractions. This is a delicate time for the family, and you would do well to stand out as an exemplary footman."
"What do you mean by that?"
"You don't need to know everything, but if . . . certain things happen—"
"You mean if Mr. Matthew's no longer heir?"
"Sacrifices may have to be made."
The tenor of her voice was always rather stern, but she sounded more serious than usual to Alfred, who felt taken aback by her questioning. "Sacrifices? By whom?"
"Never mind," O'Brien said. "But if you don't want to find yourself looking for a job any time soon, mind your duties and do them well, and stop thinking about that fool girl."
Alfred stiffened. "If you want me to mind my duties, I need to get dressed!"
O'Brien looked her nephew up and down. Alfred had her sister's red hair and forgiving demeanor. He was well liked in the house. She knew that. Certainly, he didn't try Carson or Mrs. Hughes's patience the way she knew Thomas often did. Still, nobody could top Thomas for self-preservation. She'd told Thomas that if a new heir was born, the family might have to leave again, or at least pare down the staff. But from what she'd overheard between their ladyships was true—that his lordship was keep on compensating Matthew regardless of the outcome of the pregnancy and that Mr. Branson would need to be compensated as well—a shrunken staff might be the outcome regardless. Alfred was a good boy, but he wasn't ruthless, and sometimes that's what service required.
"Right then," she said to him, and walked back out.
Closing the door behind her, she spied two of the housemaids hovering around Mrs. Hughes's sitting room. They straightened up as soon as they saw O'Brien. She smirked at their postures.
"Get on with it, girls!" Mrs. Hughes said, appearing behind them.
"Mrs. Hughes, is it true that—"
"I said get on with it!" Mrs. Hughes cut in with a sharp look. The maids scurried away, leaving Mrs. Hughes alone in the hall with O'Brien. Mrs. Hughes expression didn't soften when she turned toward O'Brien and said, "Whatever goes on upstairs is none of your business Miss O'Brien and you'd do well to remember that spreading rumors is no way to serve your employer."
O'Brien rolled her eyes once Mrs. Hughes had turned away. Coming back into the servants hall, she now saw Thomas and Pratt finishing their meals at opposite ends of the table, Thomas cursorily looking over an old newspaper and Pratt with the usual blank expression O'Brien saw on him.
"Shouldn't you be in your cottage?" she said to him.
Pratt frowned, annoyed, and turned himself so he was facing the opposite direction.
"What was all that about?" Thomas asked O'Brien.
She turned to look at him. "There's worry that a new heir will require paying off not one, but two."
"Pay to compensate Mr. Branson?" Thomas replied, skeptical. "He didn't give the family any money."
"He's after something. What else could it be?"
"Hmm."
O'Brien and Thomas shot surprised looks at Pratt, who was looking back at them.
He smiled. "Pardon me," he said, and coughed several times to dissimulate that his reaction had been about anything they'd said. "Bit of a cold coming on."
"In July?" Thomas deadpanned.
Pratt stood and picked up his teacup and plate. "Good afternoon to you both."
Behind them, one of the bells started ringing, and O'Brien rolled her eyes when she saw that it was Cora's.
"What are you waiting for Miss O'Brien?" Mrs. Hughes said, materializing behind her once again. "And for heaven's sake stop with the gossip. We have enough to worry about down here without you stirring everyone up."
Without bothering to respond, O'Brien headed up the stairs.
"And don't you have duties to attend to, Thomas?"
Thomas stood up and picked up his own plate and cup and took them to the kitchen. Knowing he still had a few minutes before he had to go upstairs to pick up after the family's luncheon, he stepped outside to have a cigarette.
He had just lit it when he saw Pratt across the yard, just stepping inside the garage. Thomas glanced at the window quickly and without real thought to what he might say followed the chauffeur.
Pratt seemed surprised to see Thomas when the latter stepped into the garage, only a few seconds after he did. "Can I help you, Thomas?"
Thomas looked at the older man. It wouldn't do to ask him directly. "I suppose I'm too old to learn this trade, aren't I?"
"I wouldn't say anyone is too old," Pratt said, turning to Thomas.
The surprised look on Pratt's face told Thomas he had taken the right approach. "How is Joseph taking to his apprenticeship?"
"Well, enough. You're not ten years older than he is. Are you really interested?"
"No, not exactly. I don't really see much of a future in footmen's work. Certainly not the future my parents saw in it."
Pratt walked over to the motor closest to Thomas and regarded it. "It changes every year, this job. Just like the machines. Not quite as routine as indoor service."
"Well, the family may not need so many of us in the future."
Pratt looked at Thomas and walked back to his bench. "I wouldn't know anything about that, Thomas. I don't like gossip."
"I only meant . . . well, everyone is saying there may be war. I don't gossip about the family. Miss O'Brien never knows what she's talking about anyway. You likely know more about them than anyone, I reckon, being in the car with them all day . . . listening to their conversations."
