A/N: Thank you so much for the kind reviews on the last chapter! I greatly appreciate it! Here's another long chapter!
The Lady in Black
Chapter Seventeen
Mary was prepared for a long, tedious evening when she heard Granny had invited Lady Shackleton and her nephew. It seemed her entire family was obsessed with the hospital debate— in fact, the one thing she and Edith seemed to be united in was the fact neither of them gave a fig who controlled the hospital.
Needless to say, she was quite surprised when she heard Thomas announcing the arrival of: "The Dowager Lady Shackleton and Mr. Henry Talbot."
Her eyes widened. Surely she hadn't heard him correctly... but then she turned to see the handsome man she had met at Brancaster all those months ago. "Golly," she exclaimed without thinking. "Nobody told me the nephew was you."
"Oh, is that what I am? The nephew?" Henry teased, clearly amused.
"You never said your aunt was Lady Shackleton," Mary said, still flustered and taken aback by his appearance at her home. "Did you know she was bringing you here?"
Henry responded with a smile and a, "One must be allowed some secrets."
Dinner, as it was wont to these days, was an awkward, terse affair. Mary couldn't help but feel embarrassed by her family engaging in a civil war in front of Lady Shackleton and Henry but she wouldn't deny that it wasn't nice to have someone handsome to admire during dinner. There was always James, she supposed, but she had grown used to his presence over time. Besides, he didn't look at her the way Henry did. She felt his eyes on her all throughout dinner and pretended not to notice, all the while appreciating the attention.
She learned more about him as well; he talked to her about his racing and family life. It seemed his father was in Parliament, so he grew up in London. He was still based there, racing on a team. It was a strange career to Mary but Henry seemed to derive enjoyment from it and made enough money to support himself. It wasn't the life for her... nonetheless, she couldn't help but like this game they were playing with one another.
When it came time for their guests to leave, Henry managed to monopolize her attention. "So, do you ever make it up to London?"
"Sometimes," she replied, not betraying the fact she was pleased he was asking, even though his intentions were painfully obvious.
"Would you think it terribly common if I gave you my card?"
"Fairly common," Mary replied, surprised to realize she rather found his forward ness attractive. "But I'll take it anyway."
Henry procured a card, brandishing it out to her. "Telephone me. We'll have lunch or a drink," Henry paused, letting his eyes scan over her before adding, "Or something."
Mary's eyes scanned over his personal information, wondering if she would ever take him up on that offer. She had a feeling she wouldn't, when it came to it. After their conversation at dinner, it was fairly clear to her that cars were important to him. It suggested an incompatibility in lifestyles. Deciding she ought to clue him in before he grew too attached to the idea of having some grand romance with her, Mary asked, "Do you know, I couldn't be less interested in cars if I took a pill to achieve it?" as Bates helped him into his coat.
"Well, that's because you haven't been taught about them. Properly," Henry answered.
Mary rather thought her beloved husband dying in a car accident was enough of education on the evils of automobiles but she felt mentioning it would ruin the mood. Besides, Henry was still laboring under the misguided impression she was a war widow. She wasn't exactly certain why she allowed him to believe it. It was easier, she supposed, than dredging up the business of Matthew's death... especially when she was fairly confident they wouldn't cross paths again anytime soon. Henry was a handsome man, after all; some woman who didn't have an aversion to his livelihood would surely snap him up in no time. Nevertheless, she decided she would hang onto the card, if only for the reminder she hadn't lost her charms yet.
"What exactly are you doing down here, Mr. Branson?" asked Thomas when he arrived to the servant's hall after the family's dinner and the departure of their guests. Since the Carsons had left for honeymoon, Thomas was filling the role of butler. It was becoming trying downstairs, dealing with his dictatorial tendencies. Thomas seemed to relish in his new authority, making up a number of arbitrary rules for them to follow.
Tom, who was already seated next to Anna at the table, replied, "I thought I would have dinner. Is that a crime?" He knew he shouldn't have added the last bit, knowing it would only cause trouble, but he was growing weary all this.
Thomas smiled: it was a smug, oily smile. "Not a crime, no. But you might be interested to know that in most households, the chauffeurs eat in their cottage away from the rest of the staff."
"Well, Mr. Carson doesn't have a problem with it," Tom managed to say levelly, knowing full well it would only stoke Thomas's temper, but he didn't care. He wasn't about to shoved around.
"And neither does Mr. Barrow." That particular statement came from Jimmy, who had just entered the servant's hall, right behind Thomas's shoulder. "Isn't that right?"
Thomas turned over his shoulder in order to face Jimmy. They held one another's gaze for a few seconds. They seemed to be having some sort of a face-off, full of tension... though neither of them were angry. In fact, Jimmy was smiling. "I'll allow it," Thomas said, turning back to Tom. "I just thought you might be interested in that piece of knowledge."
As if Tom didn't already know; it wasn't as if he hadn't already been in service long before he came to Downton. "Thank you, Thomas." He might have added a sarcastic How thoughtful of you or a You always know how to make one feel welcome if Jimmy wasn't there. He was surprised by how easily they had become friends and he had already made the mistake of saying the wrong thing and igniting Jimmy's temper. After Thomas had made some draconian decree about the standards he expected as butler, Tom had made some remark to Jimmy about working under the German Kaiser. Jimmy had responded cooly before defending Thomas, insisting he had, "worked hard to get where he was" and was "finally reaping the rewards." Since then, Tom hadn't said anything against the man. He had a feeling that the relationship wasn't a strictly platonic one and knew if it was someone else saying an unkind word against Mary, he would be livid.
Dinner went by with very few incidents, save for Mr. Bates lowly saying something to Anna about Mr. Talbot. Tom wasn't trying to listen in until he heard the other man say, "He seemed keen on Lady Mary."
"Oh?" Anna asked as Tom tensed, freezing. His forkful of food hovered in midair for a moment as he realized that once again he was falling victim to stirrings of jealousy.
"He gave her his card."
"Well, I'm sure that pleased her," Anna said cheerfully, causing a pit to form in Tom's stomach. "She liked him when they met at Brancaster."
Brancaster? But that had been months ago... and she never once had mentioned a Mr. Talbot to him. Perhaps it was a purely platonic connection, at least on her end... well, it had to be. She was in love with him, after all. He knew that.
All the same, he couldn't help but be intrigued by this Mr. Talbot character. "What was he like?" He asked Jimmy later on when some of the others had gone off to bed. Mr. Barrow had important business to attend to in his office, which meant Jimmy was without a partner to play cards with, so Tom decided to linger behind and uncover the mystery behind this man.
"Why do you ask?"
Tom shrugged. "Just curious, is all," he lied.. well, partially. "He's a race car driver, isn't he?" He had heard additional bits of gossip downstairs about the man and his career. It certainly explained the sleek vehicle he was sent to bring around. It was a real beauty, he wouldn't deny that, but he knew nothing of the man who owned it.
Jimmy nodded. "Sounds like it. He was saying he was in Yorkshire to test drive some car. He races at Brooklands." After a pause, he added, disinterestedly, "Nice enough bloke, I suppose. He couldn't keep his eyes of Lady Mary all evening."
Who could? Tom wondered to himself. Tom certainly knew he couldn't; if he were up in that dining room, nobody else would stand a chance at captivating his attention. He couldn't blame Mr. Talbot for seeing what he did but it didn't mean he liked it. It was only a reminder that he wasn't the only man pining after her and that he needed to speak up about his intentions... and soon.
