Hello!... to anyone still out there reading this...

I am so incredibly sorry! But I'm afraid that my writers block got to me and I was stumped for such a long time! But I'm back and I will now be updating regularly! No more long waits! I really want to get to the good parts of this story!

Also, I did want to delay this... The first part of this was written just before the whole nanny thing - which turned out to be not true :P - came out and I didn't want to annoy or hurt anyone but now that thats over, I want this chapter finsihed! I've been wanting to write the next chapter for so long! :D

I would suggest going back and reading the previous one as the 1937 portion picks straight up from where it left off.

Anyway, ENJOY! .. This is for everyone really - you're all beautiful :D

1922

Tom met her in the January of that year, but he never really saw her until the summer. He would usually watch her with Sybbie, keeping his eye upon her for any misgivings of punishment or for any joyful moments that he might miss. Also it was good therapy for him. Though it took all of his strength to not wish that she were Sybil, he knew that he had to live with this reality, no matter how much he wished and willed it to change. No, Tom kept his thoughts of Sybil until he was at her graveside, telling her the stories about their as if she were there to witness them.

Though Tom saw her every day, she never really caught his eye until them few months later when he saw her on her afternoon off; she was the nanny for a short while. Usually she wore such plain clothing that she almost blended into the background and her hair was pulled and styled so tightly that it never moved. But on this day, she looked so... normal. He had never seen her like it before. Nor had he seen her daughter. The reason they, well Mary hired her, was her strict hand - not that it had really worked on Sybbie but they did try - and on that day he just saw them playing, relaxing and actually smiling. She looked rather... wonderful. So full of life. She had her hair loose, wearing a blue and grey blouse and skirt; he was sure that Mary had a similar dress, she wore it when they went to Whitby for the day. Tom soon realised that all those times, he wasn't just watching for his daughter.

Tom did contemplate about going over to speak to her but another man walked up behind them, her daughter running toward him. He instantly turned away, feeling incredibly guilty for thinking that she would be alone. He reminded himself that not everyone was like him, his case was a rare one. As he walked away though, he couldn't see her watching him leave, frowning slightly. Her brother swung his niece in the air as she reached him, trying not to pity his sister.

"Emma?"

But she didn't turn. She just kept watching. She wished he would turn around and talk to her because even though she didn't show it, she knew that he had been watching from afar for a long time. But he didn't turn and talk, and wouldn't for about 6 months. She was hired to look after his child, not to look after him.

It lasted until then, 6 months. 6 months of proper, mind numbing decorum. He never watched them anymore, she would look for him. It was funny, she was always the to be watched, and now she was looking out for him. But even when she did see him, he wouldn't look at her nor speak to her. Only when necessary. She remembered his words just as much as he did.

"I saw you, you know," she murmured. She had tucked Sybbie in for the night, rocking George off now in the rocking chair. Tom turned at the door, frowning at her. He stammered slightly, and she shook her head.

"I don't know what you're talking about,"

"Yes you do," she whispered. "You were walking the dog and you stopped."

Tom couldn't listen to this, but she spoke again, stopping him.

" Her name is Annabelle. She's 4. She's my world."

He just nodded, looking toward the little girl asleep in bed. He thought of how much she had changed his life, and how he couldn't bear to be without her now. He closed the door, sitting on the foot of the bed.

"I don't think I would survive if I'd lost her too. She was so small," he whimpered. He could feel tears pricking his eyes, but he wouldn't cry in front of her. She reached out for his hand, he let her take it for a moment; he squeezed it, relishing in the contact that wasn't one of the family. Family.

She had a family.

He pulled his hand away, standing to leave. He spoke next in the best professional voice he could muster in his current state, and he wished he didn't have to say it.

"Mrs Hardy, I think that the contact between us is becoming too familiar. Of course I want to be your friend, you can call me Tom but I believe that we should be careful when we are together. We should interact, only when necessary."

"But-"

He left and both cried.

But neither knew that another pair of ears were listening. Mary pursed her lips as she turned from the door, the new relationship creating a jealous streak. She didn't love Tom, she had made that clear to anyone and everyone, even Tom himself - though he laughed at her when she suggested such a thing - but she felt a sense of ownership over him. He had taken care of her and George, creating the perfect family dynamic for their children and she didn't want that destroying, not by anyone. So, cruel as it was, she had to get rid of her. But she didn't know how. Until the opportunity presented itself.

"Lady Mary?" Emma asked shyly, not wanting to disturb the moment between mother and son, but had to. Mary smiled, welcoming her in.

"Mrs Hardy. Are you well?" she asked. She regretted the question as Emma brought out a piece of paper, or to be precise and envelope. Mary turned serious. "What is it? What's happened?"

She stood, leading the younger woman to a seat. The letter had been opened and the seal upon it was one Mary recognised, all women did. It was the Army seal. Emma sighed tearfully, handing over the letter in silence. Mary didn't want to open it; she couldn't bear to intrude but the insistence in Emma's eyes told her she had to.