"That's another thing you'd have to learn to do if you want the life of a chauffeur, Thomas. Learn not to listen—even when you can't help but hear. There's more I wish I hadn't heard than the opposite." Pratt chuckled to himself. "I'd erase Mr. Branson and Lady Sybil from my mind, if I could."
"Pardon?"
Pratt looked up again, realizing what he'd said he'd said aloud. "What?"
Thomas recognized his embarrassed expression immediately. "Did you say something?"
Pratt exhaled loudly in relief. "No—that is, Miss O'Brien's silly stories are not worth listening to. I doubt very much Mr. Branson has any interest in ruining the family."
Thomas smiled. "As regards Miss O'Brien, I quite agree."
"I should probably get to work, and so should you, Thomas."
Thomas nodded, and as he headed back across the yard to the servants hall and thought about what Pratt said, it occurred to him that while he may not have seen or heard as much as Pratt, Thomas had seen and heard enough of Tom Branson to agree that he wasn't interested in money. O'Brien—usually rather clever, Thomas thought—had let her prejudice against working class people muddle her. And knowing Lady Sybil as Thomas did, her liberalism, her constant chaffing under her parents' rules, her ability to lie easily, it was very clear now that there must be some attachment between them and it was that and not Mr. Branson's desire for money for services rendered that would bring turmoil to the family.
For surely, Thomas thought, not even the Crawleys would accept their daughter marrying a nobody, even one they liked so well as Tom Branson.
Thomas started to laugh—until he saw O'Brien just outside the door.
"What were you doing in the garage?"
"Shouldn't you be tending to her ladyship?"
"What were you doing in the garage?" O'Brien repeated.
"What's it to you?"
O'Brien seemed taken aback. "What did that old fool have to say?"
"That chauffeuring is a lucrative trade, and perhaps I should go into it if you're so convinced a footman is going to be dispensed with here."
O'Brien tried to read his face. He knew something she didn't, and he was trying to determine whether it served him to let her know. In truth, Thomas was remembering, once again, that he'd told himself he'd not exploit Lady Sybil, if he could help it. He cared not one whit about Mr. Branson, but Lady Sybil had been loyal and kind to him and he'd not betray her, of all people. Whatever it was that O'Brien thought she knew may or may not be true, but what Thomas knew had a greater chance of upsetting things among the family. He'd not let O'Brien use Lady Sybil in that way.
"Suit yourself," she said. "He doesn't know anything I don't."
Thomas smirked and moved to walk around her, when O'Brien grabbed his arm. "I'd watch yourself if you don't want to end up out of a job."
Thomas considered what could be known about himself. Losing his job was the least of his worries. "Then you best let me get to it." Yanking his arm out of her grasp, he pushed the door open and went inside. He hadn't realized it, but at some point she'd drawn a line in the sand. Just now, he'd refused to cross it.
-—
Thomas' exchange with O'Brien, on the heels of what he'd learned from Pratt, reminded him that he'd intended to look into other opportunities so he could jump ship quickly if the situation called for it. Having stirred the hornet's nest that was the ire of Sarah O'Brien, Thomas knew that he needed to get on this task and soon.
Later that same afternoon, not too long after the encounter, he snuck away to the village to send several letters of inquiry to friends. On his way out of the post office, he saw Dr. Clarkson across the road and walked over to him. It was done on impulse, but one that had been in the back of his mind for some time.
"Hello, Dr. Clarkson," he said, when he'd caught up to the man, who didn't look to be in a particular hurry.
"Hello, Thomas."
"I'm sorry to come up to you like this."
"No need to be sorry. Can I help you with something?"
"I was wondering, sir. I've been thinking for a while now, as it happens. Well . . . I get the feeling that a war's on the way."
"I'm afraid we all do."
"And when it comes, I want to be really useful to my country."
"How heartening," the doctor said, seeming genuinely impressed.
"So . . . so I've been thinking, what could be more useful than what you do? Bringing people back to health, back to life."
Dr. Clarkson nodded. "I see. Well, we are looking for volunteers to train for the Territorial Force hospitals, if that's what you mean."
"It's exactly what I mean."
Dr. Clarkson narrowed his eyes slightly. "Will you not be missed at Downton Abbey?"
"Maybe," Thomas replied. "But we'll all be going, won't we? The younger men anyway."
"As you wish. I'll make inquiries."
"Thank you very much, Doctor."
Dr. Clarkson smiled and went on his way. Thomas watched him go for a minute or so before turning again toward the end of the lane and the road back to the house.
As he walked, he noticed the public transport pass by him and stop about twenty yards ahead of him. Several riders stepped off, including, to Thomas' surprise, Lady Sybil. Watching her jump off, then smile and thank the driver, Thomas was surprised at the lack of incongruence he found in the moment. He'd have expected her to seem out of place, out of her element, but she wasn't. Had it been Lady Mary or Lady Edith—well, neither of them would ever ride public transport. But this kind of thing seemed rather natural with Lady Sybil. There was no ostentation or grandiloquence about her, but neither was her ease among people below her patronizing either. If anything, she seemed more comfortable among such people than her own set.
