Look out, it's a long one! I started writing this chapter and couldn't stop; I wasn't satisfied with any of the potential "stopping points", and so kept going and going until finally I realized it was past midnight and was nearly at 13 pages...so I did my best to resolve the issues of this chapter, and ta da! You have Sybil's holiday break from college (sort of).

THANKS AGAIN to all the wonderful reviews! I appreciate all the feedback, truly, and I'm glad people are enjoying this possible view into Sybil's college experience. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think! Thanks again!


Chapter Fifty-Four

He hadn't written back.

There had been several occasions when Sybil thought perhaps that he had, occasions when her body froze and her breath caught in her throat and her hands trembled as they opened the envelopes…

But no, none of the letters that came from Downton bore either his name or his handwriting.

She had received three letters total, since mailing her second letter to Branson. Two of them were from her father, the first in response to her request about finding the eye specialist to whom Mrs. Patmore had visited two years ago. He was very confused by her request, and wrote that he was unsure if the doctor still kept an office in London, let alone if he were still practicing. But she wrote him again, begging him to find out, telling him it was a matter of life or death! His second letter was one that filled Sybil with relief; not only had her father found the doctor, but even offered to help James' family if they needed money for an operation. Sybil wasted no time in reading the letter to Susan, who burst into joyful tears right there in the college library.

Days passed since those letters, and Sybil began to worry. Surely Branson would have received her letter by now?

Once again she had left no return address…but she hoped like before, he would have recognized her handwriting and opened it without hesitation. Perhaps the War was slowing the exchange of mail?

But her heart sank with each day that passed. Even Susan, who had teased her mercilessly in the beginning, had begun to look upon Sybil with sympathy every time the post arrived…and brought no further reply.

She thought she would cry when her third letter from Downton arrived…and discovered it was from her mother.

One more week, my darling! One more week and then you will be here and we can truly celebrate the joy of Christmastide!

One more week…

The days leading up to the college's Christmas holiday were some of the longest and most wearisome Sybil had ever faced in her entire life. The stress was unlike anything she had ever encountered. Every evening was spent in the library, studying until the librarian told her it was time to leave (and often she had to be told twice). While her final exams and evaluations weren't for another month, she still had several papers to write, as well as one long test to take the day before the holiday break. She was nervous; her sleep was fitful, her appetite barely there, and her mood—well, Jane Hamley got a taste of it when she attempted to make a snide comment and Sybil turned, snapping back and calling her a…well, a word that no proper daughter of an English noble would dare say (or should even know) but that she had heard several soldiers use when jesting with one another at the hospital.

Indeed, a letter from Branson would have been very helpful, both in easing her stress as well as lightening her spirits. But because she had received no word, she began to worry, once again, if he were even at Downton! What had he meant when he had finished his letter with "goodbye"? The lack of knowledge was only making her stress worse.

"Why don't you write to him again?" Susan murmured one evening, while they were in the library.

Sybil blushed at her friend's suggestion but pretended she hadn't heard.

Susan sighed and shook her head. "It doesn't take a fully-trained nurse to see that you're only making yourself sicker with all this worrying."

It took a great deal of willpower for Sybil not to snap at Susan; she didn't want to take her bad mood out on her only friend. No, instead she imagined railing her anger at Branson. How could you? How could you do this to me? How could you put me through this…this…this wringer of emotions? Don't you know the stress I'm under? Didn't you hear the desperation in my voice when I wrote to you? All I asked was for a few words! Why couldn't you send me just a few words?

This was often a rant that her imagination played out, especially when the stress felt so great that she wanted to throw back her head and scream. Sometimes that rant would take a different direction. Don't you know that it's impossible to…to…to be anything more than what we are? How could you ask me that? Why did you wait until NOW to tell me how you really felt? What do you want me to say? The truth? I CAN'T! Even if I wanted to, you know that I can't!

When she wasn't studying, taking notes during lecture, or going about her tasks at the hospital, she imagined what she would do if she ever saw Branson again. Sometimes, she was treating him coldly, not speaking to him and ignoring his presence completely. She imagined paying him back by going out and finding some handsome officer to flirt with, right in front of him. But despite her anger, she always felt a shadow of guilt for even contemplating such a thing. Other times, she imagined him pulling the car up to the drive outside the dormitory, and her just rushing forward, and before he even knew what had happened, pulling her fist back and punching him, HARD, on the nose—and hopefully breaking it! Then, while he cradled his bleeding nose, she would shout curses at him and call him all those names she had learned while working at the hospital. That would show him! That would make him look twice at her! Gone would be his view of her as a "lovely, angelic creature to which he wanted to marry", replaced with a fiery hellion whose wrath he should fear! He would certainly wish he had left Downton then!