So it turned out that there was no-one. Both her husband and now her brother were dead. Mary felt overcome with grief and pity for a moment, but only a moment. This was how she could do it. She placed a comforting hand upon Emma's shoulder as she wept.

"I'm afraid-"

"I'll have to go," Emma whispered. "I'm sorry I let you down, all of you. But I need a more productive job, and a place where my daughter can live... and there's no-one in Downton who would do that."

Mary held back the words that she so desperately wanted to say, she couldn't say them for it would mean change, and too much had changed already. She needed time. So instead she agreed, letting her go.

Emma didn't tell Tom until the day before she left. She couldn't bear his pity or his attempts to help her, as she knew he would.

"Look Emma, you know that you can stay here, we'll be able to renovate one of the cottages for you and-"

"But I won't be able to afford the rent! I know you're trying to be kind Mr Branson-

"-Tom."

"- but I could barely afford it then." She could feel the tears beginning to form but she held them back. She couldn't cry, not in front of him. "And I know that his lordship won't be so lenient for long, no matter what you say. I'm sorry, I have to leave,"

Though both had wished to see the other over the years, it was a long time before they met again. He had been to Ireland in their time apart. His exile was lifted and he rejoiced by taking Sybbie, Mary and George to Dublin but he still felt like there was something missing. Even though he got his family back, his mother showered Sybbie with so much love and affection that even Tom was a little jealous, he still wished she were here. Tom tried in vain to write letters, but when no replies came or some marked 'Returned' he knew that she wasn't going to contact him. So he returned, the excuse made was for Sybbie but really it was for himself. But he had no idea how much Emma wanted to contact him and to tell him how wrong he was.

She contemplated shouting him, but she didn't want to alarm the man walking beside him, who was holding Sybbie's hand or the bustling people on the streets of Liverpool. She looked to be about 7 now, she looked and acted so much like him. The two men were laughing and joking, the little girl was obviously bored with their conversation. It was just harmless watching until she and Sybbie met eyes. She turned away quickly, not quick enough to not notice her pointing in her direction. So she fled, carrying on home as she should have been.

She couldn't take it for much longer, she just wanted to leave him behind her, but she couldn't. There was just something there that wouldn't leave her be. Whenever she tried to get away, she found him again. And as she always predicted, they met again, but for the last time, because after that, he would never let her go.

"Emma?" Tom asked to the woman sat upon the pavement, crying into her arm. She looked up, her sobbing stopping for a moment. "It is Emma isn't it? Emma Hardy?"

She didn't speak, she just flung her arms around him, crying into his shoulder. For a moment, he was confused by her sudden movement, but when she pulled back he saw it was her. She must have just been to the bank as she held her books and accounts in her hand. Whatever damage was done, it couldn't have been good. Though it had been almost 7 years since they last met, to Tom she still looked the same.

"I'm s-sorry Mr Branson, I-"

"Please, for goodness sake, call me Tom," he begged.

"Tom," she tested. She smiled, he somehow appeared more...human to her, more real. As if he actually had a heart within him, though she always knew that. She though the same of him, he hadn't changed. His face had aged, she could see that he was nearing 40 but the man himself hadn't. "I've just come from the bank..." she sighed.

Tom did too. Though the blow to him wasn't quite as severe, this economic disaster was something that even he couldn't have predicted. She told him how all was lost, she had nothing but a few pounds and that would only last them a few weeks if they were incredibly careful. She began to tell him all that had happened in their time apart, even how her husband and brother had died and when she saw him in Liverpool, but just couldn't come over to talk to him.

Tom couldn't believe it. He had kept himself apart from her as he believed her to be married. But she never was, not when they met. He began to laugh at the irony of it all - he had waited because Sybil had asked him to and though he was never asked to, he waited anyway with Emma. Maybe he wasn't impulsive, maybe that was the problem.

"Why are you laughing?" she stammered. "I didn't realise death was a laughing matter," She looked away from him, pulling from his arms. But not completely. He kept hold of her hand, managing to wheel her round so he could stare at her intently. He saw her expression turn from fear, to anger, to anticipation.

"I'm only laughing because now I realise that I should have done this a long time ago,"

In the middle of the street, around the crowds of people whose lives were almost doomed, he pulled her to him in a shy kiss, the sheer joy encapsulating them both. And once again, Tom managed to keep his promise - that he would wait forever and though he noticed that he was never specific about the woman, he knew that any kind of happiness was worth waiting for and he wouldn't waste it.

Whether it be with Emma or any other woman that came after her, he knew that deep in his heart of hearts, that there was one still waiting in the beyond for him.

So, in the winter of 1930, Tom decided that he couldn't let Emma go again, and she certainly didn't want to leave him, so after bringing her back to Downton to meet Sybbie again - the 10 year old recognised her immediately, and frowned at the 12 year old girl who would soon be her older sister; she didn't like not being the oldest anymore. Though she was pleased that her Da was happy, she didn't at all feel happy about having someone else telling her what to do - they married 10 days before Christmas, snow covering the ground. The wedding was small, only a few family and friends were there and there was no big party as such afterward - Tom whisked Emma and the children to Ireland to meet his family.