Mr. Branson's charms were rather lost on Thomas (though Thomas wouldn't deny he was a terribly handsome fellow), but he could easily see how Mr. Branson's station and his own ease among all sorts of people would make him a creature of interest to Lady Sybil.
After the trolley bus has moved on, Lady Sybil headed in the same direction Thomas was headed. The two would have continued walking alone, separated by a few yards, had she not heard someone behind her and looked back. Seeing him, she smiled and waited for him to catch up.
"Hello, Thomas."
"Milady."
"Enjoying an afternoon to yourself?"
"Unfortunately not, I just managed to get away to post some letters before it's time to ready the library for tea."
"Well, if you must hurry back, I won't keep you, but if you'd like to take your time, I'll tell Mr. Carson that I insisted you accompany me home."
Thomas smiled and made no move to go ahead.
They walked in silence for most of the way back, but as Thomas saw that they were approaching the gates of the house, he ventured a question. "If you don't mind my asking, milady, what made you decide you wanted to join the medical profession?"
"You mean what made me want to work?
"Not exactly. I think most people who know you understand that you were never going to be one for an idle life." Sybil smiled, flattered at this, and Thomas continued. "I just wonder why medicine."
Sybil thought for a long moment. "I suppose I fell into it. There was Cousin Isobel's influence, to be sure, and the fact that I wanted to volunteer at the hospital as a way to feel useful. I found it interesting and don't particularly have an inclination toward anything else that women do for work, such as teaching. I do think it suits me. I wouldn't have continued to pursue it otherwise. Why do you ask?"
"I was speaking with Dr. Clarkson just now about the possibility of joining the Army medical corps."
"Really? You mean you intend to leave the house?"
"If war comes, I may not have a choice, and I'd like to have some say in what I do for the Army, if I can help it. There's usually only one place they send working class lads like myself, and that's the front."
"It's very good of you to have a plan. I hope it does keep you out of harm's way. I wish there was some way I could help."
"That's kind of you to say."
"Perhaps there will be a way in the future. I'll keep that in mind."
"Thank you, milady."
With a nod and a slight bow, Thomas ducked behind Sybil and headed toward the path around the back of the house as Sybil continued toward the front. She was glad to have Thomas as a friend and wondered if in some future, as a doctor, she really could help him and perhaps offer something more that mere survival.
—-
Dinner proceeded as normal, and even though Cora had excused herself again, everyone was in good, if somewhat subdued, spirits. With Anthony having joined the family for dinner, both Tom and Matthew excused themselves when the women passed through and headed to the billiard room.
"You've been quiet today," Tom said, as he set up their game.
Matthew, who'd been lost in thought, looked up at the sound of Tom's voice.
"A lot on my mind, I suppose," Matthew replied.
His smile and easy manner as he spoke belied all that weighed on him, but Tom could tell Matthew wasn't fully himself.
"Anything you want to talk about?" Tom asked.
Matthew sat down on one of the arm chairs in the room and thought for several minutes. Tom sat down in the chair next to him and assumed Matthew had nothing to say, but Matthew did and when he finally spoke he did so quietly.
"Do you remember when I first proposed to Lavinia and she said no?"
Tom smiled slightly at the memory. "She only said no because she thought you were proposing because of her father. She wanted to marry you, and eventually saw the light."
"I know. I know everyone thought Mr. Swire's death was the reason I did. . . it would be fair to say he prompted me, but I wanted to do it. I wanted to marry her. I was surer of that than I'd ever been of anything at the time."
"Why is it on your mind?"
"I loved Lavinia—that's no exaggeration."
"But?"
"I didn't love her like I love Mary. As complicated as everything between Mary and me is, and as trying as being her friend can be, I do love her. I'm inclined to think that the feeling will not be easily suppressed or supplanted. Yet, even as I say these words, as sure as I am of the feeling, I am unsure as to what to do about it. I knew marrying Lavinia was right and what she wanted as well, despite her initial concerns about my reasons. With Mary, it feels like I'm leaping into an abyss without knowing what awaits me at the bottom."
"Well, that's easy, brother," Tom said with a chuckle. "Elation or heartbreak."
Matthew laughed in spite of himself. "I don't know why I'm talking to you of all people about my uncertainty. You're a lovesick fool with no complications with which to contend."
"Well, I wouldn't say no complications."
"Sybil would run away with you this very night if you asked her," Matthew said.
"Is that what you want from Mary?"
Matthew let out a long breath. "No. When I suggested we get married, I thought . . . I don't know what I thought, to be honest. I was overcome and on paper it is rather a sensible idea—at least it was when it was certain I was the heir. I expected her to say yes. I wanted her to, but she didn't."
"Mary is deliberate about all things. Does it surprise you that she should be about her heart as well?"
"I wasn't asking her for her heart, just her hand."
"Were you really?"
Matthew's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
Tom stood and walked over to their table to start their game. "Perhaps she recognized that it wasn't just about her hand and thought to give herself time to consider what you were really asking."