…But, if she were completely honest with herself…she wasn't sure that she wanted him to change his mind about her.

And then there were times…when she imagined something completely different. Where he pulled the car up…and instead of giving him the cold shoulder or throwing her fist back and punching his nose…she would rush forward and throw her arms around him, cursing him for making her worry, but crying for joy at having him once more by her side.

She didn't like that imagining very much; probably because out of all of them…it was the closest to the truth.

"So tell me!" Susan asked one evening, after they had returned to their room and were preparing for bed. "What is Christmas at Downton Abbey like?"

Sybil was a little startled by the question. Christmas at Downton; it was hard to believe that the holiday was so close. "Well…usually my Aunt Rosamond comes up from London to join us; we attend church in the morning, and then exchange gifts and have luncheon in the drawing room while the servants have their feast downstairs."

"You don't have a grand dinner?"

Sybil shook her head. "Our Christmas dinner actually takes place on Christmas Eve; the servants have Christmas Day and News Year Day to themselves."

"Oh," Susan replied, her brow crinkling a bit. "I would have thought that was what Boxing Day was for."

Sybil could understand Susan's confusion. "Christmas at Downton is a little different from other estates. That's just how we've always done it…" she frowned as she said those words. That sounded like something her grandmother would say. "We do give our gifts to the servants on Boxing Day, though."

Susan smiled at that. "But what about parties? Don't you have…oh you know, grand balls?"

Sybil gave a weak smile. "No; I'm afraid the reality isn't as grand as one would imagine. Well, unless you count the Servant's Ball."

Susan's head perked up at this. "Servant's Ball?"

Sybil nodded. "Yes, although we're refraining from them because of the War. But it's a tradition that…well, I don't know when it started exactly, but on Twelfth Night, we have a ball where the servants dress up in their best clothes, and we mingle and dance and eat delicious cakes—"

"You dance with the servants?" Susan interrupted, her eyes glowing. Sybil inwardly groaned; she knew exactly where this was leading…

"Susan—"

"Have you danced with him at this ball?" Susan gleefully asked, looking like a child ready to gobble up a delicious story.

A deep, crimson blush colored Sybil's cheeks. "N-n-n-no," she stammered, avoiding Susan's mischievous gaze. It wasn't a complete lie. No, she hadn't danced with Branson at the Servant's Ball, but…there had been last Christmas, in the garage…when the two of them mysteriously found their arms around one another…

Susan simply giggled. She knew better than push Sybil on the issue, but Sybil could feel her roommate's playful eyes as she buried her face back into her hospital notes, pretending to study.

Finally, the final day of classes before the holiday break arrived. After taking her test and handing in her papers to Nurse Templeton, Sybil took a deep breath and told the head nurse her displeasure with Nurse Andrews, and how she had been given little opportunity to work with any of the patients. True, since the "bathing tub incident", Nurse Andrews was now allowing Sybil to watch her while she prepared dressings and changed bandages, but if Sybil dared to open her mouth to ask a question or worse, speak to a patient, Nurse Andrews would shush her and reprimand her by saying her job was to observe and take notes, nothing more. Nurse Templeton listened without interruption, but the harsh angles of her face never lightened from the perpetual scowl she always seemed to wear.

"Tell me, Crawley," Nurse Templeton finally spoke, when Sybil had finished. "What is the duty of a nurse?"

Sybil was momentarily thrown by the question. "To…to care for the sick and wounded."

"Exactly," Nurse Templeton replied. Still, she wore no smile or any sign of pleasure in Sybil's answer. "Being a nurse is far more than what those silly magazines display," she practically spat, her voice clearly filled with annoyance. "It's more than serving cool drinks or reading a mother's letter to a man who's lost both his eyes. That is how 'polite society' sees nurses—the image that the aristocracy wants to have, of our kind."

Sybil flinched a little at Nurse Templeton's words. Was she still viewed as an "intruder" of the aristocracy? Was she not included in Nurse Templeton's "kind"?

"But…" Nurse Templeton continued. "Being a nurse is also more than what you, and other girls with your passion, think as well."

Sybil was surprised by the head nurse's words; it was the closest thing to a compliment she had ever heard the woman say!