"Who's this now Tommy?" his mother asked, still as strong as she was. She rejoiced in seeing her son again after so long and she couldn't stop ogling at the beauty of her granddaughter whom she spoiled with hugs and as much love as she could, but she wasn't too happy with the woman and second child he brought with him.

"This is my wife, Mam. This is Emma; Emma, my mother." The two women tersely shook hands and he older woman looked upon the girl. Annabelle squirmed. No one else had made her feel like this, usually they would dote on her to show their pity for not having a father. But she could see that she would not be the favourite between them. Jealousy burned.

"This is Annabelle, my daughter-"

"Well..." Tom interrupted.

"Our daughter now, I suppose," She corrected, Tom smiling slightly. The stern look on his mothers face said that he shouldn't dare smile."Sorry,"

"Don't suppose as much my dear," Mrs Branson replied, smiling fondly as Sybbie danced into the kitchen; she moved after her granddaughter who wanted to show her a new flower in the garden.

Tom just sighed, hugging Emma close to him.

"I'm sorry. But don't take it personally, she's like that with anyone new. And-"

"And she liked... she likes her more than me... That not hard to guess..." she murmured, rubbing Annabelle's shoulders and taking her to the garden, breaking Toms hold. He could see this being more difficult than he thought.

He turned, reaching for the paper that sat in the living room. What he didn't notice were a small pair of eyes watching the exchange; Sybbie smiled to herself, listening to her Gran and wrapping her more and more tightly around her little finger.

August 1937 - The Same Day

Out in the hall, the telephone began to ring, Tom raced to answer it. He had been waiting for this phone call all day and he wasn't going to miss it. As he strode towards it, shaking his head at Bates who was also heading for it, he kept a little small smile on his face. Secretly he was relieved that Tom was heading for the phone, his leg was giving him a little grief.

"Hello?" he took a breath before speaking, he didn't want to sound too eager.

"Tom!" he heard her sigh. "I'm so glad you answered. We've arrived at London so we won't be too late back tomorrow . How are you?"

"Oh good, at least you won't be too late. Cora's ill again so I don't think holding dinner would not be a good idea for her. I'm alright, coping. Today's been a bit of a nightmare; Mary keeps pushing for Sybbie to go to the Season-"

"Well she shan't be getting her hands on Annabelle." she chuckled."Aside from being too old, she just wouldn't be cut out for it,"

Tom laughed, "No, don't you worry. I told her." he lowered his voice, looking around him for listeners. There were none. "I have missed you,"

She gave a low chuckle "I know, and I you. But don't worry, we'll be together tomorrow. I'm sure Sybbie is delighted!" she heaved a long sigh afterward.

"Emma-"

"She may hate Annabelle but I know that I'm not exactly high in her heart,"

"Don't be silly. She doesn't hate you, she just hasn't warmed to you yet,"

"It's been 7 years Tom!" she sighed again. There was silence on the other end. "When is she going to warm to me? It's ridiculous."

"Don't say that." he stopped her sharply. "She's not ridiculous. You have to understand, and I thought you did, that it has just been the two of us for a long time. No one else. She's quite territorial when she wants to be and with me, well let's say she was a bit of a terror when she was small,"

Emma let out a resigned chuckle; she knew he was right but she couldn't help but think that she and her daughter were in the same situation. Just them. No one else... well not for as long as Sybbie and Tom have but still. He sighed, putting the mouth piece down for a moment, rubbing his hand over his face. It had gone quiet on the other end but she wasn't gone. He could hear her murmuring to someone else. Probably Annabelle.

"I know." Emma resigned. "But... it's just that Annabelle has warmed to you so quickly and-"

"What goes on between Annabelle and Sybbie is their own affair. Just let them sort it out, they'll soon find their fighting petty in the end."

He heard her groan down the phone and he smiled. He knew that he had managed to win this squabble... this time. He changed the topic to a nicer subject, turning his back on the open library door. His voice lowered.

"So, my dear, do you have any idea how much I want you to come home?"

Sybbie had a sulk all the way through dinner. She would pass glares at her aunt and was short with everyone. She clanked her spoon upon the table, swiping her wine glass for a swig. Her Grandmamma visibly choked at her lack of manners.

"Sybbie," she almost whispered. "Please, we do not throw and swipe in such an ugly manner! Whatever is bothering you just tell us!" her voice raised and her tone clipped as she went on. Sybbie blushed slightly, shaking her head. She knew that she was acting like a brat but her Auntie Mary had blind sighted her. She murmured an apology and continued her meal, quietly and calmly though her insides were burning with annoyance. She tried to cover up Sybbie's behaviour, trying to strike up conversations to anyone.