"She still didn't say yes," Matthew said, also standing.
"I have not known Mary longer than you have, but I do know that she has no trouble saying no. And she didn't say that either. 'Not now' is not the same answer as no. Lavinia said no first too, or didn't you just say so?"
Matthew leaned over the table to take his shot after Tom had taken his.
Perhaps Tom is right, Matthew thought. Perhaps it is all just a matter of time.
Then he thought again of Lavinia, who had taught him that time had never been his friend.
"Englishmen don't like to speak of love," Tom said. "And knowing that, it's fair to say that's not what she wants from you, but you were at least sure that you didn't want her to make a decision on her future without knowing what yours would be. Perhaps you should consider that your feelings are, well, information she also ought to have."
Matthew smiled as Tom leaned over the table again. He was thankful for Tom's counsel, even if his advice was not always something he could act on.
They played silently for several minutes when Sybil came into the room. "There you are!"
"Have we been down here that long?" Tom asked walking over to her.
"No, I suppose not, but still . . . I was waiting for you."
Matthew felt himself smiling again. His heart may have been a muddle, but he would never begrudge the open affection between his brother and his beloved Sybil.
"I shall excuse myself then," Matthew said, and with a nod to Sybil, headed back toward the drawing room.
Hw made his way to the main hall and saw Mary coming out of the drawing room.
"Going to bed already?" Matthew asked.
"No, I was just going to check on mama."
Matthew smiled. "Well, I won't keep you then."
Mary regarded him for a moment. It looked as if he had something to say. "I don't have to do it now."
"No, it's all right."
After a moment's pause, Mary turned to go up the stairs, but watching her go Matthew suddenly felt the need to stay in her company.
"Actually, Mary."
She stopped at the landing. "Yes?"
"Can we . . . do you mind stepping into the library with me for a moment."
Mary came back down the stairs and led them into the library.
Matthew gestured for Mary to sit down on the sofa and sat down next to her.
"I'm not sure how much your father may have told you, but he and I have to come something of an agreement since you returned from London."
"What kind of an agreement?"
"Regarding my investment in Downton." Matthew paused for a moment and took a deep breath. "When I chose to move here . . ." He paused to chuckle. "I wasn't sure what I was getting into, to be honest."
"I suppose it's fair to say the same was true for us—who could have known what we would get with you."
Matthew looked at Mary who was looking at him from the side of her eyes—a sparkle in them that suggested he was teasing him. He was glad for it. There seemed, at least in this moment, no lingering tension over the almost engagement that had transpired between them.
"There was nothing in the situation that suggested I had to move here. I'd have been heir here or in Manchester just as easily. I supposed there would have been more consistent contact between Robert and myself, but if I'd insisted on staying, there was nothing he could have done—or I think would have done—to stop me. I decided to come because—"
"Because of the investment."
"Well, yes. But more to the point, for the change the investment represented."
Mary's brow furrowed. "I'm not sure I understand."
"I'm going to tell you more, perhaps, than you are interested in knowing about my past, but I think I must if you really do want to understand."
Mary nodded.
"I wasn't particularly happy in Manchester when your father's letter arrived. Lavinia had been dead just going on a year. I still wasn't sure what I was going to make of my life after the future I was expecting to unfold could not come to pass. In Manchester, I was sitting on a pile of money that I didn't feel was mine surrounded by reminders of not just Lavinia, but her father and my father. That life belonged to a person I no longer was, but I didn't know who I would be instead. Your father offered me a life boat."
"And now it's about to be taken away again," Mary said quietly, still feeling the injustice the possibility of a new heir represented for Matthew.
"I wouldn't say that. My future may well be different from I came to expect after I became the heir, but whatever happens, I'm not in the rut that, at the time, I thought I'd be stuck in forever."
"What are you saying?"
"The rescue was not being heir. It was meeting all of you. And no matter what happens, I'll be grateful for it."
Mary smiled. She felt her chest tighten but kept the tears she felt would form from doing so. She reached out and took his hand and squeezed it for a moment.
"We're all grateful for you Matthew. Even me."
Matthew smiled widely. It was another new beginning for them. In the past two years, it felt like they had already had many. When she took her hand back, he looked away again.
"I lay all that out because I don't want you to think that you owe me something after what I'm about to say."
Mary's heart jumped into her throat. "And what's that?"
"Robert has signed over ownership of Downton Place to me. It'll be mine after the child is born, regardless of the sex."
"I see."
"And I'd like to give it to you."
Mary stood abruptly. "To me?"
Matthew stood also. "Hear me out—"
"I don't understand!"
"I told you a year ago that you would never have to leave Downton on my account, and I'd like to keep that promise, even if the Downton I can offer is not this particular house."
"Is this another proposal?"
Matthew swallowed a lump in his throat. "N-no. I just want you to be protected. The house will be yours to do what you will."
Mary couldn't understand what this meant and was rendered speechless.
When she said nothing, Matthew continued, "And that's up to you."
