A/N: Hello! *does little David Tennant 10th Doctor wave* OK, don't know where that came from. Weird. Anyway! Thank you to everyone who reviewed Chapter 8. Honestly, your continuing support means so much to me. I love the fact that there are people who have been reading from when I posted the first chapter but the story is also gaining new readers. This is brilliant! Especial thanks this chapter go to OrangeShipper as usual for her beta-ing and exclamation mark expertise, and also to Bespectacled for guest beta-ing from a Sybil/Branson POV and for the word "rueful". Much appreciated, both of you.

Before we hit the chapter, just a shoutout to the Highclere Awards for those of you who read and review fanfiction but are not otherwise involved in the fandom. You can nominate fanfiction you particularly like for awards up until the 29th July. Whether you nominate me in any capacity or not is of course entirely up to you and I'm not mentioning it here because I am desperate for you to do so (oh, of course not, what would make you think that?) but because the whole process works much better if lots of people are involved, not just, say, ten people from the forums who already all know each other. If you google "Highclere Awards Downton Abbey" or something like that it should come up.

Anyway, enjoy the chapter! This one is for Sybil/Branson shippers and is the first time I've ever written an extended S/B scene... and Sybil/Matthew shippers as well... yeah... :P

Chapter Nine: A New Knowledge

Sybil Crawley was not a person endowed with those heroic virtues of indecision, prevarication and a tendancy towards over-thinking. Having decided on the basis of very little research at all that she wanted to go to university, she ploughed on in pursuit of her objective in a single-minded fashion. She retreated to her father's library for the better part of entire days, where she would run her fingers along the spines of his massive collection of books and feel daunted. There were so many! Previously, Sybil had pulled interesting ones at random from the shelves and read them (or at least read as much of them as held her interest), but that was not suitable for the cultivation of serious knowledge.

On Matthew's advice she tried to gain a background of politics and political history by reading Cicero's first speech against Catiline in translation, but she hardly managed three paragraphs. She was able to appreciate the rhetorical boldness of railing against the times and customs of the period (though she could not understand why the Romans' social and political problems should be more important than those of her own time), but she had barely any idea who Cicero himself was let alone Catiline. As for mentions of Tiberius Gracchus and who had murdered him, she lacked any frame of reference by which they might be meaningful. Had she been a boy and had a useful education as a child, she reflected bitterly on several occasions, she might know where to start looking, but even her cousin's recommendations for simple, preliminary reading went over her head.

Giving up on the classics, Sybil decided to concentrate on modern times and understanding the developments of the past century up to the present day. The pamphlets that Branson sometimes gave her provided a more accessible route into the subject and she took to spending more and more time in the library at Ripon reading the newspapers and modern handbooks she found there. It was a pleasant way to spend time anyway, however much she learned. It got her out of the house, brought her into contact with a more diverse range of people than she had ever seen before, and she enjoyed the drives too. Since Gwen and Mary had left, she found herself talking more to Branson than before. She did not know him that well but she felt instinctively that they shared the same values and dreams for society and she appreciated him for it. She hoped he could become a proper friend.

One day as they were driving out to Ripon, he met her eyes in the rear mirror and after asking how her reading was going said, "You know, Lady Sybil, I'm glad you're enjoying your studyies but I'm not sure going to university is the best option."

"Oh?" She gave a short laugh of confusion. "What do you mean? When I first told you what I intended to do, you said you thought it was a good idea!"

"I said I admired your spirit. Not quite the same thing."

Sybil brushed this minor difference away. "Well, what do you mean then?"

He concentrated on the road for a while before replying. "Those people who go to university go either because they want to become an academic or because they want to go into one of the professions. That's hardly the case for you."

She frowned. "Maybe it is! If I had a degree in politics, why could I not become a politician?"

"Because women aren't politicians. There need to be far more advances in equality before you would have a hope of that. I don't want to put you off, my Lady, really I don't, but I think you need to be more realistic or you'll be disappointed."

"Realistic? If people were always realistic then nothing would ever change!" She grinned at him, hoping to try to raise his spirits and was pleased to see an answering smile.

"You have a point there, I'll grant you that. But let me ask your Ladyship this; you want to change the world, but who do you want to change it for, yourself or everybody else?"

Sybil opened her mouth to reply then shut it again. He continued to hold her gaze in the mirror for as long as he could before being obliged to look back out the front. Finally she replied seriously, "I want to improve the lives of people who struggle for equality and a place in the world. If that means I also want to improve my own life then I hope you'll see that it isn't for me alone."