"Have you heard anything from that man you were writing to Mary? What was his name?" she feigned ignorance for her own sake; Sybbie still clattered and clanked as she ate, snickering at the pointed question of love. She knew her aunt would never marry again, but that wasn't through choice. It seemed that no one wanted to go anywhere near her Aunt Mary, especially not after the fiasco with trying to marry her off far too soon after Uncle Matthew died. Sybbie couldn't remember him all that well, but apparently she was his 'darling angel'. He looked after her in those first few days, even on that first night. Aunt Edith said that she had a sixth sense; she knew that something had happened, which is why she cried. Matthew was the only one to hear it. He held her and calmed her, even though, ironically, he cried the whole time.

No wonder Mary didn't want to marry again. According to her Da, Mary snapped when all three gentlemen came to the house all at once, giving her gifts and subtle hints at marriage. It all became too much and she, personally, threw them all out of the house. Many in London now called her a 'bit mad', but that didn't bother her, she got what she wanted.

"Roger Townsend? And no, I'm afraid. He's married now."

An uncomfortable silence fell. Some nodded, others smiled some pity but no one dared to speak. Dinner continued as normal, Sybbie still keeping up her foul mood. The sunburn that painted her arms had started to irritate, which didn't help matters much. Neither did the apparently soft material of her gloves. They rubbed and scratched making things worse. More monotonous conversations began and ended, but none of them distracted her. she couldn't take it much longer. She groaned aloud, ripping off her glove and letting them drop to the floor.

"What on earth are you doing?" Mary gasped.

"Sybbie put your gloves back on!" Cora hissed.

She whined and rubbed her arms, "No! Please don't make me, they're terrible on my sunburn-"

Mary put down her cutlery, trying not to let her anger get the better of her. Looking at her niece, who was dabbing her arms with her napkin, she spoke. Slow, calm and completely deadly.

"Well that's your own fault for staying outside for too long,"

"You know I hate them and I don't understand why we have to wear them! Men don't wear them and they look perfectly normal!" Sybbie burst, throwing her arms in the air.

"Heavens, is it a full moon tonight?" Robert asked, making no face for amusement.

"Please don't make this worse," Tom groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. He gathered his strength and breath, ready for any kind of hit that would come his way.

"Sybbie, you know you'll have to wear them for your season so will you ple-" Mary sighed.

"Why? You know that I don't want to go to do the season-"

"Don't say that! You have no idea the amount of effort-"

"I didn't ask you for the effort! Nor do I want it! Nor do I want this-this visitor coming tomorrow! We all know what that means and I don't-"

"SYBIL!" Tom roared an she fell completely silent. All stared at him; he would never use her full name, unless he was completely enraged. Mary had only heard him use it once before. Her demeanour changed, confrontational to completely afraid. She shrunk back into her chair, not daring to look anywhere else but the floor. The embarrassed flush spread over her face, arms and neck, turning her skin from a slight hue to a blazing red. Dressing the way she wanted, her constant trips to the garage to fix her car, learning whatever, wherever she wished - Tom knew that his daughter was becoming spoiled, and he had had enough of letting her get her own way, or shouting and arguing with everyone else.

"Will you stop?" he warned, his voice lowered. He was serious. Tears began to well in his daughters eyes, but she fought them away. She stared at him, taking the full impact of his words. "I have had enough of this. I think we all have. Now, I know you think that you can get away with a lot and I know I let you, but all of this...headstrong attitude I will not have anymore!" his voice rising, he himself standing. Though he was on the opposite side of the table, she still felt small, like a lion cowering over a mouse.

"But-"

"So... sit up, put them bloody gloves on and stop making an argument out of everything! Grow up!"

He flung his napkin back over his lap as he sat back down, still exhaling heavily, letting his anger be known.

"And please, apologise to your aunt." he murmured. "I think she deserves it after that,"

Sybbie nodded tearfully, barely whispering her apology. Mary nodded, knowing that that was the best she would get without the girl bursting into tears. Dinner did resume, but everyone would cast a glance out of the corner of their eyes to watch the young miss right herself. She straightened in her chair, smoothing the material of her dress, pushing in any stray pins and dabbing away any tears. She was perfect again, no one would have ever known that she had been shouting. She gazed at the screwed gloves laying next to her plate. She held one before her, staring at the fine silk. She wanted to throw them, ruin them by ripping them, staining them, doing anything to them that didn't make them seem so regal. She stood swiftly, grabbing the gloves in her fist, storming from the dining room.

No one saw Sybbie for the rest of the evening. A part of Tom wanted to go in search for her, but his better judgement told him that this was just a ploy for attention; he meant what he said in that dining room and he couldn't undermine it. He wanted his daughter to learn from it. As he headed to bed, he found the poor pair of gloves stabbed onto the end of each crossing sword in the hall. He didn't see a shout for attention or help, instead he saw what this evening was all about - it was a warning. A warning telling him that she wouldn't go down without a fight. Her fight however wasn't with him.