In the morning, however, he found himself unusually pensive in Mary's presence. She chattered on about nearly everything in her life... everything apart from the guest last night, with whom she was apparently already well acquainted with and whom was besotted with her. Eventually, Tom was the one who had to broach the subject.
"What did you think of Mr. Talbot?"
"Mr. Talbot?" Mary blinked, clearly surprised... but quickly answered, "Well, he seems a perfectly nice man. Why do you ask?"
"No reason," Tom lied, squirming as he did so. He hated being dishonest with her... which was why, seconds later, he added, "I only wondered if he was new suitor."
Words couldn't begin describing his immense relief when she replied, "I think he would like to be... but I don't really see how it could possibly work."
"Oh?" Tom couldn't resist smiling.
"His whole career is cars," Mary explained and that pit returned to Tom's stomach. "Which seems an incompatibility to me."
He nodded mutely. On a basic level, one could say the same of his career. He spent most days in a garage, mending cars or driving various members of the Crawley family around.
But he had other interests, too. He read often, he wrote from time to time, he knew a fair bit about agriculture. Just because cars were a facet of his life didn't mean it dominated who he was... and besides, he wanted to be more than a chauffeur. He was more than that and he knew Mary knew that, too... but that knowledge did nothing to dislodge his sense of unease surrounding Mr. Talbot.
Mary couldn't help but glance at their guest again. Aunt Rosamund was here to meet with some trustee of some girl's school and she invited him for luncheon at Downton. Mr. Harding seemed a perfectly nice man but Mary found herself more interested in his wife. There was just something familiar about her; she couldn't think of where they may have possibly met but she was convinced she must have seen her before... only she couldn't place her.
Eventually, she couldn't take it anymore. "Forgive me, but have we met?" she asked, interrupting a series of questions from Isobel and Aunt Rosamund.
Mrs. Harding suddenly looked very flustered. "Oh, I don't think we've met exactly," she stammered before Edith relieved her by asking:
"Tell us more about Hillcroft."
"You see, I never had any higher education and so—"
"Who did?" Mary interrupted once more. Something about this woman was bothering Mary. She knew she had seen her somewhere... and she was being so evasive about it. She wouldn't let this go. "All we were taught was French, prejudice, and dance steps."
Everyone chuckled politely at that, including Mrs. Harding, but Mary continued to be wary of this woman and her presence at Downton.
"You'll never believe it!" Anna said excitedly, walking into the kitchen, where most everyone was gathered. Tom was having a cup of tea, standing off in the corner to avoid being in the way of the kitchen maids and the staff who were serving. "Gwen is here!"
"Gwen?" Daisy's surprise mirrored Tom's own. "You mean our Gwen? Gwen Dawson?"
"Gwen Harding now," Anna said with a wide smile, elated. "She's Mrs. Painswick's guest, her and her husband."
Husband. Tom remembered now that she was married. He wondered if he was the same man that she had left Lady Sybil for. He simply sipped at his tea, squelching down his resentment towards her. He didn't harbor ill-will towards her... but it was still hard for him to look back at their time as friends fondly when he remembered Lady Sybil's heartbreak. For once, he was glad she wasn't here. He had no way of knowing if time had healed her pain and she was off in America so old wounds couldn't be opened up.
"Who's Gwen?" Andy asked.
"She was housemaid here before the war. She got away to be a secretary," Mrs. Patmore explained to him.
"Now she's having lunch upstairs while we're still stuck down here," Daisy said, voice full of disdain. Clearly he wasn't the only one who had mixed feelings about seeing her again.
"What does his Lordship think?" Mr. Bates asked from the other corner of the kitchen, where he was sipping his own tea. He already had one ready for Anna, who accepted it gladly.
"They won't recognise her," Daisy said dismissively. "They don't look us in the face enough."
"I wonder if Karl Marx might finish the liver pâté," Mrs. Patmore asked with the roll of her eyes.
Tom couldn't hide a grin, pleased he wasn't fighting his political battles alone down here. "I suppose it would depend if she's much changed," Tom said, entering into the conversation. "Lady Mary and Lady Edith might recognize her. Wouldn't she have seen to them at some point?"
Anna shook her head. "I don't think so. I used to see after all the young ladies back then. She would help Lady Sybil sometimes, but if I was unable to, then Miss O'Brien would do it." Tom felt like an idiot then, inadvertently drawing attention to Gwen and Lady Sybil's unusually close relationship... but he doubted anyone else noticed. "But I don't think his Lordship will mind. He's not uncomfortable about that sort of thing. It won't bother him that she used to work here."
"Let's hope not," Tom said, reaching for his cup of tea. "For her sake."
As food started being finished and Mrs. Patmore began dictating who would take what upstairs between Jimmy and Andy, Anna walked over to Tom. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I wasn't thinking."
"What do you mean?"
"About... you know. You and Gwen." She made a sympathetic face.
Oh. Tom had nearly forgotten the fact they used to pretend they were romantically involved. All the obvious flirting so Miss O'Brien would stop prying, all those letters she would slip under the table for Lady Sybil... he had even taken her on a few "dates" to the pictures, mainly to maintain the illusion of some sort of relationship, but they had fun all the same as friends.
"Don't worry about it," Tom said hastily, gulping his tea down now to avoid talking about it. He could put on an act and play pretend, as that was part of his job, but he couldn't lie... especially not to a friend as true as Anna. Still, he wouldn't betray Lady Sybil's secret, nor Gwen's. "I'm happy for her."
Anna didn't seem convinced, offering him a sad smile.
"So is she going to come down?" Mrs. Patmore asked once Jimmy came back down for a tray of food.
"I don't know, she didn't say," Jimmy said brusquely and disinterestedly, taking it from her. "Just talking about her girl's school."
"She said she would try to later," Anna spoke up, still clearly excited.
"I wouldn't bet on it," Thomas all but sneered. "She's too important to speak to the likes of us. Take those up now."
Tom's brow furrowed. He wondered why he was so agitated. He didn't particularly recall Thomas and Gwen ever being friendly, though perhaps that was precisely it. He might be envious of her ascension in the world.
But somehow Tom had lingering sense of doubt. Thomas was speaking as if she had somehow personally wronged him. Perhaps she had, before she left Downton, some slight that Thomas had held against her up until now...
Or perhaps Thomas knew what Tom did. After all, he and Lady Sybil worked together during the war. It always baffled him when she would come to the garage and speak so conversationally about Corporal Barrow. They had become friends, and given that Thomas was what he was, he wouldn't be surprised if Lady Sybil had seen him trustworthy enough to earn her confidences and know about her and Gwen, as well as the circumstances that led to them breaking it off. Perhaps it solidified itself into some sort of grudge.
But Tom wasn't about to ask. He simply sat his cup of tea aside, hoping that Thomas wouldn't be spiteful enough to cause a scene.
When Mrs. Harding made some remark about the virtues of educating working women, Mary found herself saying, "It's lucky Carson isn't here," which earned chuckles from around the table.
"Carson?" Mr. Harding asked.
"Our butler," Papa explained for the benefit of the Hardings. "He's a traditionalist."
But it seemed Mrs. Harding didn't require it. "You recall Mr. Carson, madam, surely?" Thomas asked smoothly, pouring her drink. The woman froze, tensed and staring at the table.
"What do you mean, Barrow?" Cora asked, baffled.