"But going to university, Lady Sybil, that's a selfish decision. You may read many books and learn a lot about why men go to war and conquer nations but it'll be three years at your father's expense and no guarantee that it will really help you in any way afterwards."

Sybil felt that she ought to be offended at him for speaking to her in this free way, but she was not. Mary would have been and Edith certainly would have been, but Sybil was not like them and she hoped that he would always feel able to speak openly to her. This did not mean that she liked what he said.

"I can't tell what will be a material advantage for me," she answered with some frustration, sitting forward in her seat, "but surely doing something is better than doing nothing? University and learning may not help me but ignorance certainly won't."

He looked as if he wished to smile at her but was not letting himself. She watched him tensely, his back and what she could see of his face in the narrow mirror.

"If you really wanted to make a difference-"

"Yes?" she pressed. "What would I do?"

Again he hesitated before replying, "Use your position."

"My position? I don't understand."

"You're rich, Lady Sybil, rich and privileged. I'm not sure you really appreciate what an advantage in the world that gives you."

"But it's not an advantage, Branson!" she cried, stung. "My position is a prison to me, as a woman, a daughter, an aristocrat, and as for my money, it's not my own! Why, you have more freedom than I do, for you can choose your career and how you live your life."

Now he did laugh though without any meanness. "Oh, my Lady, how much I should like to disillusion you sometimes!"

It was an unguarded remark and there was an unguarded expression of amusement and even appreciation which disappeared as soon as she met his eyes.

"Disillusion me?" she retorted with a smile. "I think I'd like you to!"

He quickly shook his head and looked back at the road. They were now driving through Ripon and approaching the library and both were silent as Branson parked. He came round to hold the door open and she looked at him and grinned as she got out stood up straight.

"I think you're wrong about me, you know!"

He shut the door carefully behind her. "If you say so, my Lady." His tone was submissive enough but there was a gleam in his eyes that made Sybil toss her head slightly as she turned away and went up the steps.

She had only gone up a few when she passed a man coming out of the library with a few large books stashed under his arm. He had already passed her before she realised who it was, her thoughts still on Branson and their discussion in the car.

"Matthew!"

He stopped immediately and turned around, pulling off his hat and smiling at her. "Cousin Sybil!"

"Shouldn't you be at work?" she asked automatically. "I mean-"

"Lunch break. Anyway, these books are for work." He shrugged at the heavy volumes and shifted them in his arms. "Definitely not my first choice of reading material!"

She smiled back but did not immediately reply. It felt a bit awkward meeting Matthew like this, out of the familiar context of Downton and dinner parties. She was not sure whether she should go on into the library or if he would like to talk more. Fortunately he resolved that issue for her by stepping up a bit closer to her and asking, "And what brings you to the library, cousin?"

"Oh, I'm often here nowadays, you know," she answered more easily. "Researching!"

"Good for you, Sybil!" He glanced at his watch and then said, "Have you had lunch yet? I'm just on my way to get some. You'd be welcome to join me if you liked, though I shouldn't want to interfere with your studying."

She had no fixed agenda and was too much of a sociable creature to turn down such an offer in order to sit on her own and read the newspaper in silence. Therefore she came back down the steps and gave him her arm, saying that she would be delighted to and asking what he normally did for lunch.

"Well," replied Matthew, "normally I just get some bread and cheese from the shop and eat it in my office but we can go to a tea shop if you would prefer. I'm afraid I am not really set up for receiving visitors such as yourself at work!"

"No, no, do not change your behaviour on my behalf. Bread and cheese in your office sounds charming!" And indeed she thought it would be, an adventure into middle class life and an opportunity to see how people lived their lives when not surrounded by the aristocracy.

"You may not think so afterwards!" pointed out Matthew with a dubious expression but he sounded quite pleased nevertheless.

Branson had not yet moved the car. Sybil broke away from Matthew to inform him of her change of plans to which he only replied with a nod and the assurance that he would be waiting to take her home at whatever time she desired. Then he watched them thoughtfully for as long as they were in view on the street.

First, Matthew took Sybil to the baker's where they purchased fresh rolls, then to the butcher's for a pork pie each (a special treat) and a slab of cheese, before finally rounding it off with apples from the greengrocer's. Sybil, who never had anything to do with food shopping, observed the process with fascination and even carried some of the brown paper bags herself, since Matthew also had his books to manage. The shopkeepers all knew him and all greeted him with fondness and respect, not because he was the heir to an Earldom, but because he was Mr. Crawley, a valued and agreeable customer. In return, he asked after their families and engaged each in conversation with an ease and lack of self-consciousness she had rarely seen in him. She felt out of place in this world and she liked it.