Thomas, now butler and Barrow, who had watched over the dinner, couldn't help but feel sorry for Miss Branson, though there was the confliction within him that she did have it coming. She had watched her grow up, even had a hand in it at some points; he had seen the spark that her mother had left behind within her come to life, though with her father's temper, he could see that it had grown far too strong. Of course, he had seen women grow stronger and more independent as the years went by and Sybbie was no exception but there were times when it needed to be tamed. So after the work was done, he moved out into the darkened yard, taking out his last cigarette of the day. As he brought the lighter to it, he heard small cries come from round the corner. Peering round, he saw the small red light of a cigarette being smoked but the person had obscured any light. But he knew who it was, every time.

"You shouldn't be doing that," he murmured wryly. "It's a dirty habit,"

"I know," Sybbie snivelled. "But, they make me feel better,"

"They also make you feel like you're getting back at your father," he smirked. She chuckled, finally some laughter. He liked it when he made her smile, it showed her youth and how young really was still. He had seen how confusing this time could be. For 17 years you're treated like a child until you're suddenly forced to be an adult within a couple of months, and there is no room for any mistakes, though that's all you are going to make.

"Something like that," she smiled. "Aunt Mary is being... incredibly difficult with me recently. It's as if everything has changed, yet nothing has,"

"Well, Miss, with your season coming up and you'll almost be 18." he sighed, taking the offered lighter that Sybbie was holding, his was a dud now. "Thanks - what was I saying?- well, with all this coming up, I'm afraid everything will change,"

"Exactly!" she said pointedly. She stood, wrapping herself tightly in her 'smoking coat'; she tapped off some ash before taking a long draw. Just as he had taught her, she blew three rings, smiling brightly at her achievement. Thomas clapped three times, nodding. "Everything will change," she continued. "That's what I'm saying! Not everything has changed; I see the difference but I don't think they do." Another drag. "I don't understand what they want from me,"

"And you think I do?" Thomas chuckled. "I'm afraid Miss that you're just going to have to humour them... and as for the visitor coming tomorrow, give it a chance, you never know-"

She tutted before giving a long groan. "You sound like my aunt...and my grandmother and my father and everyone else telling me how to run my life,"

Thomas smiled. She was so much like her mother, yet so completely different. He moved to stand next to her and she rested against him. This was a popular hiding place for her as a child and Thomas always knew where to find her. People never saw Thomas to have a paternal side but he did, and this little girl, or the little girl she once was, had opened it to him. He always listened to her and answered her questions and did whatever she wanted of him, no matter how silly or how demeaning it didn't matter; she was the daughter to possibly his only true friend in the world - he would not do her wrong.

"Let me tell you something. None of them run your life, you know, not if you let them. Do as you wish, though don't take too much advantage of this - soon too many eyes will be scrutinising, and I know you don't care what people think, but if you carry on the way you are, you may find yourself on the wrong side of the cold shoulder of London."

Sybbie nodded slowly, taking in all he said. "So are you saying that I should do what I want as long as I moderate my behaviour? Surely that's a double standard?"

Thomas gave a hearty laugh, something he hadn't done in a long time. "Well I'll give you that! I'm not saying moderate your behaviour, just be aware of it. And, as I have told you many times, just do as you are told,"

It was Sybbie's turn to laugh; when had she ever done as she was told? The answer to that was not that often but it depended upon the task she was asked to do. She didn't like being seen as a brat, there were times when she was wonderful, but all this pressure was changing her, testing her nerves to the limits and she couldn't help it if she snapped.

"Thank you, Mr Barrow," she sighed. "I suppose you think I deserved my father yelling at me tonight?"

"I won't lie to you Miss, but recently you have had it coming,"

"Suppose I have," she sighed, flicking the cigarette butt to the ground, grinding her heel upon it putting it out. "And I don't suppose I have to ask for you to keep this secret from my Da."

Thomas shook his head, patting her back as she hugged him properly. "Of course not... Now off to bed. As you know, Olivia has been asked to cart you out of bed with the dawn chorus,"

Sybbie laughed, kissing the butler on the cheek before retreating to bed, tucking her forbidden coat away in the small cupboard in the servants staircase. Thomas too flicked and put out his cigarette butt, the chill from the late night air making him cold. As he checked for any other persons outside, he wondered where on Earth the time had gone and how much time would remain with her company.

Next Day

George followed his cousin out of the house to stand and wait. He hated having to parade outside to wait for people to arrive. it was a pointless exercise to him. it was never something that he quite understood. His mother said it was manners, his uncle said he did it to appease his grandfather and Sybbie did her own thing. She came and went whenever she pleased and no matter how hard people tried, no one could stop her. He wished he could be like her, he wished he had the audacity that she had to turn left instead of right, as she was doing right then.

"Where are you going?

She turned, a sly smirk on her face, "I'm not going to welcome him, or them, why should I?" She shrugged her shoulders, putting her hands in her pockets. "I'm going to the garage, I have more interesting things to do there than welcome some arrogant American."

"What about your step-family?"

Sybbie laughed, shaking her head. "I'm pretty sure that Emma really wants to see me but I know that Annabelle won't and I'm not going to entertain her. I'm not a monkey."