"Mrs Harding used to work here," Thomas answered with a smile.
"What?" Mr. Harding said, stunned.
"She used to be a—"
"Thank you, Mr. Barrow. I can tell it," Mrs. Harding said, looking up to give Thomas a cold glare before turning back towards the assembled party. The transformation between cold and furious to shy and nervous was something behold as she hesitantly
said, "I used to be a housemaid here for a couple of years before the war."
"Here?" Mr. Harding didn't seem upset, grinning. "In this house?"
"I knew I'd seen your face," Mary said, feeling somewhat triumphant but also somewhat irate. Granted, Mary couldn't name off every housemaid who had worked at Downton during her lifetime, especially since the only one she had ever been close with was Anna, but she knew she had recognized her.
"Why didn't you say?" Papa asked.
"I don't know," Mrs. Harding stammered. "Well, I was going to."
"You had every opportunity," Mary pointed out, thinking back to Mrs. Harding's strange answer when Mary asked if her if they had ever met... I was going to, her foot. Mrs. Harding hadn't been planning to do any such thing, though of course she would say so now that she was caught out. Mary's gaze flickered to Barrow, grateful that he had unearthed the truth for them. She didn't like feeling a fool and now that the mystery was solved, she could start wondering why Mrs. Harding was so ashamed of her past here.
"You can take the pudding and Andy can carry the cream," Mrs. Patmore instructed the footmen as they came down for the dessert. "How's it going?"
"Mr Barrow just landed her in it," Andy said with a touch of exasperation.
"Steady on," Jimmy warned.
"Deliberately?" Daisy asked, eyes fixed on Andy.
"He only told the table she used to work here as a maid," Andy replied, answering Daisy.
"Well, I don't remember that," Jimmy said, still glaring at Andy. "She was the one who came out with it, after Mr. Barrow rightfully pointed out that she knew who Mr. Carson was. Why're you all having a go at him? What's so bad about that?"
"She probably wanted to keep it quiet," Tom said, trying to smooth over the situation. He didn't like fighting and Jimmy was looking agitated.
But Jimmy seemed determined to stick up for Thomas. "Well, it's her own fault, isn't it? Lady Mary had already asked her if they knew each other. Besides, what's she so embarrassed about? If it were me having dinner up there with them, I wouldn't let them forget I was the same bloke who had been serving them, night after night."
It was at that precise moment that Thomas returned downstairs, looking righteous in his victory. "We've been hearing that you spoiled Gwen's luncheon," Mr. Bates chose to say. "Good work."
"I couldn't have known she was planning to lie her way through it," Thomas said, unabashed and smiling.
"That's not it though, is it? You're jealous," accused Mr. Bates.
Thomas scoffed. "Jealous? Of her? Why should I be?"
"You tell me," the other man replied.
Thomas shook his head. "No. I'm not jealous of Mrs. Harding. I do, however, resent her. I resent how she is upstairs right now with her husband, acting as if she made her way up in the world of her own accord and merit when I know for a fact she had help. She's trying to take all the credit for someone else's hard work and she is too ashamed to admit it."
"Whose hard work? Yours?" Mr. Bates scoffed.
Tom watched the scene, a sinking out in his stomach. So... Lady Sybil had told him. He felt pleased he wasn't alone in his strange mix of emotions surrounding her return, but he was being careless. Suppose she did tell everyone about Lady Sybil? What if he landed them into trouble?
"Since when were you a friend of Gwen's?" Anna asked, still clearly assuming the same thing her husband was.
"We weren't. But I was friends with someone who was at one point who very close to Mrs. Harding and I know what they did to help her, and I don't like their accomplishments being swept under the rug," Thomas said through gritted teeth. "Loyalty is a quality I value greatly... which is why James doesn't have to worry about polishing the silver tonight. You can manage it on you own, can't you, Andy?" He tilted his head, smiling at the other footman, who was now glowering at him. Jimmy, in contrast, was looking at him as though he had hung the moon.
"His Lordship won't like it, your trying to wrongfoot her," Anna warned him, though not harshly. "And he wouldn't like knowing you're showing preferential treatment."
"Well, we'll see. I know Lady Mary didn't like being made a fool of," Thomas pointed out. Tom knew he was right. It made him feel all the more confident in his decision to let her in on the secret about Miss Marigold. He could only imagine how furious she was right now. "Now in case I have to remind you all again, I am the butler, and I expect my orders to be carried out without question. So please get on." Thomas spun on one heel towards the door.
"Seems marvellous to me you leave service, go into government. Now you're married to a prominent man. A twentieth century story," mused Isobel, who was beaming ear to ear.
"I agree. Welcome back!" exclaimed Mama, who was similarly pleased... a stark contrast to Mary, who was still sore about being lied to. "I just feel stupid for not recognising you."
"Why should you? We never spoke," Mrs. Harding said quickly, trying to reassure her.
"You worked here for two years and we never spoke to you. We're the ones in the wrong," said Edith.
Speak for yourself, thought Mary spitefully.
"No, I didn't mean it like that," Mrs. Harding assured. "It was a good job."
"But not good enough to stay," Aunt Rosamund surmised, which flared Mary's temper. What was so horrible about Downton?
Mrs. Harding shook her head again, smiling. "I didn't want to be in service my whole life. That's all."
Somehow that reminded Mary of Branson, all his talk about not wanting to be a chauffeur about his whole life. She was fairly certain he wasn't about to leave anytime soon, but he must still have dreams, aspirations not too dissimilar to Mrs. Harding's. That reminder of that time where she had almost lost him made her stomach twist and she found her appetite was gone.
"So you found an opportunity and took it. Bravo," congratulated Isobel.
Mrs. Harding hesitated before shaking her head and admitting, "I didn't find it. Lady Sybil found it."
The mere mention of her sister's name shocked Mary into reality. "Lady Sybil helped you?"
"Yes," Mrs. Harding said, nodding and wearing a fond smile. "She did everything. She looked out for the jobs, lent me clothes, drove me to the interviews. One time I remember the horse went lame and we both got stuck in the mud. Oh, the talking we had to do when we got back!"
"I remember! We were so worried! But she never said a thing about you," Mama said.
"It was our secret pact," Mrs. Harding said, again with great affection and a distant smile. "And then one day she cornered the man who was installing the telephone here and that's how I got my first job in business."
"She wouldn't let me enter the library while you met him," Papa breathed out, astonished. "So that was you?"
"Do you still keep in contact?" Aunt Rosamund asked.
A somewhat pained expression crossed Mrs. Harding's features. "At first. I used to keep her updated on what I was doing but... Well, with the war, I was busy... and then I met John, and soon we fell out of touch."
"She'll be so sorry to have missed you," Mama said, wearing a smile.
"Does she still live here, then?" Mrs. Harding seemed both apprehensive and excited at the same time.
"She's been in New York for a few years now," Edith explained, a proud note in her voice. "She's a nurse now, but she's studying to be a doctor."
"Oh, that's wonderful. I'm pleased for her. Truly," Mrs. Harding said. Mary sensed it was genuine, even though the smile didn't quite reach her eyes... and she wondered if there was more to Mrs. Harding's story than what met the eye.
It seemed, despite Thomas's proclamations otherwise, Gwen did have to time to visit everyone. The whole family, as well as Mr. Harding, came down to the servant's hall with her to socialize and catch up. Tom lowered his newspaper and rose to his feet the same time as everyone else. At first, he let himself glance over to Gwen. She was different now; older, which was hardly any wonder when over a decade had passed since their last meeting, and dressed in finer clothes than a maid's uniform. All the same, she was full of smiles and eagerly chatting with Anna.
