three
All the things I should've given but I didn't
He is not granted a moment sleep that night, sitting on the edge of his bed in the darkness of his cottage.
His two old and battered suitcases stand by the door, packed and ready as they have been for weeks now, his few clothes and belongings neatly folded and secured.
Long before he knows the other servants will wake, he shuts the door to the cottage behind him, leaves his suitcases by the side of the garage doors, and slowly makes his way up the path to the main house, heart heavy with goodbye.
.
.
"Mr Branson!"
His determined steps slow down halfway through the courtyard, and the clinging of keys makes it unnecessary to turn around to confirm who it is.
"Do you have a minute?" Mrs Hughes asks as she walks up to him, and he nods shortly.
"Mr Carson has just told me. This is very sudden."
He has hoped to leave as quietly and with as few questions as possible. Deep down, he already regrets not saying goodbye to his former colleagues, to people he has grown to respect over the last years, people who are the closest thing to friends that he can name. But saying goodbye means being asked questions, and that means lying, and he is not ready for that. Not yet.
So, he will disappear quietly.
"I'm sorry for the inconvenience, Mrs Hughes. But I suppose it is time for me to go back home, and I have some prospects there."
Mrs Hughes nods, but he can see in her watchful eyes that something else is lingering there. Not quite curiosity, but a certain need for confirmation.
"Of course it would have been easier on us if you had given us some time to find a replacement. But still, I hope Mr Carson made clear that you shall receive a good reference. Other than certain... events, you were very valued here."
"Thank you, Mrs Hughes."
There is a moment of silence, the sun still not quite risen, everything in a dim, almost artificial light.
"I better get going. I still need to fetch Mr Pratt," he says, finally unable to maintain the tense silence, and he is already turning to leave, when he hears her voice again.
"I knew it would end this way."
Swallowing hardly, he turns around again.
"Beg pardon?"
"I told you this would happen. Years ago," she says quietly, her voice stern but compassionate, the expression on her face much softer than he expected. The kindness that he sees in her eyes makes him fear another swell of pity he does not want, but it never comes. "I told you you'd end up with no job. And from the sight of you and all this sudden urgency, I suppose your heart is not nearly as whole as it deserves to be."
The memories hit him like the blow of cold wind on a stormy day in winter. Memories of a sunny day when, for only a few moments, everything seemed hopeful and right. Moments filled with joy and memories of lace-covered fingers intertwined with his own, the image of the shy expression on her beautiful face forever engraved into his mind.
Mrs Hughes has known back then, has probably known about it all these years, maybe even before he truly did. Still, in this moment, as he prepares to leave now that her prophecy has come true, he does not dare to admit it any more than he has back then, when the sun was burning through the thick fabric of his uniform.
"What do you mean?" His words echo in both their memories, and the hint of a sad smile flutters across Mrs Hughes lips.
"I wish you the very best for the future, Mr Branson. And I trust it is safe to say that all of us do."
"I appreciate that. And wish the same for everyone here."
They both nod in silent agreement, and when he makes his way out of the courtyard, the silence tells him she is watching him leave, the heavy weight of knowledge on her mind.
.
.
She barely eats anything that morning, merely sipping at her tea although it is burning her lips. The prickling pain throbs all the way down her throat, but the numbness that seems to have taken over every other sensation in her prevents her from caring.
"Only this one letter, Milord," Carson says with his calm voice, handing over a single envelope to her father, "And I have to inform you that Mr Branson has handed in his notice early this morning."
Her hand freezes mid-air, the weight of the teacup causing her fingers to quiver after only a few seconds. Staring blankly down at the crisp, white table cloth, she forces herself to breathe calmly..
"Why, all of a sudden?" her father asks rather harshly. She swallows, fearing the pair of eyes that is without a doubt analysing every flicker of emotion on her face. Setting down the tea cup carefully, she closes her eyes for a second longer than a blink. A moment of privacy. Of grief. Gone quicker than it has come.
"He says he has been wanting to return to Ireland for quite some time," Carson explains, retreating from the table.
"He did seem rather absent lately," her father continues, voice calmer now, "It's a shame, really, I have to admit. He was a reliable driver."
Her father's words irritate her, and for a moment memories rush through her mind of times her father had threatened to dismiss the reliable driver without a moment of hesitation, of times she had to stand up and... She does not dare travel further down this road, and instead takes another sip of her tea.
She can feel Mary's gaze as if it was heat radiating from gleaming coal.
"Indeed, Milord."
.
.
"Anna?" Sybil calls down the hallway, taking the last two steps up the stairs in a rush.
Anna stops and turns, a crisp sheet pressed against her stomach. She smiles kindly, walking towards Sybil.
"Yes, Milady?"
"I will most likely be a little late to get ready for luncheon today."
"Very well, Milady. I'll get everything ready so there will be plenty of time to change."
Sybil hesitates, wondering for a moment if she should give a reason, if she was not being a nuisance.
"It's only... With Mr Branson leaving, I felt it right to wish him all the best for the future," she finally says, eyes focusses on the collar of Anna's uniform instead of her eyes. She has always wondered how uncomfortable those dresses must be, until her own uniform has proved her theory right.
"Milady," Anna says cautiously, and from the slightly frightened tone of her voice, Sybil knows something more is wrong in the world. She looks up, seeing the sadness stretch across Anna's face like a layer of fog. "Mr Branson has just fetched Mr Pratt a few minutes ago to take him to the station."
For a second, it flashes in front of Sybil's inner eye so brightly, so violently, that she can barely catch her breath. You will never see him again.
"Milady!" Anna calls after her with a worried voice as Sybil turns on her heels and rushes down the main staircase, feeling her stomach flip as she takes steps into thin air.
"Sybil, what on Earth is the matter?" Edith asks rather harshly as Sybil pushes past her and Mary, just leaving the dining room as their youngest sister rushes past in a hurry towards the front door.
No one stops the hurried clicking of her heels against the stone floor as she pushes open the heavy front door and rushes out into the cool morning light, only a handful of light grey clouds scattered across the blue sky.
It feels as if merciless fingers form a strong fist around her heart when she sees the motor disappear down the gravel path, and realization sinks in like ink into paper. That everything is final now, that she will truly never see him again, never speak to him again.
.
.
She can hear Mary and Edith's footsteps approaching quietly, and when they come to a gentle halt next to her, her eyelids finally fall shut, unable to bear the image of the now deserted path.
"I thought you did not like him that way?" Mary's voice is quiet, tired, but concerned.
"That does not mean he meant nothing to me, at all." It is a whisper, something that should not be spoken out loud but needs to be lifted off her heart, if only for a few moments.
"Oh, darling," Mary sighs, reaching out to rest her hand on Sybil's shoulder. She gives her such a gentle squeeze that Sybil feels reminded of the times their mother had taken her into her arms as a child. Still, she knows, just as well as Mary and Edith, who, as much surprise as there is evident on her face at this revelation, seem to mourn her loss and understand that this is not something that is going to be better in the morning.
"I did not get to say goodbye."