She carried on, the gravel scrunching under her feet, she couldn't care less if anyone had seen her walking away. she wanted them to know that she wasn't going to be there and she wasn't going to change her mind.

George sighed, shaking his head. He chuckled under his breath and moved to line up with the others. He couldn't not notice his mother glaring at him.

"Where is she going?" she hissed, pulling on his arm.

George suddenly felt his conflict of interest; who would he betray? His cousin, who was like his sister, his best friend... a best friend who could also beat him up, or his mother. His mother was his mother and he couldn't go against her.

Suffering defeat as his mothers glare intensified he stuttered, "She's gone to the garage."

Mary sucked in a slow breath and George, along with Tom and Robert recoiled. She was angry, very angry. She spoke slowly. "Why?"

"Because she says that's she doesn't want to meet him or them!" George spluttered. He spoke so fast that the words all merged into one. "She says, quote, 'I have more interesting things to do there,'"

Mary suppressed the growl that wanted to come into a low groan. She looked for Tom, who had somehow disappeared, only to return at the wrong moment. His eyes widened and he regretted coming out of the door. She strode up to him, pulling him to stand beside her. Tom was stunned, he didn't quite understand what was going on but he let it happen anyway.

"Do you realise what your daughter is doing?"

Tom smirked, "Enlighten me, for I know there's not a lot left that would surprise me!" his slight laughter faded into silence as Mary's steely expression never faltered. There was always a cycle of progress in arguments like these: Mary would snap, Tom would joke and he would instantly regret his existence and Mary would glare, much as she was now until he acted out of fear.

"Well," she began grabbing his hand. He winced as her nails dug into his skin as he was being dragged to the side of the house. George just cowered, he didn't want to be involved with the storm that could hit at any moment. the gravel crunched loudly, attracting some attention, "Look, and tell me that this isn't a problem,"

Tom shrugged and peered round the corner, and sure enough, he could see his daughter in grubby overalls, pulling a wrench to tighten a bolt on a car. Tom wasn't sure who's it was but she says it was a birthday present; for him or for her, he wasn't sure. He sighed as she smacked the machine with the wrench, cursing and reaching for the rag.

Tom sighed, "What do you want me to do Mary? She won't see them. I've tried, really hard to get her to cooperate but..."

Mary rolled her eyes; for a girl who was the eldest Sybbie was very immature at times. Tom moved away, knowing nothing could be done to sway his daughter. an engine roared from the end of the driveway and she was called to stand in line and smile. Her niece could wait. She gasped when it wasn't a car she saw, well there was one, but just behind it a motorcycle grumbled at the slowing speed. There were amused and bemused chuckles all around, part from Tom and George who were completely fascinated.

The car slowed to a park and Emma stood from the driver's seat. She laughed at her husband's expression, along with a few others as he stumbled toward it. He faintly pointed at her, his mouth open slightly.

"What do you think?!" she shouted over the noise of the bike, her arms outstretched to her sides. She jumped over the low door, walking to cuddle straight into Tom's side. He still stared in disbelief at the car in front of him. It was only small, smaller than some of his Lordships cars but plenty big enough for them. It was black with simple silver grating and bumpers.

"Where did this come from?" he asked, circling the car. On inspection, Tom knew the car to be a Morris. He smiled as he knew that she had been keeping an eye on it for months. "Where did you get the money for it?"

She giggled, "Wouldn't you like to know my dear..." He pointed at her, smirking and closing in on her, she swatted him playfully with her gloves. "Don't worry, my love, no naughtiness." She banged on the roof, disturbing the young girl within, as she circled the car herself. " It came from my brother. Apparently my uncle died and he left me his car. No money spent,"

She smiled widely and Tom gave a hearty laugh. He brought her close for a kiss while Annabelle slinked from the car, her shoes sinking into the gravel. She whined as the dust clouded her shoes, discolouring them. The couple chuckled as it was plainly obvious that the girl was looking at her make up in the car. Some of her lipstick had gone up her cheek and her blush was slightly too strong. Tom took a clean handkerchief from his pocket and said,

"I would say hello to my step daughter, but I cannot see her under all that make up," he smirked and she huffed. "Take it off please, or tone it down at least,"

She tutted, quickly wiping her cheeks, putting it into her pocket after she had 'passed the inspection'. Tom jeered and hugged her, she soon melted and laughed at his joking.

"Alright, Tom. It's not that funny." she hugged him back. "Let's go in, I'm starving!"

The two women linked arms and walked in the house, greeting the others with hugs and handshakes along the way. The car was too much of a delight to not explore it, so Tom stayed behind, pulling up the bonnet. Robert tutted, too loud for it to go unnoticed.

"Robert, enough," Cora snapped.

"Some things never change," he grumbled.

The rumbling had stopped behind them and the person atop the machine removed his helmet and goggles. He wasn't very young, about in his early 20's but he still held some of his boyish look, it made him seem very... ethereal. And of course, completely exaggerated with his smooth American accent.