"Being a nurse is more than dressing wounds, changing bandages, and even assisting doctors in surgeries. As you know, very well by now, a great deal of what a nurse does is not the sort of thing magazines would ever dream of displaying. Nor is it the sort of thing that people would praise and sing songs about, when attempting to reach out and recruit young women with a passion to make a difference. You said so yourself; being a nurse is about caring for the sick and wounded…and wouldn't you agree that making sure these men have clean surroundings, from the sheets on their bed to the chamber pots beneath, is a form of care?"

Sybil nodded her head, feeling very humbled. "Yes, Nurse Templeton."

Nurse Templeton actually smiled then. A stiff smile—but a smile, nonetheless. "Good. That will be all, Crawley." Even though Sybil had been the one to request the conversation, she gave a quick curtsy to the head nurse's dismissal.

"And have a Happy Christmas," Nurse Templeton murmured, not looking up from the papers on her desk.

"Thank you," Sybil replied. "And Happy Christmas to you as well." She didn't hesitate further; she quickly left before Nurse Templeton decided to dismiss her completely from the college.

She returned to the dormitory then, changed into her traveling clothes, and then lugged her trunk down the dormitory steps…all by herself, just as she had done when she first arrived back in November.

Susan was also standing on the drive, just outside the building. "Oh! How did it go?" she asked, seeing Sybil. Sybil had told her that she would speak to Nurse Templeton about how Nurse Andrews had been treating her before leaving.

Sybil gave a shrug of her shoulders, to which Susan made a face. "Oh Sybil—"

"It's alright, really," Sybil reassured. "In fact…I think things will be better when I return."

Susan smiled and put her arm around Sybil's shoulders. "Oh I know I've gone on and on these last few weeks about how I couldn't wait until the break, to travel to London and see James…but I will miss you."

Sybil smiled and turned to give Susan a hug as well. "Me too," she sighed. "In fact…I must confess…there is a part of me that wishes I were staying here."

"Oh Sybil," Susan looked at her friend with sympathy. "It won't be so bad; I'm sure—"

Her words were interrupted by the sound of a horn honking in their direction. Both women looked towards the car that was approaching them—approaching them a little too quickly—and gave a yelp followed by a quick jump back onto the curb, as Lord Grantham's Rolls-Royce came to a screeching stop in front of them.

"Happy Christmas, little sister!" Edith grinned, pushing the driving goggles up onto her forehead. She was completely unaware that she had momentarily terrified the other two women with her erratic breaking.

"Edith?" Sybil gasped, still trying to get her heartbeat back to normal.

Edith grinned. "Surprise!" she laughed. "I drove all the way from Downton! See how far I've come since you last saw me?"

Indeed. Although it was clear, as Branson had once joked, that Edith still needed some help with understanding the importance of slowing down, before breaking.

Branson…

Edith had driven up from Downton. Edith was her driver. Sybil felt her heart break into a thousand pieces. So much for her many imaginings on how she would greet Branson. And even though there had been a part of her that had resigned herself to this reality…it still hurt to accept.

She tried very hard to hide her disappointment. "I see! Well…well, well done! And um…will you be driving us back to Downton?" she asked, a little uneasily.

Edith, however, didn't seem to notice. "Of course!"

Susan leaned forward and whispered into Sybil's ear, "You'll be in my prayers."

Sybil nodded her head in thanks. She had a feeling she would need every one of them. "Well Edith, as chauffeur, would you mind helping me put this trunk in the back?" Sybil asked, attempting to lift the heavy piece of luggage on its end.

Edith laughed. "Oh Sybil, things haven't changed that much."

Sybil's brow furrowed and she opened her mouth to question Edith's words, but all thought and speech escaped her…when a familiar Irish brogue filled her ears…

"I'll take care of that, milady."

Sybil gasped and whirled around, nearly bumping into the handsome chauffeur who stood just a few inches away, his gloved hand right next to her own, gripping the handle on her trunk.

"B-B-Branson?"

Where had he come from? She hadn't seen him in the car when Edith pulled up to the curb…had she? Had he been in the back? Had he slipped out without her noticing? Was he really there? Oh God, please, don't let this be a dream, don't let this be a dream!

He gave her a warm, quick smile, along with a small bow of his head, before taking the heavy trunk and easily lifting it into the car, leaving her standing there on the curb with her mouth hanging open.

