"I should have figured, with a name like Sybil, she wouldn't have a farmer's daughter or anything." Tom and his old friend turned footman, William, sat in the near empty servants hall after most of the others had gone to bed. It had surprised Tom to find William working at Downton, just as he had been when William asked if he remembered the girl who fell and hurt herself all those summers ago, that she was now an employer to Tom.
Of course Tom remembered, he had gotten in trouble for ruining one of his two shirts, but he had borne his punishment well because he had deserved it. It was his fault the girl had been hurt anyway. Sybil… what an interesting name, he hadn't forgotten it. "She was all right then?"
There was a hesitation before William spoke, but barely noticeable, could have easily been him trying to remember, "yes, she is fine," he chuckled a little, "and just like back then she will be mad if you say anything otherwise to her."
Tom nodded, "I still feel awful, it was my fault."
William shook his head, "You were nine, so I don't think you should hold it against yourself." The conversation moved on and before long William headed off to bed, his day much longer than Tom's typically would be.
It was inconsequential to Sybil that her father hired a new chauffeur, it had been mentioned to her but was hardly a blip on her consciousness. When she had asked Anna to request Pratt drive her into the village the next day, she had been gently reminded that it was no longer Pratt but Branson.
Branson turned out to be a good deal younger than Pratt, he looked only slightly older than Sybil herself. She might have considered him handsome if she hadn't caught his eyes travel down to her legs with her uneven steps. She sighed, she was used to it, for some reason everyone wanted to know why the limp. It wasn't some tragic story, she'd hurt her leg years ago, a child running away from her nanny.
She limped! Tom couldn't believe it, William had said she was fine. His guilt crashed over him again. She had changed a lot since he had seen her last, but that was to be expected, it had been nine years. Their lives had doubled.
A little ways down the road, when nobody from the big house could catch a glimpse Tom turned a little in his seat. "Pardon me, Lady Sybil, does your leg still bother you from the tumble you took when running after William and his friends all those years ago?"
She straightened uncomfortably and her tone was harsh, "who told you about that? Nobody knows about that except William, and only because he was there."
Tom's eyes were back on the road, "I was there too," a quick glance showed him her shocked and confused expression, "Tom Branson ma'am, nice to meet you again." His voice was teasing but he realized almost immediately he shouldn't have.
Her eyes narrowed, "you… it's your fault."
"I wanted to apologize for that."
"Sorry for that?! Sorry for that!?" Her voice grew louder with every word, and she leaned forward in the seat. "My most painful memory and something that has defined my life, I don't understand why you are even here? Why you would think I would let you to drive me around is beyond me."
Now, in spite of the fact it would probably lose him his job, Tom fired back, "I was nine! And besides helping you up to the big house, which I didn't know was actually your house, didn't exactly help me out either." It had been one of his last days with his grandfather and when he arrived home one shirt fewer than he had left with it had set his father off. It was actually the reason he didn't return to school that year and started working instead, his father had required he earn back the cost of the shirt and more.
By now Tom had pulled the car to the side of the road, it seem safe to be driving down the road yelling at his passenger, but he had said his piece, and she, he assumed, had said hers, so he pulled back on and drove silently, angrily into town. She spoke again as she stepped down from the car in the village, telling him not to wait. She would walk home.