Finally he took her back to his office, a solid Georgian building just off the main square with a shiny brass plate by the front door announcing that it was the premises of Harville & Carter. Sybil had few conscious preconceptions of where lawyers worked, but if she had thought about it, she might have expected an office that was more dingy, more starved of light, and more manned by peculiar looking clerks with unwashed ears and Dickensian names that reflected their grasping, mercenary and incompetent natures. Such a picture could not have been further from the truth of this airy, pleasant, clean building and the smart, well-orangised, friendly clerks who worked there. Matthew's office was on the second floor, was relatively spacious and he seemed to keep it as tidy as could be expected.

Sybil immediately noticed the chair in front of the desk. "Granny mentioned your swivel chair! She called it many things, none of them complimentary."

"I'm sure she did!" replied Matthew, amused, getting down plates and mugs from a shelf. "Have a spin if you like."

She did like and she span round several times with her feet off the ground. After that she was obliged to clutch at the arms, feeling briefly nauseous. She laughed. "I don't imagine your clients do that."

"Not so far," he agreed, "though I live in hope."

He had laid out a simple dinner set with plates, cutlery and mugs for cider on his desk, and the food spread out on a platter inbetween them. Then he took off his jacket, hung it on a peg in the corner and sat down opposite her. He smiled rather nervously across the desk at her. "Well, shall I serve you, or would you rather help yourself? For the proper picnic experience, you understand."

She raised her eyebrows at him and grinned. "In that case I shall help myself!" And she did so, feeling rather daring.

"May I ask what those impressive looking books are about?" she asked after a few moments.

"Those? Oh, they're still all about South Africa. I'm working on a case for a company in the diamond trade and it's dragging on for weeks. It's rather out of my area of expertise, hence all the research." He shrugged. "I can think of things I'd prefer to read!"

Sybil wondered how far he was getting with The Decameron and admitted to herself that she would probably enjoy the books on South Africa more. She balanced a slice of cheese on a torn piece of roll as he was doing and ate it delicately, putting it back on her plate after one bite and brushing the crumbs off her fingers.

"You must be working very hard," she commented next, glancing at the folders and piles of papers which he had swept to the sides of his desk before putting out the lunch.

"Yes," he replied after a moment's pause, as if he had not really considered it before. "I suppose I am!"

"But you enjoy it, don't you?"

"Most of the time, yes, I do. Nobody can enjoy their work all the time, I don't think. I'm afraid you will think me very dull though!"

"Not at all! I think it is very commendable that you have a job and that you like it. Papa doesn't understand that."

"No." For a moment he had met her eyes with something like surprise, but now he concentrated on cutting up his pork pie and did not speak, though he had sounded as if he could have said more.

Sybil also ate in silence, her mind flitting between Matthew's office, her father's estate, the entail, and Branson's freedom to choose what he did. Eventually she said, "Back home we have been rather dull ourselves recently, though we do not have the excuse of South African diamonds. Indeed we have not had a single proper dinner since Mary and Granny went away! I wouldn't have imagined their departure could have affected us so much."

"Really?" Matthew looked up briefly before adding, "If you had seen my mother recently you would be able to believe it. She is pining terribly for your grandmother; she misses their arguments and has been obliged to take out her frustration on me!"

Sybil laughed. "Oh dear! Poor Cousin Isobel, I would not have thought it!" She shook her head. "I must pass this on when I next write. It will amuse them both very much."

"Mother will never forgive you if you do!" he replied, but his lip was twitching and she did not think he was serious.

"Have you heard from them at all?" he asked suddenly and abruptly. "Are they enjoying themselves?"

She swallowed her mouthful and replied, "Mary sent us a postcard from Paris, that's all."

"Oh?" He was peeling his apple with a penknife, concentrating on keeping all the peel in one long twist of green, and he did not look up.

"Yes. The journey was tedious, the weather warm but overcast and the Louvre very crowded!" She shrugged. "They should be in Florence by now but we have not received anything else yet. Of course, I have heard that the post is very slow from Italy."

"That must be why."

Sybil did not mention the two long letters she had already received from Gwen, one from Paris and the other from Venice. Reading Gwen's clear and observant accounts, she felt transported abroad to the sights and sounds and smells of the continent. Gwen also described as much as she was able what Mary and the dowager countess thought of the things they did and saw, which was much more helpful and interesting than merely knowing that it was not sunny in Paris.