"Branson?" Susan whispered, a small, but roguish smile curling at the corners of her mouth. "As in…Mr. T. Branson?"

Sybil whipped her head towards her friend and gave her a silencing glare, which only caused Susan's grin to widen further. Her eyes flicked towards Branson, and then back to Sybil, giving her an "approving nod", which only caused Sybil's face to burn beet red.

"Well, come on Sybil!" Edith groaned, adjusting her goggles once again. "Get in! It's cold and it's a long drive back to Downton!"

Branson held the door open for Sybil, his eyes looking down, just like any other chauffeur. Sybil swallowed the lump in her throat, murmured her Christmas wishes to Susan, before climbing into the car, not daring to look at Branson, or take his hand for fear that she would lose her senses completely and enact all her imaginings upon him at once.

They didn't touch, or speak. But she did feel his eyes upon her as she climbed and settled herself onto the seat. And beneath hooded lashes, her eyes followed him as he shut the door, and then returned to the front of the car to take the seat next to Edith.

"Right!" Edith grinned, releasing the break and letting the car roar back into life. "Home to Downton!"


"LONDON!"

Granny winced at her screech. "Sybil dear, please…must you speak at a volume to which only dogs can hear?" She gave a dramatic sigh and eyed her youngest granddaughter with disapproval. "Or is this how they've taught you to speak in York?"

Sybil glared at her grandmother, but returned her focus to her parents. "What do you mean…spend Christmas in London?"

Her father looked perplexed by her obvious displeasure. "Sybil, what on earth is the matter? I thought you would be pleased—you would get to see your friend, I could talk with the doctor, and we would also have an opportunity to visit with Matthew—"

"There will also be several wonderful Christmas parties to attend, including Lord Raymond's ball!" her mother added, as if that would be the convincing factor.

Sybil groaned and began massaging her temples, her head throbbing in pain and irritation. Yes, she had missed home, and she had missed her family…but she had not missed the rigid rules of "polite society" she was meant to follow. No sooner had Edith pulled the car up, her mother was rushing forward, throwing her arms around her and practically lifting her out of the car with the strength of Hercules! Sybil had laughed and hugged her mother tightly, but then was ushered inside, told to change for dinner, and once again…found that despite all the changes she had personally made…Downton remained the same.

It was so strange. For a month and a half she had lived without the aid of a servant; no one referred to her as "milady". Her upper class background brought her looks of disdain, not respect. She had gotten used to dressing herself, and yet here was Anna, doing the buttons up on the back of her dress, as well as fixing her hair. Oh Lord, how long had it been since she wore a fancy dress? Or had her hair in any style other than a simple, braided bun? Or wore dress heels!

"It's good to have you back, milady," Anna said with a smile. "We missed you."

Sybil smiled back, feeling the same way, but her heart ached in that moment too. I've lived an independent life where I had no one to look after me other than myself. Even though I've faced rudeness and insults, I have also been treated like an equal amongst women who Granny would look down her nose upon. I've been to a place where what matters isn't how you dress for dinner, or what utensil you use when eating your fish, or what wine you consume with each course…no, what really matters are the lives and comfort of the brave men we have been called to serve…that is what matters in the world, not how we do things at Downton.

At dinner, Sybil kept waiting for her family's questions, waiting to be asked what she had learned and observed. But other than a few simple pleasantries, the conversation on the general topic was minimal.

Well, perhaps they were waiting to ask after dinner? Such topics as identifying human organs and dressing the wounds of an amputated soldier may ruin one's appetite.

But as they all gathered in the drawing room after dinner…there was still no conversation! Instead, everyone began talking about plans for Christmas…and that was when Sybil learned that her family had decided to surprise her with the announcement that tomorrow…they would be leaving for London!

"I…I can't go to London…" Sybil protested.

Her father scowled. "What do you mean you can't go?"

"I…" what could she say? Yes, of course it would be wonderful to see Susan once more. What a surprise that would be! She could finally meet James, and be there to support Susan while James met with the eye specialist. And of course it would be wonderful to see Matthew again…although no doubt he would want to spend as much time as possible with his fiancée, Miss Swire. Yet despite all of this, the truth of the matter was…well, it simply was that she wanted to be home and just…just…

Admit it, at least to yourself, you silly girl!

She wanted to have some time with Branson.

…At least enough time to learn why he hadn't responded to her letter!

"…I can't go because…because I have to be back at the college the day after New Year's." It wasn't a lie; classes did resume on the 3rd of January.