"But I have no income. If I wanted to live in it myself, I'd have to marry a man with a fortune to spend and nothing on which to spend it." Saying it out loud, she couldn't help but laugh. "Matthew, I haven't been capable of trapping any man my entire life, let alone one who wants to give me all his money."
"Well, now you have something to offer that you didn't have before. I may well lose this house when your sibling is born, but the truth is I don't need Downton Abbey—or Downtown Place. I never needed them. You had to lose everything as well when Patrick died and you had a greater claim on it all than I did. It was unfair that you got nothing when I became heir. That's a fact that's still true. That's why I want to keep my promise. Our forebears may well roll over in their graves, but I'd like to right their wrong in overlooking you as a worthy heir. At least as much as I am able to now."
Mary was at a loss for words, and Matthew had little else to say to he headed for the door. When he got there, before taking his leave, he said, "And honestly, Mary, I don't think there's a man out there who could resist you. If you've not managed to 'trap' one, as you say, it's because you really haven't been trying. Perhaps you haven't said as much to yourself, but to this point at least, I believe you haven't wanted to get married."
As the words tumbled out of Matthew's mouth, before he really even knew what he was as saying, he realized that all this was true. And that this was the reason she hadn't said yes to him on the spot in Hyde Park when he'd suggested she marry him.
Looking into her eyes, into her, he added, "If and when you make up your mind to do it, the man you want will be ready and waiting."
As he walked out, Matthew completed the thought in his head: If only that man could have been me.
—-
"What are you doing up?"
Robert walked into his bedroom, having changed into his nightclothes, expecting his wife to be deep asleep. Cora had dozed off, but always a light sleeper, she heard him in the dressing room and sat herself up slightly to wait for him to come in.
"I wanted to hear about dinner. How was everyone?"
"Not much to report," Robert said climbing in bed next to her. "The usual. What about you? Are you feeling up to it for tomorrow?"
"Yes. I'm ready to get out of this bed, in any case."
"Good."
"How was Matthew? You've settled everything with him regarding Downton Place, right? Did he seem more at ease?"
"I suppose so, but then his manner is always at ease. He didn't look all that different than usual."
"Such a good soul. I wish this could all end favorably for all of us."
"Does that mean you hope it's a girl?"
Cora sighed. "Honestly, I want a healthy child. I don't let myself think much beyond that."
"That's probably wise."
Cora saw that Robert was about to turn out his lamp, and said, "Did you talk to your mother at all?"
"Yes, why do you ask?"
Cora knew that if Violet had broached the topic of compensation for Tom, Robert would have a great deal to say. It would seem from his current attitude that Violet had, once again, left the dirty work for Cora. "Well, she came this morning while you were gone, and . . . made a suggestion."
A sense of dread came over Robert. "What kind of suggestion?"
"The suggestion that perhaps Matthew is not alone is deserving compensation for trouble that might no longer be in Matthew's favor if I give birth to a boy."
Robert sat up immediately. "Tom?!"
"I'm not saying that it has to be done."
"Certainly not! What has he given to this house except his disdain at the way we live in it."
"Now Robert you know that's ridiculous. Tom has made a significant contribution to our return to this house and to the current running of it."
"And he expects to be paid for this contribution?"
"I don't know what he expects!" Cora said, exasperated. "Your mother was the one who brought it up. I don't really know what to make of the idea. I'm just sharing it with you."
"Does mama want there to be anything left for the heir, if you do give birth to one?"
"Robert—"
"The very idea that I have to give away more of my heir's birthright to Tom Branson, of all people is absurd. I can't believe I'm being asked to consider this."
"Look, I'm not saying I agree with your mother, but we have come to depend on Tom for a great many things. He's hired staff, he's reviewed your books, he's basically taught Mason how to do his job, and he designed the scheme by which the farms now keep this house and our lives in it afloat. I love Matthew like a son, and he is bright and honorable and wants to do right by all of us, but you cannot deny that Tom is the cleverer one and the brains behind the operation. He did all of that—not agreeing with what any of it stands for—for Matthew. Violet . . . whatever she may say about it, she loves Tom very much."
"Well, she can give him the dower house if she's so adamant," Robert said, laying down again, turning away from Cora so petulantly she couldn't help but smile. After he'd pulled the blankets over himself, he turned toward her again and said, "This is what comes from taking their advice and giving them the run of the place. Is he going to show up tomorrow asking for something?"
"Darling, don't be ridiculous! You don't have to do anything about this. Your mother raised the point with me and then left it to me to raise it with you, probably because she knew it would upset you. Do with the consideration whatever you are inclined to do. I, for one, don't expect him to ask for anything, so don't go out tomorrow looking for a fight."
Robert lay back down and feeling exhausted all of a sudden.
Cora couldn't see his face and worried that she'd stirred more trouble than was worth by mentioning Violet's idea—one that she know could see that she should have dismissed as an absurdity from the beginning.
"Robert?"
After a moment, he simply said, "Good night," and closed his eyes.