But Tom was more interested in another woman who had come downstairs. With everyone's focus on Gwen, Tom allowed himself the opportunity to let his gaze linger on Mary, who had chosen to place herself near the wall, watching Anna and Gwen, expression not betraying what she might be thinking. Tom was trying to puzzle her out when she turned to face him, eyes locking with his for a second. He felt his cheeks grow warm, realizing he had been caught out, but he didn't care... especially when she smiled at him.
He supposed it was inevitable that at some point he would be sought out. One moment he was distracted by Mary again, who was now engaged in conversation with Daisy, the next someone was approaching him. "Hello, Mr. Branson," Gwen said timidly, greeting him with a smile.
Tom was torn. He didn't know how to respond to her; at one point in time, she had been one of his closest friends at Downton... but he had also been the one there for Lady Sybil when she had her heart broken by this very woman. He still remembered her tears as if she had shed them yesterday.
But it wouldn't do to be impolite to her. They could be genial, chat vaguely about the old times, inform one another on what was going on in their lives now, and be done with it. So he tipped his head and greeted her with, "Gwen. How are you doing?"
"Well. And you?"
There had never been this strained atmosphere back when she worked here. It only emphasized how much time had passed. "I'm doing well enough," he replied.
She gave him a smile. "I'm surprised to see you still here. I'd have thought you would have moved on, like we used to talk about."
Tom didn't blame her. Their conversations often revolved around starting careers outside of service; for Gwen, that was work as a secretary and for Tom it was something in politics. The fact that he was still here, just a chauffeur, did make him feel disappointed.
You're here for the woman you love, he reminded himself. Mary was worth more than his pride. And he wasn't about to go anywhere without her.
"I've found my reasons to stick around."
"Good." It was a touch too cheery to sound completely genuine. "I didn't realize I would be coming here, to be honest. John told me we were visiting a local house but I didn't realize which one until we pulled in the drive. I was so nervous."
"I expect you would be." Tom didn't know why it came out of his mouth. He wished he hadn't said anything, especially when he had intended to keep things civil.
Gwen's mouth fell open before she closed it. "Guess I deserve that."
Guilty immediately, Tom sighed. "No. You didn't. I'm sorry."
"She didn't take it well, then?" Gwen asked quietly. When Tom shook his head, she closed her eyes. "I figured. She never replied to my letter."
"It was rough."
"So... America."
"Yes. She's going to be a doctor."
"They told me. I'm glad. Truly." Gwen gnawed on her lip. "I know what you must be thinking."
"And what's that?"
"That... That I didn't really care. That I was having a laugh, that I never meant all those things I said."
Tom shook his head. "Not at all. You wouldn't have risked such danger had you not been sincere."
"I was," Gwen whispered back. "Truly. I... You know how I felt about her. I said it often enough... It's just... Well, I met John and—"
"You don't have to explain it to me. Really."
"No, I feel like I have to," insisted Gwen. "Because you were my friend, too. And I know what I say might not change how you feel but I have to say it."
Tom glanced over her shoulder, noticing Anna touch Daisy by the shoulder to dissuade her from approaching them. She was ensuring they had some privacy... no doubt still under the impression they were a pair of old sweethearts. Figuring that as long as they kept their voices down, they wouldn't be overheard. "Right."
"I just... Well, I realized I did want more from my life. I have two daughters now, you know. I never could have had that." She sighed. "Then there was the whole issue of class."
Tom furrowed his brow. "Why would that have mattered?"
Gwen sighed. "Oh, you know how they are. The Crawleys are a decent family but I know they would have disapproved if we'd gone forth with her scheme." It had been so long since Tom had thought about it that he had forgotten. "They'd have hated the fact their daughter was sharing a flat in London with their former housemaid... and that's all I would have been to them. Their former housemaid."
It was only just now that Tom realized he and Gwen had now had something new in common and he couldn't help but feel nervous by what she was saying. "Would it have really mattered? When it was love?" It wouldn't matter to him, not if he and Mary were happy.
"I think it would have. For me. And for her, too." Her voice dropped to a lower volume at the final pronoun. "We would have been reminded of our past constantly instead of being allowed to look for a future... and it would have been a limited future. And like I said, it's not the Crawleys would have invited me for dinner."
"I don't know. You seem to have done well enough for yourself," Tom pointed out, though not harshly. "You had luncheon with them just this afternoon."
"It's different. I'm not their former housemaid anymore, I'm Mrs. Harding." She spoke somewhat derisively. "Lady Mary didn't even know who I was."
As always, his instinctive need to defend Mary snapped into action. "She's a good person. You'd be surprised how much she has grown since you were here... and Thomas said she recognized you."
"I'm not saying she isn't," said Gwen, somewhat taken aback by his fervent defense. Tom supposed maybe he had been too hasty... and it would be uncharacteristic of him, to jump to the defense of Lady Mary Crawley back in the day. But she had changed... and so had he. "And I don't necessarily blame her. We never spoke. I don't think we ever had any reason to. But if they had met me then, that's all they would have seen me as. I wouldn't have been her friend in their eyes, just someone who was riding her coattails and living off her generosity."
Tom couldn't help but feel somewhat anxious by the way she was speaking... namely because these were same concerns he had about his own future. It was safe to say marriage was still a ways off for him and Mary, seeing as he had yet to even broach the subject to her, but he firmly intended on making it a reality. Nevertheless, he doubted that Lord Grantham would be inviting him to tea, even if he was his son-in-law.
Now that was a strange thought. Tom really hadn't ever let himself dwell on that. The family was merely an abstract obstacle he knew they would have to face once the time came but it occurred to him then that once they did marry, he would be seen as a part of the family, at least by his current co-workers. It couldn't have worked that way for Gwen and Sybil, but since marriage was most definitely the outcome he wanted, it was something he would have to accept. He didn't mind the Crawley family— he always thought them fair, decent people. They weren't without their moments of occasional unthinkingness or snobbery but overall they were a good sort.
Gwen was waiting for some sort of answer, staring at him imploringly. Somehow she felt she needed to ask him for forgiveness; Tom didn't hold any of it against her. They had all been young then, especially Sybil and Gwen. He wasn't sure how Lady Sybil felt about it but it wasn't his business. So he asked, "Do you love him?"
"Very much," was her immediate answer. "I cannot tell you how happy I am. It's a life I never thought a girl like me could ever have."
Tom smiled, realizing that the past was in the past. Lady Sybil was in America, living the sort of life she always dreamed of, potentially even with a new love, and Gwen had achieved everything she set out to do. Perhaps things had worked out the way they were always meant to. "Then I'm happy for you. And I wish you luck, in everything you do."
Gwen's smile lit up the room before she impulsively hugged him. He returned the gesture, laughing at her exuberance, oblivious to the fact that Mary's eyes were glued now to them and her lips curved into a frown.
As Mary washed her hands before dinner, the sight of Mrs. Harding's arms around Branson kept cropping up in her thoughts. She let out a slow breath, trying to ease some of the tension out but it did no good.