Her mother's mouth fell open and she looked as if someone had told her that Christmas had been canceled. Perhaps in her mother's mind, by Sybil's announcement, it had.

"What? You mean…you can't stay for New Years?" her mother gasped, when she was finally able to regain her voice after the shock of Sybil's announcement.

"I'm afraid not, Mama."

"But…but it's…it's Christmastide!"

"Indeed!" her grandmother added. "Surely they can't expect all the young ladies to return so soon. I'm sure they will understand that the daughter of the Earl of Grantham—"

Sybil risked the disapproval of her father and grandmother by interrupting. "No, Granny, I'm afraid they won't." Lord, this wasn't how she envisioned her Christmas holiday. This wasn't how she envisioned her homecoming! In truth, all she really wanted was an explanation from Branson—no, no, what she really wanted was…was just to have some time with him and tell him all about her experiences in York.

She remembered how, two years ago, she had snuck out late at night, happy to find him awake and reading in the garage, eager to share with him everything that had happened during her debut season in London. And even though there was a part of her that was downright furious with him for causing her to panic by his lack of correspondence, she still longed (especially now) to steal away to the garage and talk to her dear, dear friend, and tell him everything she had witnessed and learned.

But was that even possible now? After everything had been revealed?

"Alright," her father sighed, rising from his chair. "We'll make arrangements with this friend of yours, this Miss Vincent; she will be in London and no doubt will need to return to York at the same time. You can accompany her—"

"Robert!" Granny gasped. "Do you think that's wise? We hardly know these people!"

"These people!" Sybil practically shouted, her voice threatening to lift to that same level that had caused her grandmother to wince earlier.

"Sybil, calm down," Mary groaned, reaching out and putting a calming (and restraining) hand on Sybil's shoulder.

"Please, Mama," her father groaned, rubbing his own temples now. "I know it's not what any of us wanted, but I think it's the best compromise, don't you?" he lifted his eyes and looked around the room, daring anyone to disagree with him.

Sybil sighed, flopping down like a petulant child on the nearest chaise. Indeed, it wasn't what she had wanted at all. But she knew it was pointless to argue the matter further. Once again, she would be returning to London…without Branson.

That night, she had already begun to undress when Anna came to her room. "Sorry," she apologized. "I've gotten so used—"

"It's alright, milady," Anna simply smiled, before helping to finish unlacing Sybil's corset. "I understand that you will be spending Christmas in London? How exciting!"

Sybil glanced at Anna's reflection in her mirror. Anna's face bore a smile and her voice held nothing but pleasantries…but Sybil knew that the mere mention of the city brought Anna nothing more than a painful reminder that Bates was there…and not at Downton, where he belonged. She wanted to tell Anna that she would go and seek him out, but she kept her lips closed, not wanting to upset or embarrass her friend further. There had been enough disappointment for one night.

That whole night she tossed and turned, having perhaps the most fitful night of sleep since before she left for York. Since before Branson declared his feelings to you.

She debated over whether she should go and seek him out. She had even risen from her bed on several occasions…and during one, she had actually gotten as far as to put on her slippers and throw a wool sweater over her nightgown. But in the end, she didn't leave her room. Surely he was in his cottage by now. And what would she say if she roused him awake? Would she do what she had imagined? Throw her fist back and scream curses at him? Or would she give in to the confusion of her heart, and cling to him—desperate to feel his strength, his warmth, his presence; to remind herself that despite everything that had happened…he was still there. He hadn't left.

But if she did that, it would only cause further confusion and heartbreak. It would give him false hope. Oh sod it, it would give them false hope.

Still…she couldn't believe that after such a declaration, after the awkward letters and stressful emotions…they hadn't exchanged more than a few, simple, polite words with one another.

What were you expecting? It's just like before. Isn't that what you wanted? For things to return to how they had been before any of this started?

She didn't know how to answer that. Possibly because she didn't like any of the answers her mind came up with.

Morning came too soon. No doubt she looked like an absolute fright, no matter how many times she washed her face and combed her hair. Their train was scheduled to depart before luncheon, and the house was in an absolute uproar in preparing the trunks and making last minute checks before leaving. Sybil hadn't even bothered to unpack her trunk; she simply threw in a few more formal dresses, despite her feelings about having to attend any fancy parties. She knew she should be excited; glad even, to spend Christmas in London, something her family hadn't done since she was little girl. But as she watched Branson secure several trunks to the back of the car, her heart only sank further.