Cora wouldn't ever know exactly how she'd set into motion the events of the next day, but as she lay there sleepless she thought about having made Robert angry and about the fact that when he was angry, he tended to take it out on the wrong people.
—-
By the time Isobel, Matthew and Tom had made it to Downton Abbey for the garden party the next day, the event was in full swing. Like she had the year before, Claire had gone ahead early to help Mrs. Patmore. Moseley and Ivy had also joined the staff for the day to help. Although attendance had not quite doubled compared with last year, there were quite a few more guests thanks to Anthony's friends and family having made a good showing.
He and Edith, along with Robert and Cora—seated comfortably but dressed for the occasion—were in the main tent greeting new arrivals, and that was where Isobel, Matthew and Tom went first.
Tom had been quite beside himself all morning, a fact Claire had remarked upon when she saw him before leaving Crawley House that morning. Tom didn't tell anyone at Crawley House what his intentions were for the day. Matthew knew Tom and Sybil would tell the family after her presentation, which was as much as Sybil had told her sisters. But Tom hadn't wanted to put Matthew in the middle of the likely conflict that would arise.
If Matthew wondered if something was eating at Tom on their way to the event, he didn't let on. Once there, in spite of everything, seeing Edith so happy somehow eased Tom's nerves. He knew from Sybil and his own observations that Edith had something of a pessimistic outlook on her own life, and he was happy to see her so happy. Robert also appeared to be in good spirits—and certainly he was in a better mood now than he had been when he'd gone to bed the night before—so much so that Tom hoped that perhaps all of his and Sybil's worrying would be for not.
Soon after greeting the family and offering Anthony and Edith his best wishes, Tom left Matthew and Isobel and went in search of Sybil.
It didn't take long to find her and Imogen talking together a bit away from the rest of the crowd. Imogen saw him first and in her usual manner, she grinned in delight in seeing him and took Sybil's arm so that they could walk to meet him halfway.
"It's a pleasure to see you again, Miss Wilkes," Tom said, lifting his hat. He looked over at Sybil who smiled sweetly, and Tom instantly recognized the weight of their task that she carried on her shoulders and a measure of nerves in her as well, much more well hidden than his. He thought then, for perhaps the millionth time since they'd acknowledged their love for one another, that he couldn't possibly love her more.
Looking back at Imogen, he said, "Yours was as happy and eventful a season as I've heard from Sybil, I trust?"
"Indeed, it was, thank you," she replied. "I'm delighted to see you again, but I was very sorry not to have your company among my other friends. But of course I thoroughly understand that not everyone can drop everything and spend all June at the races and going from ball to ball when there's important work to be done. It's a wonder that anyone does it at all when it takes time away from the causes they contend they support. I am so glad that Sybil and I we were able to parlay one into the other. Has Sybil told you everything about our luncheon? I do think it was quite a success if I say so myself. I can still scarcely believe we pulled it off, but it was done. And now most of the parties are done as well. Not that I dislike parties and certainly today's is a happy occasion for dear Lady Edith."
"Yes, indeed," Tom said when Imogen finally came to a stop. "And I have heard about the luncheon from both Sybil as well as Aunt Isobel—that is, Mrs. Isobel Crawley. She was quite glad to have attended and reported that it came off very well."
"I am so glad to hear." Imogen was about to say something else when she turned her head slightly and saw her mother gesture to her from across the lawn. "Oh dear, what can mama want?" Turning back to her friends she said, "I best go see her, but I hope we can converse more later, Mr. Branson."
After she left the couple behind, Tom and Sybil didn't turn to face each other but discreetly joined hands as they stood shoulder to shoulder looking over the crowd.
"What do you say we make a run for it?" Tom asked.
Sybil laughed. "Don't even joke about that! I'll be tempted to take you up on it!"
Tom gave her hand a squeeze before letting go again. "So what's his mood?"
Sybil sighed. "Generally happy and untroubled but ready to commit to self-righteous anger if the need calls for it. So an average day for papa."
Tom couldn't help but smile. "I was talking with Matthew last night, not about us but something else. It was when you came in as we were playing billiards, actually. I was reminded in the conversation that a 'no' today doesn't necessarily mean a 'no' forever."
"That's true."
"It's what I'm clinging to."
"Just remember that his answer only determines how and when, not if. That's what I'm clinging to."
Tom's smile grew wider. "That's better. Perhaps that's why you seem less nervous than I do."
"It's sweet that you are."
"How is your mother? She seemed in good spirits as well."
"I don't know if it was being in bed all week, but her energy is up. So much so that she asked Dr. Clarkson when he arrived if he thought it would be all right if she could stand."
"He said no, I take it?"
"Papa did."
"Probably best to be safe," Tom said.
Sybil nodded, then perked up as she saw Imogen walking back toward them.
"Darlings, I'm so forgetful," she said as she approached them. "Mama was trying to get my attention to remind me."
"Of what?" Sybil asked.
"Father has something for you, Mr. Branson."
Tom stiffened. "He what?"