It bothered her. She knew it shouldn't and she wasn't even sure why it did, but it bothered her. It was such a strangely intimate gesture for two former co-workers. Long before that point, they had been engaged in a deep conversation, Branson oddly cool and Mrs. Harding almost apologetic, both of them speaking quietly. It rubbed Mary the wrong way and she found herself vexed by the whole incident, but it was that damnable hug which bothered her most of all.
Once she dried her hands and she exited her bathroom, she found Anna laying out her dress for the evening. "Daisy pulled me aside in the servant's hall," Mary began.
"Oh? Whatever for?"
"She wants to know if I'll give Mr. Mason Yew Tree Farm, now that the Drewes are leaving."
"Well, I hope she wasn't bothering you," Anna said, almost embarrassed.
"Oh, no. I certainly don't approve of the way she conducted herself at the auction, but I know it was only because of Mr. Mason that she did so."
"Are you considering it then, milady?"
Mary nodded, saying, "I think I am." It surprised her; the estate would earn more money if they farmed it themselves. But she couldn't help but think of William Mason. He had died because he had saved Matthew's life. The only reason Mary had been able to marry Matthew and had George now was because of William's sacrifice. Surely giving his father Yew Tree Farm would be repayment. Besides, Mason was a pig man, or so she had been led to believe. Perhaps it would be prudent to let him take charge.
But all her musings were quickly banished by a sudden hiss. Anna's hands were gripping the backboard of Mary's bed, knuckles white and face twisted in a grimace of pain before one hands went to her stomach. Oh God, Mary thought, the baby.
"Now, don't panic," Mary said, levelly as she could manage, though she wasn't sure if it was directed at Anna or herself. "Are you in pain?"
"I was then. A sharp pain. I had it earlier," Anna managed to choke out, devastation written all over her features as she turned to Mary. "Oh, I'm losing it. It's happening again."
"We don't know that," Mary said sternly, not letting her think for one moment this was inevitable. Dr. Ryder was confident that, if a surgery was performed before she gave birth, that Anna would have no trouble at all carrying a baby to full term. If they acted now, surely something could be done. "Right, we're going up to London. I'll ring Dr. Ryder, there'll be a night telephone line."
"But we've missed the last train," Anna pointed out, still distraught.
"We'll drive into York," insisted Mary. This wasn't it; this couldn't be over. "There may be a late train."
"What do I tell Mr Bates?" asked Anna, distressed. "I don't want to frighten him, but I mustn't get his hopes up."
"Tell him it's me," Mary said, inventing wildly. That's what she would tell everyone; there was no need to let the world know about Anna's secret. She could handle a bit of prying from her family, if it meant concealing something for Anna. "I need to see a doctor double-quick."
Anna remained uncertain. "What if I lose it on the way?" she asked, close to tears.
"Then we'll be no worse off than we are now," Mary pointed out, sorely hoping that wouldn't be the case. "But we'll make him see you when we get there. I don't care what time it is, he'll come to Belgrave Square." If she had to storm into his house and drag him out of bed, she would. "Now go, fetch Mr. Branson, and meet me at the front."
Anna nodded before hurrying out of the room. Mary reaches beneath her bed, pulling out her luggage. She wouldn't be in London long at all, so there was no need to pack much. She threw some clothes in there, paying little attention to what they were. She reached for her handbag as well, checking to ensure that her little brown diary was already in there before reaching for her coat.
Her parents and Aunt Rosamund were full of questions when she went to tell them where she was going and to ask for permission to stay at Aunt Rosamund's, but Mary wasn't about to dawdle. This was of the utmost importance; she would be damned if Anna lost this child, the one she desperately wanted.
When she went out front, suitcase in tow, Branson was already waiting for her. The moment he saw her, he advanced forward, evidently panicked. "Mary, are you alright?"
"I'm fine," she assured him but that seemed to do nothing.
"Anna said it was an emergency." He stood directly in front of her, hands reaching out just in front of his body as if he wanted to touch her but was holding himself back. It scared Mary when she realized that she wished he just would.
"I'm perfectly alright. I promise," she said, softer now, even though she knew she hadn't abated his worry.
"You don't— You know you can tell me anything, don't you? It doesn't matter what it is. I only want to help you."
The sheer fear in his voice made her heart feel like it was breaking. She couldn't maintain this pretense, not with him. "I'm perfectly alright," she repeated now, lowly, hoping the emphasis. "It's an emergency, yes, but I'm not in any danger."
Comprehension dawning on him, Branson's mouth fell open. A strange mix of relief and concern came over his features, one right after the other. "Anna?"
"You can't breathe a word to anyone, not even to Bates, but she may be having a miscarriage," Mary whispered.
"I won't say anything... but she should tell him."
"I've tried to tell her that. She won't listen."
A shaky breath left him. "Suppose all the trains have left York by the time we get there? Is there anyone at the hospital there who could help her?"
"Not anyone I trust," Mary said, not comprehending just how candid she was being Branson. It was so easy to be lulled into a sense of ease and comfort with him. "I've already found her a doctor in London and I know he'll do a night call."
"Won't that be terribly expensive?"
"I'm paying," Mary told him. "I— I want her to have this baby. She wants it so badly."
Branson nodded, understanding. "They've wanted a child for a long time. I hope— I hope it all works out."
The conversation died down for they soon heard footsteps on the gravel and a low conversation. Mary instantly recognized Anna and Bates. "I suppose I'd best get in," she whispered to him before handing him her luggage. She climbed into the car herself so that once Anna had said goodbye to Bates, they were able to leave.
Branson drove down the darkened roads at a faster speed than usual, which made Mary's heart race, but she breathed deeply to calm herself. "Are you alright, milady?" Anna asked, looking at Mary with concern.
"I'm perfectly alright," Mary said. She had no way of knowing for certain, but it seemed as though Branson must have overheard for he slowed down.
It was a highly irregular drive, vastly different from their normal ones, which were often full of conversation and laughter. With Anna as an interloper, and with situation as dire as this, they remained quiet.
Thankfully, there was one last train in York by the time they reached the station. "Thank you, Branson," Mary said as he helped her out of the car, squeezing his hand for good measure. It was oddly formal for them, but Mary was more aware of Anna's eyes and wars than ever. "You cannot know how much I appreciate it."
"Of course, my lady," Branson murmured, low as if it were a secret.
Mary so wanted to linger behind, to talk to him just for a few more minutes, but the second he released her hand to collect hers and Anna's luggage, she was reminded of how time was of the essence.
It wasn't until the train was halfway to London that image of Mrs. Harding hugging him finally came back to slowly drive her insane.
"I'm sorry to make you do this, milady," apologized Anna as Mary settled the tray onto her lap. "You needn't do all this for my sake."
"Of course I do," Mary retorted. "Considering everything you've done for me, I think it is about time I repaid the favor."
"I'm sure you already have, milady. This trip alone is repayment enough," insisted her maid, though she gladly began eating her soup. Then she lowered her spoon. "What about your dinner?"
"I'll eat later. I'm not hungry at the moment." Every time she thought about that hug, she felt sick to her stomach. There was no logical explanation for it and at the end of the day, it meant nothing to her... but she supposed it reminded her that she was hardly the only woman to have taken notice that Branson was a highly attractive man... and it wouldn't surprise her if Mrs. Harding had observed in her time at Downton, either. Branson had mentioned his desire to settle down one day and she wasn't convinced he would be content remaining a chauffeur at Downton Abbey once he finally did. Dwelling on it only made her feel downcast.
Anna frowned. "You're not feeling ill, are you?"