They talked on indifferent subjects for the rest of lunch – the Mona Lisa, Matthew's progress with the cottages, the life of Cicero and so on – until a clerk knocked and came in to ask if Matthew was ready to receive his next client in ten minutes. Sybil took this as her cue to depart and after helping him wrap up the leftover cheese and bread, she took her leave, rejecting his offer to walk her back to the library.

"It's quite alright, Matthew. It is only five minutes and I would not want to put you out when you have a client coming so soon."

She was so firm that he seemed to accept her independence and let her go. She left him sitting at his desk with a frown of concentration on his face and a lock of hair falling over his eyes. She smiled slightly as she quietly closed the door behind her, feeling privileged to see him like this.

Back in the car several hours later, Branson asked her how her reading in the library had gone. She was slumped back on the seat and only shrugged in reply for she had hardly read anything and her thoughts had been full of Matthew. She did not think anybody else in her family understood or appreciated (or in fact cared to do either) what sort of man he was outside of their narrow, confined, and prejudiced family circle. Once again, Sybil was aware of being different to her sisters. To Mary and Edith and indeed to her parents, the important thing was to make Matthew conform to their values and lifestyle, never once, it seemed to her, wondering if it might be better if they conformed to his or even simply taking the time to wonder what those might be. It seemed a great shame and waste, and she felt she valued her cousin more for having seen this side of him.

Branson knew better than to press conversation on his mistress when she was inclined to be silent and so almost half the journey passed without any conversation, until Sybil finally spoke. Her mind had been full of class distinction, privilege, unfairness, work, and her own future. It was natural that her thoughts should eventually turn to what he had said earlier on the way to Ripon.

Leaning forward, she asked him, "When you said that I should use my position, what did you mean exactly?"

He let out a breath. "I must say I was wondering when your Ladyship was going to ask me that!"

"I'm asking you now!" she answered pertly.

"Alright." He took a moment to collect his thoughts before continuing, "What I meant was, I suppose, that charity starts at home. You're Lady Sybil Crawley, daughter of an Earl! If you want women to receive an education, found a school in the village and employ teachers. If you want poor people to get jobs, provide them with employment. They may be small things but the effects will spread over time."

"But I already-" She broke off, about to mention what she had been doing for Gwen; it was not her secret to tell and she did not know how much Branson knew. She swallowed and started again, still frustrated. "You give me more power to do these kind of things than I really possess. I don't have control over my money nor do I have the ability to do such things openly for as long as I remain as I am. I explained that this morning!"

He shook his head at her and half laughed. "You could-"

"I could what?"

He only shook his head again and kept his eyes on the road.

"Come on!" she insisted, partly playfully, partly truly wanting a reply. "You were going to tell me how I could become independent without losing my position and I would really like to know!"

"Well, my Lady, you could always get married..." He looked up at her then, his expression rueful. "You really want the power to make a difference, then marry wealth and consequence and use it. Imagine the effect on the suffrage moment if it was headed by a countess or a marchioness. As a married woman you would have freedom to choose where and how you spend your allowance; you could be an inspiration to other women of your class and you would have the public visibility and the resources to give credence and respectability to the movement."

She stared at him, open-mouthed. "You're serious!"

He shrugged and did not quite meet her eyes. "Perfectly serious. You wouldn't be following the movement, my Lady, you'd be leading it!"

Sybil sat back again. It was nonsense, though it did have a certain attraction to it. Still, Branson didn't understand. She tried to explain again. "I'm looking forward to my season, of course I am – I love to dance! but I've heard from Mary and Edith all about the sorts of men they meet in London. The lords who have the kind of power you describe don't want feminist wives!"

"All of them? I find it hard to believe. You're a charming young lady, Lady Sybil, if you don't mind me saying, and I am sure you will be able to attract anybody you choose. I cannot believe that there will be not one single eligible young man from your circle who would support you."

"I can," she replied, thinking about the ones she had met.

He shrugged. "You know better than me. All I'm saying is, don't rule it out until you've seen for yourself that I'm wrong."

"I'm still going to go to university, Branson!"

He met her eyes in the mirror. "Of course, my Lady. I would not presume to influence you."

She laughed.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed! Reviewers get homemade cookies and that warm glow of satisfaction that comes from making somebody else happy (unless you leave a bad review in which case you get the warm glow of satisfaction that comes from being really mean - ignore me, very tired, weird mood...)

Next chapter: To quote Eolivet, "When in Rome, do the Romans!" Also, opera.