The Count at Ripon

"Really, Branson, I thought I gave the orders."

Lady Sybil's words ring in Tom's ears as he finds a place to park the car, then comes racing back to find her.

She is so reckless, so passionate. Qualities he normally admires in her.

But today, he feels they are going to get her into trouble. Both of them, if he is honest with himself.

Can you imagine what would happen to me if anything goes wrong here today? I'll be out on my ear.

Running under the archway, Tom shades his eyes from the brightness that breaks over him as he entered the courtyard.

Where is she?

He can picture her even before he finds her. Eyes wide, mouth in an O of excitement, standing on tiptoe as she tries to see what's happening on the stage.

Then he sees her. About halfway towards the front, her hat bobbing in a sea of people.

He shoulders his way through the crowd, his one thought to get to her before anything happens. "Can we call it a day, milady?"

He can hardly hear Lady Sybil's reply over the tumult. "Don't be silly. This is the moment we've come for."

The speaker on stage continues to bellow over the roar of the unruly crowd as he looks around, his senses on full alert.

He knows what that roar means. He'd been in the middle of it before, in Dublin, when things were about to go horribly wrong. And he doesn't like it.

Especially not with her there, in the heart of the action.

"This lot aren't interested in politics. They're spoiling for a fight."

Tom can hear the panic starting to come through in his voice. But Lady Sybil's not listening.

He wants to put his arm around her, shelter her, guide her outside to where it's safe. But it's not his place to do that. So he has no choice but to stand beside her.

If anyone tries to hurt her, he'll have to come through me...

A familiar voice beside them, sure of its authority. "Sybil! What on earth are you doing here?"

It's Matthew Crawley. Tom feels an unaccountable stab of dislike for him.

Lady Sybil's shining-eyed as she turns towards her cousin. "I couldn't miss this."

A rueful smile on the other man's face. "Couldn't you? I could."

But Tom has seen the interlopers filtering into the back of the courtyard and the violence they are bringing with them. He's beyond words now, knowing he has to take some kind of action to protect her, whatever the cost.

"I don't like the look of this, milady."

He steps forward to confront one of the men, trying to win him over. But he's pushed aside, hard. The man is bent on trouble, whatever form that might take, and he's not interested in Tom's efforts to make peace.

Then, the man's eyes meet Matthew's, who's in a belligerent mood.

It only takes a minute for the situation to boil over. The man takes a swing at Matthew and misses, and Matthew gives as good as he gets and then some.

But somehow, Lady Sybil is caught in the middle of it all.

Horror-struck, held back by a member of the rough mob, Tom sees her trip, fall, strike her head on the corner of a table.

Then she disappears beneath the feet of the surging crowd.

He feels his heart almost burst out of his chest as he pushes free and races over to where he saw her fall.

Matthew's there too, looking worried as he touches her head, something which would be an unpardonable liberty for Tom.

There's blood on Matthew's fingers.

Tom's focus zeroes in on a single point in the universe. The point where a girl lies, unconscious on the ground. The point where the happiness, the joy of his life, the love of his heart, is fully revealed to him.

I love her. I love her so much. How could I not have known?

"Oh, no. Oh, please God, no."

The utter panic in his eyes.. he can't hide it now.

They both lift Sybil up. Then Matthew leads the way back to the car, while Tom carries her out of the courtyard.

It's the most precious burden he's ever carried. She's so light, light as a feather. But she carries the weight of his heart with her.

Time is a blur after that. He's aware of nothing but her, aware of nothing but his longing for her to wake up, smile at him, reassure him that she is going to be all right.

He finds himself in the entrance hall of Downton Abbey, not even sure how he got there. Lady Mary emerges from the drawing room, an anxious look on her face.

"I've come to fetch you, my lady. We've taken Lady Sybil to Crawley House in the village."

"What's happened?

"I took her to Ripon for the count. She got injured in a fight."

The emotion on Lady Mary's face is raw. She gasps, covering her mouth before pressing his hand with hers.

In the midst of everything, he's jealous of her for a moment. Because she has the right to feel as she does, and to show it to the world.

Unlike him. Who has to remember his place.

"Take me there at once."

And he does.

When Lady Mary jumps out of the car and runs inside, there's nothing for him to do but wait. One thought races through his mind like a prayer to the God of his childhood.

Please, God, let Sybil be all right. I will do anything as long as she's all right…

At least there's one advantage to being the chauffeur. No one expects him to feel anything, so no one will be looking at him.

Later on, they bring her home. She's conscious now, leaning heavily on Matthew as he guides her to the front door.

Tom's arms ache to pick her up again, but he knows he can't do that. Ever again.

He has to know, so he speaks to her sister without being spoken to first.

"She's not badly hurt, is she?"

"I don't think so, no."

"Thank God."

"Better be prepared. I'm afraid Lord Grantham will hit the roof."

Somehow, it's important that Lady Mary understand. "I never would have taken her there. I may be a socialist, but I'm not a lunatic."

"I'm not sure Papa knows the difference."

There's a moment of mutual understanding, almost respect between them. He's never had much time for her before – he's always found her something of a cold fish, always calculating, too aware of presenting the perfect façade to the world. But now he can see her love for her sister on her face.

Which gives them something in common, for the first time.

"You'll let me know how she gets on?"

She's surprised at his request, but he doesn't care what she thinks. As long as Sybil will be all right, nothing else matters. Certainly not his so-called dignity.

She agrees. Then she leaves him alone.

Anguish fills Tom's soul as he turns away.

He walks slowly back to the car and drives it round to the garage. As if in a dream, he returns to his cottage, takes off his jacket, pours himself a glass of whiskey and drinks it so fast he coughs.

Sitting down at the empty fireside, his face falls and he runs his hands through his hair. He'll get no sleep tonight. The mingled joy and despair of today's revelation will take care of that.

His feelings overwhelm him like a spring tide as he works his way down the half-empty bottle.

It's hopeless, he already knows it. He and she can never... but it doesn't matter. The dark, star-pierced canopy of night swirls over his head, but he barely notices the time passing.

Early the next morning, William brings him a note from Lady Mary to let him know that Sybil will recover.

He reads it twice, to make sure, then closes his eyes, crunching the paper in his fist as a tear slips down his cheek. The first one he has shed in many years.

Oh, my love…

Nothing will ever be the same again. Whatever happens next, he's lost. Lost for all time.