"Mr. Branson, my father has something to give you. He asked before we arrived that I point you in his direction if I saw you. In the excitement of being here and seeing you, I plain forgot. I'm so terribly sorry! He's just over there."
Tom looked over to where Imogen was pointing, and Sir John was speaking to someone Tom didn't recognize. Looking back at Sybil, he saw alarm on her face. She knew that Tom had spoken to Sir John about his search for his long lost brother. That was the only possible thing Sir John could want to speak to Tom about.
"Perhaps it's good news," Sybil said, taking Tom's hand in both of his.
"Only one way to find out," he said, almost to himself as he headed in Sir John's direction.
"Would papa have bad news to impart to Mr. Branson?" Imogen asked as she and Sybil watched Tom walk away.
"It's possible. It seems as if he hasn't told you why he needed to talk to Tom," Sybil said, trying to determine if Imogen could guess what Tom was going to learn from her father.
"No, he never shares anything about his business with me. That is what this is about, isn't it? Business?"
Sybil shook her head. "It's not exactly my information to share, but I will say that Tom is looking for someone back in Ireland—in Cork, specifically. And he asked your father for help. It would seem that something, if not someone, has turned up."
"Well, I sincerely hope he's able to find what he's looking for."
"You and me both," Sybil said. Looking at her friend again, she added, "You know you haven't told me what's happened with Mr. Bellasis."
Sybil smiled as a telling blush came over Imogen's face.
"I wish he were here to tell you himself, but he finally got what he's been waiting for. He's been assigned a post at the British Embassy in Paris. Father says that given the state of things on the continent and the possibility of war, it's quite important work. Although, alas, those were the same reasons father gave me when he said I could not visit Mr. Bellasis."
Sybil's eyes widened. "Did he ask you to visit?"
"No, that was my own whim. He did say he would write. We've become very good friends, I would say but not more. He did say he was fond of me, and I believe him but he has a career to think about. I'm satisfied that this is not the last of it, but I do wish I were more certain about when we'll see one another again."
"Paris is not so far away," Sybil said. "Even if you can't go there, I imagine he'll come back with some frequency."
Imogen fidgeted with her hands a bit. "That's just the thing—I don't know how much longer I'll be here. Mother has expressed a desire to go back to New York, which is no surprise. We never meant to come back permanently. So you see, darling, if he really does want to see me again, it will not be without some effort."
Sybil took Imogen's hand. "Well, that just means that if you do see him again, you'll know that his intentions are true."
Imogen smiled, grateful for her friend's encouragement.
"I will miss you dearly, though," Sybil said. "I feel like I couldn't have gotten through this year without you."
"The same, surely, is true for me, but let's not talk about what our separation may be like, darling, because thankfully we are not there yet."
Sybil stepped forward and hugged Imogen tightly. In that moment, the two friends didn't know what was to come, but each knew she could count on the other. And in the turmoil that would unfold in the months and years that followed, that never ceased to be true.
—-
It took only a few minutes for Tom to find Sir John Wilkes. Seeing Tom approach, Sir John excused himself from the conversation he'd been in and walked toward Tom.
"Mr. Branson."
"Hello, Sir John," Tom said, hoping his voice wasn't shaking the way he felt he was. "I hope you are well. Miss Wilkes said you wanted to speak to me."
"I do," Sir John replied. He looked around a moment. "Why don't we walk back toward the house for a bit of privacy."
Tom followed the man, trying to calm himself as much as he could in the process. They were almost back to the front door and quite away from the gathering when Sir John finally stopped and faced Tom again.
Reaching into his pocket, he said, "I have a letter back from my man in Cork. I had asked him to look for your Mr. Harrington after you came to see me in London."
"Did he find Ciaran?"
"He did . . . well, he believes he's picked up the trail, in a matter of speaking. It's a bit complicated. Why don't you see for yourself." Sir John put the letter into Tom's hands. "It's addressed to me, but it is yours. I'll leave you to the reading of it. I expect we'll stay in touch, and I look forward to hearing from you, Mr. Branson."
"Thank you," Tom said, barely remembering to look up from the letter in his hands before the man walked away. After taking it out of the enveloped, Tom felt his heart start to race as he skimmed its contents. The words leapt from the page disorienting him with their revelations, but when he got to the end, he got a hold of himself enough to run after Sir John again.
The latter turned, hearing Tom coming up behind him again. "Sir John! Sir John!"
"Yes?"
"I have to tell—that is . . . I . . . what he's saying here. Can it be true?"
"Mr. Keely is a man of his word and does his work well. I trust that what's in that letter is true as far as he has been able to find."
Tom took a deep breath. "You told me when we met in London that if I wanted a job in Cork—"
"Just say the word," Sir John replied.
"I'd like to take it. I'll have to make some arrangements—there are actually a fair number of things I'd have to see to but if you can employ me there . . ."
"Write back to Mr. Keely when you are ready. He'll take care of everything."
"Thank you," Tom said, sincerely, wondering if he might burst into tears right then. "Thank you so much. I can't tell you what this means."