"So this is the infamous house? I have longed to see it. And of course you must be the young master! George!" he smiled in welcome shaking hands with George with an enthusiastic fervour.

"Welcome to Downton, Jonathan," George smiled, gesturing for the footmen to take his belongings. "Its wonderful to meet you in person. We've been looking forward to your visit Mr Pearce."

"And I've been looking forward to coming here. Miss Annabelle has told me... an awful lot about this wonderful place."

The strain in saying Annabelle's name hadn't gone unnoticed. Mary raised an eyebrow and gave a small smile. Yes, the girl was quite hard to take at times and with her being his only company, well, no wonder he was desperate for someone else, anyone else. Jonathan smiled as the rest of the family were introduced to him, the names he wouldn't quite remember for a while.

"My mother, Lady Mary,"

"Of course, you are exactly as I pictured! A vision! Thank you incredibly for your hospitality Lady Mary." he charmed, gently taking her hand in hello.

"Mr Pearce, you are incredibly welcome as you put it but a lot of this does come down to my mother, it is after all still her house,"

"Of course! Lady Grantham, Mrs C, Away Miss Cora and all the names in-between." Cora chuckled, she hadn't hears some of those names in many years, but she was glad of it. It reminded her so much of home. She embraced the young man, receiving a quick peck on the cheek. "My mother has told me so much about you."

"I'm so glad you're here. It would be nice to have a kindred spirit under the roof for a change," she smiled.

Jonathan bowed slightly, before extending his hand to Robert. He could see the older man looking him over, observing for any kind of trouble, though, he didn't know why he did, from what Jonathan had heard, he was up to his neck in trouble.

"Lord Grantham. It's an honour. Thank you for letting me stay in your lovely home."

"Not at all, young man. I hope that-"

A loud explosion cut off Robert, sending some of them into silence, the other into a hushed frenzy. They all looked in the same direction, to the left of the house. Three more small bangs were heard along with a string of curses. Tom groaned as a large plume of smoke drifted past the house and try as he might, he couldn't escape Marys glare. He mouthed his apologies but it obviously wasn't good enough. Of course, Jonathan was none the wiser. He chuckled nervously, his mind going straight to the kitchen - did the cook have dynamite in there?

"Did someone set the fireworks off prematurely?" he joked and it seemed to calm the nerves of all around him.

"Come inside for some tea, " Mary suggested. "I think we all need our nerves calmed,"

"Lead the way," Jonathan gestured but stopped short of the door. "Oh! I need somewhere to put my motorcycle, will anyone be able to show me,"

"I don't think-"

"I'll show him, it's not far and I'm sure everything is... under control by now,"

Tom, who had been admiring their new car, until the explosion, asked the young man to follow him. They shook hands, Jonathan nodding as he could recall the gentleman's name before him. They slowly walked the bike round to the garage, the wheels crunching on the gravel.

"Ah yes, Mr Branson. I have heard a lot about you from George. He tells me that you were once a mechanic yourself."

"Well, in some ways yes..."

"That's more than me! But tell me, I have been having some problems with the engine. As you heard whenever I slow it down it groans so loudly! Something isn't right there as it never did that when I first bought it,"

If it was a car, Tom would know the problem immediately. But this was a motorcycle. He had never set eyes on an engine of this design nor had he had time to study it. Of course he had read about them, the younger boy within him wanted desperately for him to buy one and drive like a maniac but he was nearing his 50's, the daring man has had his hay day, though not completely. The machine was rather spectacular. He could see the intricate work gone into putting the whole thing together. Engineering is changing and evolving and he couldn't wait to see what was coming next.

"Well I'm afraid that I cannot help you there. My expertise is cars, not motorcycles, though I would love to own one myself but-"

"Your wife won't let you?"

Tom laughed, shaking his head. "You would assume but she is as much the daredevil as I am, but no, I'm afraid Lady Mary would have my head if I dared to go near one of these,"

Jonathan chuckled, imagining the woman to be quite the matriarch. He had heard about the Dowager Countess, who had sadly died some years ago. The apple doesn't land far from the tree...

Both men rounded the corner, stopping short as Jefferson, the current chauffeur was running around the Ford - so it was the Ford that had exploded - trying to calm down any flames that could erupt. Tom searched for his daughter, but he couldn't see her in sight. He blushed slightly, starting to jog toward the frazzled chauffeur.

"Excuse me,"

Jonathan nodded, but struggled to push the heavy bike up the slight incline. He could feel the weight of the machine straining his muscles, but he was strong, he could manage it, though it would have been a lot easier with the help of Mr Branson. He chuckled as the man flung off his jacket and waistcoat, shouting at the poor man who haplessly held a bucket of water in his hand. He continued up the hill, sighing when, finally, he came to a flat straight. He nodded to Tom who just sighed in despair at the disaster that was unfurling in front of him.

As he neared the door, he noticed someone inside, reading the newspaper. He just leant against the small workbench, ankles crossed and their whole head completely obstructed by the paper. He tutted, lazy man. Jonathan couldn't believe that he would sit there whilst there was trouble right outside. Maybe he should complain about this workman..