"It's me who should be asking you that." As it happened, Mary did. She remembered her dismay back when it seemed Branson was set for America and even that paled into comparison of what she felt now. She didn't know how to describe it but it bothered her to no end.
Anna rolled her eyes with a smile. "The doctor says I'm alright and you've already asked me half a dozen times. I promise you, if I start feeling unwell, I'll say something."
Mary hoped that was true. She had taken a great deal of effort to ensure Baby Bates's survival. "Were you excited to see Mrs. Harding yesterday?" she asked, crossing her legs. She aimed for nonchalance, hoping her maid wouldn't notice how deathly curious she was.
"Gwen? Oh yes, I did." Anna seemed to light up at the very mention of the woman. Mary found it irritated her... but she didn't let it show. "We used to share a room when she was at Downton."
"So you knew her well?"
"She was almost like a younger sister to me," Anna replied. "It was nice to see her again."
"Mr. Branson seemed happy to see her as well," Mary said before she could stop herself. She hadn't meant to utter that thought; she really hadn't. She had planned to slowly ease into things, not just blurt it out.
"Yes, I think so. They used to be good friends when she was at Downton."
Good friends? How good of friends were they? Mary had never heard of this woman before in her life, not from Sybil nor from Branson, despite their apparently being so close to one another.
She didn't think it could possibly be any worse until Anna said, "I always thought they were rather sweet on each other."
"Really?" Mary asked sharply.
Anna seemed startled by her change in tone. She gaped after Mary before stammering, "Well, I don't believe it was ever anything serious."
Mary couldn't tell if that was better or worse than her initial thought. They'd seemed close, yes, and apparently Anna had observed as much when they were working together... and now she was saying it wasn't serious. So what exactly was their relationship like? Was it purely... physical? It was driving Mary mad not knowing... though she couldn't see how she could ever possibly ask.
Careful not to be too harsh with Anna (who obviously didn't deserve it, especially after what she had been through last evening), Mary aimed for a more curious tone. "So you didn't know for sure? She never told you?"
Anna shook her head, still cautious. "Gwen was always private on things like that and you know what Mr. Branson is like. But they would always sit by each other and pass notes when they thought we weren't looking."
Hearing that unexpectedly made Mary feel when more ill. The fact Branson had not once divulged an iota of information on this woman was startling to her, provided she had once apparently been such an important part of his life, made her question if he trusted her nearly as much as she trusted him.
Lingering on it made her stomach turn. Had it been something like her and Charles, casual dates every now and again... or had they been lovers? She doubted she would embrace Charles so warmly as Mrs. Harding had Branson this afternoon...
Mary kept Anna company for a while longer before finding herself saying, "I might go out tonight. You wouldn't mind, would you?"
"Of course not! You don't come up to London very often. You should have a chance to have some fun," insisted Anna. "But who would you be going with?"
"Mr. Talbot told me to look him up if I was ever in London. I figured I might as well."
"Mr. Talbot?" Anna seemed surprised.
"Is it so shocking?"
"Not shocking... but I hadn't thought you overly keen on him— especially with his job."
"I don't know him well enough yet. Besides, he's rather handsome."
"Yes... but you've always been one more for substance than good looks," pointed out Anna with a warm smile.
"Well, he is a nice man. I'm sure I'll have a wonderful time."
Mary could scarcely believe she was doing this as she pulled out at the contents of her handbag, fingers digging about the bottom before procuring Mr. Talbot's card. She phoned him and they agreed to meet at his club (which, much to her dismay, was one for automobile enthusiasts) for dinner, though Mary wasn't certain she would have much of an appetite.
Since she hadn't been planning to go out that evening, she found herself raiding Aunt Rosamund's wardrobe for something suitable, wrinkling her nose as she sorted through her black dresses. It wasn't that her aunt's sense of fashion was bad, per se, but it was more mature than Mary preferred. Nevertheless, she managed to find something that would work.
Mr. Talbot brought her to his club which was, of course, an automobile club. Mary tried to not be too irritated; cars were, after all, his life. He seemed more interested in Mary's though. Mary told him about her passion for her work and George, remarking that the fact he was her father's heir made things rather neat and tidy in terms of inheritance.
"Neat and tidy-ish," Henry agreed, repressing a smile. "But aren't you rather at a loose end?"
There was one thing she could say about Henry Talbot; he wasn't opaque about his intentions. "I hope this means you're boiling up to make a pass before we're done."
Henry cleared his throat before admitting, "Probably. But will you accept?
"No." Mary couldn't possibly see how it could work, the two of them together. The very location of this date was evidence enough of their incompatibility. But she wasn't lying when she said, "But I shall enjoy the process enormously," for flirting with Henry was doing wonders to make her forget about Branson and Mrs. Harding.
They ended up having a wonderful time. Truly. But there was something missing. Something she couldn't quite put her finger on. He was attractive, certainly, as well as quite charming and easy to speak to, but she couldn't help but feel something was lacking. It was as if he were constantly holding himself back. She didn't suspect he was reserving some deep, dark secret but at the same time he wasn't allowing himself to be fully present. It wasn't a bad thing, but Mary wondered if she was invested enough in him to bother trying to figure him out.
"I'll be up in Yorkshire soon," he said as their date neared a close. "Would you be amendable to me paying you a call in that time? I'd love to see you again."
"Certainly," she replied, reminding herself that this was all a bit of fun. After all, it wasn't as if they could ever have a serious future, given his career. She wondered what he found so attractive about her, given her aversion to automobiles, but he certainly seemed keen enough. It would run its course one day but for now she would enjoy herself while it lasted.
"You never had a chance to tell me about London," Tom remarked the day after Mary returned. It was the first time they'd had any time alone together in several days and as overly dramatic as it might sound, Tom felt as though he was languishing without her. Even though it hadn't truly been very long, he felt completely bereft. Life seemed less vibrant, the dreary monotony threatening to consume him until her and Anna returned.
Her cheeks were pink when she pointed out, "Anna was with us. She still doesn't know you know about her baby."
Tom was ashamed when he realized he had forgotten momentarily about the reason for the sudden visit to London. "But all is well?"
"Yes," Mary confirmed, smiling. He sighed in relief even though he had already assumed such; Anna was significantly more cheerful these days, even more than before. "We shall expect a Bates baby in due time."
"What about did you? Did you have a chance for any fun while you were away in London?"
Mary smiled. "Would it surprise you to know I played nursemaid most of the time?"
Tom shook his head, grinning in kind. "Not at all. You like pretending you aren't nice, but I know the truth."
Her smile seemed to grow even wider. "I did have a nice time, actually. I had the chance to go out to dinner even. With Mr. Talbot."
Tom's bright mood vanished instantly. "Mr. Talbot? You mean the race car driver?"
"Yes. He lives in London."
He felt as if his blood had frozen in his veins. Though he knew deep down there was nothing to worry about, he strongly disliked the idea of Mary dining with another man... even though he knew he had no real grounds to object. Even though he was convinced they felt the same way about one another, it wasn't as if either of them had ever verbalized it. He kept meaning to, kept waiting for the right place and time, but with all the excitement no time had ever felt like the right moment to clue her in on where he stood. And if she was going out to dinner with Mr. Talbot... well, it was only fair he would feel a little less confident about voicing such things, especially if it meant he could lose her for good.
"You seem pensive," Mary remarked suddenly. Before he could respond, she asked, "Were you thinking of Mrs. Harding?"