Sir John smiled. "I hope the best for you, Mr. Branson. Do stay in touch."
"Of course. Thank you."
Sir John turned to walk again again, and Tom ran back toward the house with the intention of finding his mother in the servants hall to tell her the news.
Once inside, he was crossing the main hall when he almost ran straight into Robert.
Tom stopped suddenly. "I'm sorry."
"You're in quite a hurry," Robert said.
"Um, yes." Tom looked down the hall to the doorway that led to the back stairs. He was too preoccupied with wanting to get to his mother that he didn't see how Robert was looking at him, as if he was trying to read something into Tom's visible anxiousness.
"Am I keeping you from something?"
Tom shook his head. "Pardon me?"
Robert narrowed his eyes slightly. "Let's speak in the library for a moment."
Robert began walking in that direction before Tom could answer. He wanted to insist that he had something else to see to, but didn't want to annoy Robert today.
"I'm told you have something to speak to me about," Robert said before the two had sat down.
"What?" The words took Tom by surprise.
"Well?"
Tom shook his head to try to get his bearings. Too many emotions and thoughts were filling him for him to think straight. "I do."
"Right then, say your piece."
"I-I should go fetch Sybil. We want to do this—talk to you about this—together."
Robert's brow furrowed with recognizable annoyance, which also served to annoy Tom. They had a plan. How had Robert gotten ahead of them like this?
"I don't think that's necessary," Robert said. "This is between you and me."
"I beg your pardon Robert, but Sybil is very much a part of this."
"Look, I'm not sure what you're playing at, and I don't understand how, after so much time suggesting you want to be a part of this family that it turns out you're a mercenary in disguise."
"What?!"
"I know Cora's state has everyone on edge, and I understand Matthew has something to lose but you—
"Robert, I'm sorry to interrupt, but I don't know what you're talking about."
"It's been brought to my attention that you are seeking compensation for your help to the estate in the event Matthew is not the heir."
"That's ridiculous! When have I ever suggested I needed or wanted any such thing from you?"
Robert was taken aback by Tom's response. "You mean you don't?"
"No. What's been invested is Matthew's entirely, and you've settled that to his satisfaction, which satisfies me. Any help I gave was freely given to my friend and family." Tom paused and cleared his throat trying to push down the emotion welling up inside him. "Is that really how little you think of me?"
Robert said nothing for a moment, but Tom remained rooted to his spot without thinking that perhaps leaving in that moment would have been best.
Finally, Robert spoke again. "Then what is it that you have to say? I said there was something we had to discuss and you agreed. If not this then what?"
Sybil came into Tom's mind, and her words to him minutes ago washed over Tom.
Just remember that his answer only determines how and when, not if. That's what I'm clinging to.
A leap into the abyss.
"I want to marry Sybil."
"Sybil?"
Tom could see there was surprise in Robert's face—shock, rather. He'd expected that. And some anger, even. But there was something else. Confusion?
"Yes," Tom said quietly. Starting to feel nervous under Robert's stare. "Since our families became acquainted, she and I have become close . . . friends. Perhaps you've noticed we have similar interests—"
"So that's what this is about?"
Tom was taken aback by the interruption. "I'm sorry?"
"You're here to ask if you can marry Sybil?
No, it wasn't confusion, Tom realized now—or perhaps there had been confusion in Robert's tone a second ago. Now it was something else. It was skepticism.
"Does it surprise you that much?"
Robert realized that he was in the middle of a different conversation from the one he thought he'd walked into, and it threw him rather of kilter.
Had that not been the case, perhaps things might have unfolded differently.
"This isn't how we meant for it to go. We wanted to ask—well, tell you together. But here we are so . . ." Tom took a deep breath. "I'm in love with Sybil. I have been almost since the moment I met her. I know that I'm not the type of person you might have expected her to marry, but she wants to marry me, and I know that we will make each other happy because we already do. I have none of the things I'm supposed to have, but I have the things I want, which are my independence and freedom to be my own man, and together we will provide happiness for one another, which is all we want. Shouldn't that be enough?"
Robert said nothing, and the silence hung in the air like a thick fog.
"Robert?"
"Your lordship?"
Robert and Tom both turned to see Carson at the door.
"I have a telegram here."
Robert rubbed his forehead.
Carson took this as a sign to come in. He put the tray holding the message up to Robert. "I believe it's a matter of urgency, milord."
Robert picked it up and closed his eyes in dismay upon reading it.
Tom read Robert's response for the only thing it could be. "It's the war, isn't it? It's finally come."
Robert nodded. "Let's go tell them."
The three somber men stepped back out into the bright July sun and contemplated the scene before them in its final moment before it would all change.
Robert took off his hat and gestured for the quartet to stop playing. The abrupt silence brought everyone to a standstill.
"My lords, ladies and gentlemen. Can I ask for silence?"
Behind Robert, Carson took a step toward the catering tent to ensure the servants stopped their work and came out to listen.
"I very much regret to announce...that we are at war with Germany."