Once again, she didn't meet his eyes or take his hand as she climbed into the car, after her sisters. But once again, she could feel his eyes upon her…and her own watched him as he climbed into the driver's seat.

At the station, there was a thin patch of ice on the ground where the car had parked. Branson helped Mary and Edith, while her father helped Mama and Granny down. Now, it was just her…and her father had already wandered over to Carson to give some final instructions about the luggage. Just her…alone, however briefly…with Branson.

She took a deep breath, and turned to face him. He was looking right at her, and she could feel her face blazing under the intensity of his gaze. "Careful, milady," he softly murmured. "It's a bit slippery here."

Had he parked the car by this patch of ice on purpose? So she would be forced to take his hand when climbing down?

She felt so silly for thinking such a thing. Without another thought, she took his hand and slowly eased out of the car, trying her best to keep her blushing at bay.

She mumbled her thanks, not daring to look up at him, knowing that her cheeks would betray her and reveal the effect that something as simple as the touch of his fingers had on her. But as soon as she was safely on the ground and away from the icy patch…he did not release her hand. At least not right away.

She gasped as she felt something thin and crinkly, being pressed into her palm. She turned her gaze and looked up at him, her eyes lit with confusion and question.

Darn her cheeks! They burned brightly as his eyes locked with hers, the subtle green shining through the handsome blue. "Merry Christmas, milady," he whispered, before bowing his head and releasing her hand.

A note. He had given her a note!

She tucked the thin piece of paper into her purse, not wanting to draw any attention, and as soon as she was able, she boarded the train ahead of her family and quickly took a seat, pulling the note out and quickly hiding it within the pages of a book.

Should she read it? Did she want to? Oh what a silly question, of course she wanted to! And she certainly didn't want to repeat the foolishness of last summer, when she stubbornly chose not to read his letter right away.

She carefully pulled the note out and began to read, making sure no one could see what she was doing.

Sybil—forgive the shortness of this letter. I also hope you can forgive me for not immediately writing back to you, after receiving your second letter. Apparently it had gotten lost amongst a pile of Mrs. Patmore's papers and recipe cards. I think one of the kitchen maids brought in the post, and set it down, instead of giving it to Carson right away. It wasn't opened, I assure you! But how long it sat, amongst that pile of papers, I don't know. It wasn't until the day before coming to York, that Mrs. Patmore discovered it. I'm sorry I wasn't able to respond as you had wanted. But I'm sure you did very well on your exams; every night at supper, we always say a special prayer for your success. And yes, despite the squeamish details, I do want to hear more about your training…and especially more on this story about you getting into a fight! Were you hurt? Why would this…person…want to pick a fight with you? What's wrong with her? Indeed, I do want to hear more…and I can only imagine how you handled her! But I have sadly learned, through Lady Edith, that you will be traveling to London after you get back, and therefore I will be forced to wait to hear your story. But I can be a patient man.

I do hope you have a lovely Christmas holiday in London. And once more, I apologize for the wait…and for any worry I caused with my last letter. I look forward to speaking to you when you get back. I miss you too.

Your friend, Tom Branson

Her eyes with stinging. Her fingers swiftly moved to brush away the tears that threatened to fall, and she quickly refolded the letter and slipped it back between the pages of her book.

Thank God she hadn't lost her temper! It had all been another misunderstanding. She should be feeling glad! She should be happy for this explanation, for receiving this letter, for hearing his good wishes. She should be laughing and smiling for all his questions about the fight she had gotten into with Jane Hamley; smiling and eagerly awaiting the opportunity to tell him when she next saw him, just to see his reaction to her news.

…But she wasn't glad, or happy, and her smile was small…as well as pained. In truth, her heart ached when she read those four simple words: I miss you too. It ached for the man to whom she was suddenly parting from, once again, just as it had ached all those weeks ago in York. And it ached as she wondered how painful it must have been for him to end it by signing, "Your friend, Tom Branson".

But how else could he have ended it? When he wrote "Goodbye" and you nearly had a panic attack! Why can't you be satisfied? You want him to stay, you want things to go back to how they were…and yet, you know that despite all this, it will only bring further confusion and heartbreak for you both!

Sybil closed her eyes, pressing the book and its hidden note to her chest, and leaning her head against the window of the train as it roared through the Yorkshire countryside. This holiday was meant to be a respite from all the stresses of her life; but it seemed that the real stress…was only beginning.