"Gwen?" Tom blurted out, confused. He glanced in the mirror and saw Mary wear a peculiar expression. "No. Why do you ask?"
Mary shrugged but there was an odd tenseness that was so rare in her. "She certainly seemed eager to talk to you."
"I didn't think so, no more than anyone else," Tom said mildly.
Mary carried on as if he hadn't spoken. "And Anna told me you were sweethearts."
Tom almost slammed on the breaks in shock. "What?"
"Were you?"
"No!" Tom exclaimed. Clearly he should have corrected Anna. "We were friends, yes, but nothing more."
The tension in her shoulders seemed to ease up then. "Oh." She blinked, clearly surprised... but also in a considerably better mood. Tom suppressed a smile. Had she really been jealous? "Anna seemed quite convinced."
Tom tensed, biting on the inside of his cheek as he deliberated what to say. "She was seeing someone. It was a big secret. I knew about it so I would make a show of flirting with her in the servant's hall so nobody would suspect. But I never had any interest in her."
Mary seemed accept his response, already brightening. "And who was this mystery suitor?"
"Does it matter now? At any rate, it wasn't Mr. Harding," he told her hastily, hoping she wouldn't pry. He had already revealed one sister's secret; while having an illegitimate child was scandalous, Lady Sybil could very well face criminal charges if anyone knew about her relationship with Gwen. It wasn't that he didn't trust Mary or think she would ever purposely reveal such a secret, but he still felt a sense of loyalty to protect Lady Sybil.
Thankfully, Mary wasn't nearly as interested in Gwen's life once she concluded it had little to do with Tom's. She began telling him about her plan for Yew Tree Farm, which almost made him forget about her dinner with Mr. Talbot.
Mary began wondering if she hadn't made a mistake by going to dinner with Henry Talbot for soon she received a letter asking her to come watch him test out some car. On the one hand, she couldn't think of anything less enthusing. She still detested cars and Henry's whole identity seemed to be wrapped up in them. On the other hand, he hadn't done anything wrong and didn't seem to mind that they didn't share a passion. She knew his invitation was solely an excuse to see her again... and she didn't dislike that at all.
Branson seemed taken aback when she mentioned it to him after he drove her down to Yew Tree Farm to see how Mr. Mason had settled in. "So soon? You saw him in London not long ago."
"Well, yes... but he's up here now. It would be rude to turn him down," Mary added, almost defensively. She knew that all she had to do was point out that it was none of his business what she did what her love life, but she couldn't do that. Furthermore, she wasn't sure how she felt about Mr. Talbot, nor how serious she was about this thing with him.
"You might as well stand by and keep me company," said Mary to Branson as he helped her out of the car once they reached the track. "I suspect Mr. Talbot will be too busy zooming around the racetrack... and you'll enjoy it far more than I would." She already knew she was correct; his eyes had lit up at the mere suggestion.
"You don't think Mr. Talbot will mind?" Branson asked dubiously, though she could tell he was excited by the idea.
"I'm humoring him enough by agreeing to come in first place. I think if I have to stand by while he drives about in a circle, I should jolly well have some company." Especially, Mary thought, when she was certain her nerves would be unable to take it otherwise. Having a familiar face by her side would help.
"Very well," answered Branson and he walked with her over to where Mr. Talbot and Mr. Rogers stood.
"Lady Mary," Mr. Talbot addressed her as she approached him, taking a few steps forward to meet her partway, "What a lovely surprise. I wasn't sure if you would make it."
"Oh, good," said Mary with a smile. At his incredulous look, she said, "It's nice to know I can keep an air of mystery about me." She turned to the other gentleman. "It's pleasure to see you again, Mr. Rogers."
After all the greetings had been exchanged, Mary said, "This is my chauffeur, Branson. I thought he'd be more interested in all this than myself, so I hope you don't mind."
"Not at all," Mr. Talbot said, offering Branson his hand to shake. She was surprised by the reluctance of the chauffeur but they shook hands, Mr. Rogers doing the same a moment later. "So you enjoy driving, then?"
"I do, yes."
"I only ask because I know not every chauffeur has a love for it," Mr. Talbot said with a smile. "Say, would you like to take a spin?"
"No," Mary answered for him, more sharply than intended. All three men turned to look at her with surprise. Realizing her error immediately, Mary followed up with, "That is, who will keep me company if Mr. Branson is out there testing out a car?"
"I could keep you company," offered Mr. Talbot, looking eager... almost too eager. It was disarming to have someone be so obvious about their interest and she didn't know if she cared for it.
"I don't mind," answered Branson. He wore a tight smile... and immediately Mary realized she had misstepped very badly, answering on his behalf like that, as if he weren't a person with thoughts or feelings or opinions on his own. Of course he would want to drive around, why wouldn't he? After all, it was hardly as if he was able to let loose with Papa's cars... and certainly not with Mary around.
She wasn't used to apologizing for anything so she held her tongue for a while as Mr. Talbot and Mr. Rogers started up the cars. It was only after they began speeding off that she had enough courage to glance over to Branson. His gaze was trained intently ahead at cars, not at all on her. "I owe you an apology," she said, hoping she could be heard of the roar of the engines. "I shouldn't have answered for you. I'm sorry." Somehow it didn't feel demeaning, apologizing to him like this, not like how it was with nearly everyone else. Then again, Mary supposed most of her apologies were usually prompted by others chastening her; she actually wanted to make things right with Branson.
"It's alright."
"No," insisted Mary. "No, it's not." She hesitated, wondering she should say anything more before admitting, "I find myself on edge today."
"What for? You seemed alright earlier."
"I'm good at pretending. You know that," she said to him. "I just— Well, I trust you remember how I was at the beginning. When Mr. Crawley died."
She spared a nervous glance his way, now realizing he was looking at her with a frown. The idea of leaving the hospital with her baby in the same kind of machine that had just killed her husband horrified her beyond relief, leading to a humiliating breakdown in front of the hospital which involved Mary collapsing against her Papa, begging him to let her walk home with George instead. Branson had been there to see it all unfold, obviously, and Mary only briefly recalled the sting in her arms when one of the nurses administered a sedative. It wasn't until the day of his funeral that she had been able to ride in a car; Branson's care to creep along slowly and not come to any screeching halts had spared her from further breakdowns like that. After that, she felt comfortable in the backseat of any car, provided he was driving.
"Of course," he murmured, glancing back and forth between her and the cars, which were on the other side of the track.
"It's no excuse, but I just—"
"You don't have to explain. Not to me." Branson was earnest, meeting her eyes. "It doesn't matter. Truly."
Mary felt herself breathing a sigh of relief, tension easing. "Thank you," she said quietly, though she wasn't certain he could hear her over the roaring of the engines as Henry and Charlie approached them. They zoomed past, creating a gust of wind as they continued flying around the racetrack. After they did it a second time, Mary began fussing, pulling out a compact mirror and some lipstick just for something to occupy herself. "Mr. Rogers going to beat him again. It infuriates him," she fretted.
"Mr Rogers is a good driver," commented Branson mildly. She barely took note of the fact he hadn't said the same of Henry.
"I know, but they take such risks," she groused. "I hate it. I just hate it."
"There's no such thing as slow motor racing."
"Even so."
"And there's no such thing as safe love. Real love means giving someone the power to hurt you." His voice wavered ever so slightly as he said it.
Love? It seemed awfully early to be thinking about that, especially in relation to Mr. Talbot. "Which I won't concede easily."