"Excuse me," Jonathan stared. No response. the man just kept reading. He huffed. "Excuse me!" Still nothing. Jonathan parked his bike, shouting while storming up to the man in question.

"Hey! I've been trying to talk to you for a while now! You know, I should report you to his lordship, I'm sure he'll be very interested to know that his staff is somewhat incompetent!"

"You want to park your bike, you need to put it over there," the voice spoke, one of the fingers that held the newspaper pointed to an empty parking spot within the garage. Though it didn't register at the time, the fingers seemed far too shapely, far too manicured to be workman's hands. But they were covered in oil and grease and ink so he couldn't be sure. Jonathan sighed, he was getting nowhere.

"No I don't need to park it, I need it fixing,"

What he heard next he did not expect. The mocking laughter that came from behind the newspaper rung odd in his ears. Why was this man so careless about his job? Jonathan knew how precious work was in these times of extreme poverty and yet, this man was willing to throw it all away!

"This isn't a community fix up you know!" the voice laughed. "Go and see Jefferson after he's fixed that car, he'll be able to look at it,"

"Why can't you look at it?" he retorted. He was slowly losing patience with this young man. Well, what he thought was a man. The subtle tones of the voice held a feminine quality.

"Because I'm busy,"

"You're not bu-"

"LOOK PAL!" the young man ripped the newspaper away from their face, for Jonathan to find that it wasn't a man at all. Sybbie glared at the man who had disturbed her, expecting it to be some silly farm hand only to be startled by a man in a smart riding coat and a scarf loosely hung around his neck. Both were stunned into silence, one at the surprise woman behind the newspaper, the other by the strange guest.

She tried not to stare too long, his dark hair was fairly dishevelled from the helmet yet it still looked wonderful. He tried not to stare at the strange beauty of the girl before him, covered in dirt and muck. Putting down the paper, Sybbie stood, her fingers twisting and turning as she played with them.

"Sorry," she muttered, blushing slightly. "I- I didn't know it was a guest," she chuckled nervously, scratching the back of her neck. All these little quirks, he smiled at; rocking back and forth on her heels, picking her fingernails, biting the inside of her cheek, all of it.

"I suppose I should have introduced myself, though I wasn't really expecting a girl in here,"

Sybbie scoffed and walked away, the smile and shyness melting away. She moved toward the car shell, grabbing the wrench from the table as she passed. She turned on the ceiling bulb, which slightly illuminated the room, brightening it enough for her to see.

"What?" he demanded, extending his arms to the sides. Advancing after her, he found her scowling and once again, the foul mood that he had encountered had returned. Though now he could see her face, how she reacted, how she moved, he couldn't help but find this girl completely fascinating.

"You are unbelievable,"

"Thank you?" he answered quietly, but she continued, not caring for his excuses.

"That wasn't a compliment!" she hissed. She faced him square on ready for a fight.

"Well, apologies for the insult, but it is unusual for a woman to be working in an environment like this. Lord Grantham must have put up with a lot to get you a job here,"

"What?!" she snapped. She dropped the wrench, it clanging loudly to the floor. "You think I work here?"

Jonathan just stuttered. He had no idea how to answer. Of course that's what he assumed, she had the appropriate clothes, the right knowledge and she knew her way around this place like the back of her hand. If she didn't work here, then who was she?

"Well, yes, I assumed th-"

"Oh dear Lord," she sighed, unzipping the overalls. She wore a very old shirt, oil stained trousers and black boots that stopped just below her knees; they looked like riding boots. He could see that the oil from the car had stained parts of her skin, making her fair skin even brighter. He tried not to laugh at the sight of her in what looked like men's clothes. She was a strange thing, he thought. The strangest yet most intriguing woman he'd ever come across. "Jefferson?"

"Yes, Miss Branson?"

"I'm going inside," she told him. "Please tell my father that I've gone, and please help this gentleman." She turned to look straight at him, the stare enough to kill. The guilt was evident upon his face. "He needs all the help he can get around here,"

"Yes, Madam,"

Madam? Miss Branson? Jonathan blushed and spluttered as he saw the young girl go up to Tom, kiss him on the cheek and go. That wasn't before she passed a pointed glare at him. It wasn't until then that he realised that he had just insulted the eldest granddaughter of the house. The daughter of the old chauffeur. He insinuated that she worked there. Idiot! he thought. Of course he knew who she was, well he did now. George had mentioned her and so had Annabelle, though when she spoke of her it wasn't without some dreadful name.

He rubbed a hand over his face, contemplating how stupid he was, and how hard it would now be to learn more about her. He ran straight out the open doors, looking all around him, to find, regretfully, that she had already vanished.

A/N: Was this worth the wait? I hope so :)

You'll see more of Emma and Annabelle in the next chapter, I wanted to focus on Jonathan a bit as this was their - his and Sybbie's - first meeting :) and because they were the main focus of the first half.

Please tell me what you think :D

GMJ xxx