"I'm glad to hear it," Branson said, which earned him a shocked look from Mary. Hearing her unspoken question, Branson replied, "I think you can do much better than the likes of Mr. Talbot."
Well, that was more baffling than his first statement. She wasn't certain what Henry had done to deserve such a poor opinion from Branson. Mary almost asked him what sort of a man he felt would best suit her when Mr. Talbot and Mr. Rogers slowed down. She instead turned her attentions to returning her lipstick and compact into her handbag as the men approached, laughing and teasing one another— a verbal extension of their competition on the track.
"Well?" Henry asked, as if Mary would know the first thing about motor racing.
"How fast," was all she could muster in response. What else could she say? The only other things she could think of related to Matthew's accident, which she felt would put rather a dampener on things.
"That is the general idea," said Henry, grinning as he craned his head back to look at the car before turning back to them. "What did you think, Branson?"
Branson's eyes widened, clearly taken aback to being addressed. "It looks like she handles well."
"Will you take it to Brooklands, then?" Mary asked, trying to participate somewhat in the conversation.
Henry nodded. "Brooklands and other tracks. I think I've found my new car. What do you say, Charlie?" He turned now to Charlie Rogers.
"Well, she must be good to beat me, if you did," he jested.
"Oh, I did and I will again!" Henry smacked him lightly on the chest with the back of his hand. "Why don't we all go out for a celebratory drink? There's a pub at Catterick."
"Not for me, I'm afraid," Charlie declined. "I have to go home."
Henry turned to Mary. "No reason we can't go, is there?" He asked, shooting her a smile. "And you too, Branson, of course," he added casually, as though it were normal to invite servants out for drinks... which rather made him rise in her estimation.
Strangely enough, she had to stop herself from turning towards Branson as if to consult him about the business, as though it were a decision they would make together. "Why not?" she replied.
Henry smiled. "It's settled, then. Just let me get changed and then I'll lead the way there," he said, nodding to Branson before giving him a friendly clap on the shoulder. She didn't miss the way Branson tensed and jumped, eyes widening after Henry's gesture.
It felt strange, two worlds colliding in a pub, where Branson sat on one side of her and Henry on the other. Even more strange was the fact Henry had taken to Branson a great deal. He asked him all sorts of questions— all of them related to cars, in one way or another. It was making Mary feel as though she was intruding on a date between the two of them.
"Why don't I fetch us another round?" Henry suggested, noting their nearly empty glasses. Without really waiting for a response, he rose to his feet, walking towards the bar.
"He's nice, isn't he?" Mary asked Branson, who shrugged noncommittally. "He seems to like you."
"I think he appreciates my knowledge of cars more than anything," Branson scoffed, taking another sip of his beer. "If you weren't here, I'm sure we wouldn't even be having this conversation."
Mary evaluated him carefully. "You still don't like him, then?"
Branson seemed reluctant to admit, "No, not particularly."
"And why is that?"
There was a long, terse moment of deliberation before he managed to say, "Like I said earlier, you could do much better."
She didn't understand that at all. "I'd be very surprised if you were objecting to his class of all things."
"No, of course not," was his instantaneous response.
"Then what makes you say that? I don't think you're being entirely fair to Mr. Talbot. It isn't as if you know him well."
"No," Branson agreed. "But really, what do you know about him, apart from the fact he's a car fanatic?" Mary opened her mouth to respond but realized she couldn't think of anything of any substance. Seeming to have made his point, Branson leaned back in his chair, looking pleased with himself. She felt a strange, familiar coiling of desire within her stomach as he said, "It seems to me you've little in common."
"Must we?" Mary asked, not looking away from him as she crossed her legs beneath the table. What was wrong with her? She was here with Henry! "You and I come from two different worlds, you're a car enthusiast, and we get on like a house on fire."
His lips twitched. "True enough," he said lowly. "But I know that you aren't interested in cars, so I don't talk to you about them. We discuss other things. Has he talked of anything else since we came here?" He raised both his eyebrows as she sat there, reeling at what he was saying. "It doesn't indicate a promising future."
"Who cares about the future?" said Mary, a touch defensive and on edge, thanks to that desire still coursing through her. She had power over herself, she could handle this. "I'm not planning on marrying him or anything—"
"Good," interjected Branson as Henry returned to the table, balancing their drinks. They conversed about automobiles for a while more before Henry asked her about the estate. By that time, they were nearing the end of their drinks and a quick glance at the clock told Mary that she had been gone long enough. Branson drained his drink and left to bring the car around, affording Mary and Henry their first chance alone all day.
"He seems like a nice fellow," Henry commented.
"Yes."
"How long has he been with your family?"
"About a decade," she replied.
Henry nodded. "You know him well, then?"
She should have said yes. It was the truth and Henry had already proven he wasn't a snob. He wasn't the sort to mention things like this to her father... but Mary found herself saying, "No, not particularly. Truth be told, I've never heard him talk nearly as much as I have today."
Henry grinned from ear to ear. "It's always nice to have someone to bond with over a shared interest. I'm sorry we dominated the conversation with all our car talk."
"That's quite alright."
"How about I make it up to you?" Henry said, eagerly. "When will you next be up in London?"
"I haven't a clue. I don't make it there frequently. The last time was rather an anomaly," admitted Mary.
Henry nodded. "Well... you know how to contact me. I'd love to see you again... especially if we'll be alone."
Mary knew she ought to apologize for being so insistent on Branson's company at the track, but truth be told, she wasn't. She didn't know how she would have managed without him by her side, a steady presence and sound mind, someone who knew her and understood her. Besides, he was the one who invited him to drinks.
Branson pulled the car up front just then, which meant Mary only had enough time to coyly say, "We'll see."
Branson remained oddly quiet the whole way home. Mary wondered if she had done something wrong or if he was stewing because of Mr. Talbot, but she had enough other things to consume her thoughts to think about it too much. She was still rattled by the lie she had told Henry, curious as to why she hadn't just told the truth.
She wasn't any closer to finding the answer when they arrived home but some time between Anna dressing her for dinner and meeting Mr. Neville Chamberlain (who Granny had managed to finagle to Downton for dinner), she thought she might have come close to the heart of the matter: one of the things she liked most about her peculiar relationship with Branson was the fact that no one else knew, meaning that nobody else could pry into it. There was Anna, of course, and though Mary knew she was curious, she wasn't the sort to be nosy. Her family simply wouldn't understand and while Henry didn't seem the sort to be bothered, she liked having something that was solely hers and Branson's untouched by the opinions of the rest of the world.
It wasn't until dinner began that she felt she could remotely deal with business of tackling Branson's assertions about Henry not being the right sort of man for her. Despite knowing he completely right, he lacked the knowledge of her own inappropriate feelings towards himself, completely oblivious to the fact she needed someone to distract her. Henry was handsome, charming, and clearly enjoyed spending time with her... and he was fulfilling the role of a distraction marvelously; so marvelously that she was able to tune out most of the tedious conversation about the village hospital until Papa wearily said,
"Can't we stop this beastly row?"
"How I wish we could," Mama replied, tense.
"Because I... I..." His groan drew everyone's attention as he pushed himself to his feet, looking unwell. "I'm so sorry—" he began, but nobody every found out what he had fully intended to say, for he made a horrible retching sound before an explosion of blood seemed to erupt from him, bathing the table in scarlet and sending the room into complete pandemonium.