The spring of 1918 was the most difficult anyone at Downton had known. Before April had turned to May, meat, butter, cheese, and sugar were all strictly rationed, along with fuel. As a part of the military system, Downton's occupants were able to procure larger quantities of these scarce products than other families of their acquaintance, but increasingly upstairs as well as down subsisted on watery soups, hard loaves of bread, and the vegetables that had been put up after the last harvest.
Worse than the food was the conversation. Three themes had come to dominate their dinner conversations: Mary's wedding to Sir Richard, Matthew's increasingly dangerous position at the front, and – when the Dowager Countess was not present to cast a steely, silencing glare at her son – how much everything cost, each topic seemingly worse than the last. A discussion of money would have been unthinkable even a year before, but as the war dragged on and Robert's visits to his solicitor and man of business increased, so did the frequency of his comments on how much things cost.
"I'm afraid I've been thinking of letting Branson go," Robert announced one night at dinner.
Sybil choked, nearly sending a mouthful of soup onto her lap.
"Sybil, darling, are you alright?" her mother asked, concerned.
"Yes, mama, I'm sorry, I suddenly needed to cough."
Mary cast her with a look, but no one else appeared to notice the timing of this cough.
Cora turned her attention to her husband. "Now, Robert, what do you mean you're thinking of letting Branson go? Surely we can't do without a chauffeur now."
"I've been talking it over with my man in London. We can't know how long this blasted war will last and with petrol rationed as it is, I'm not sure it's sensible to continue to employ a chauffeur."
Sybil did not trust herself to speak, so she was relieved when Edith did.
"But Papa I don't understand. Who would drive us?" Edith was truly bewildered by her father's suggestion, for the Crawleys had employed a chauffeur from the day her father purchased their first car. Now that they had more than the one surely they needed a driver.
"That's just it, Edith. I fear there won't be much driving until the war is over. Just the other day Branson told me the trouble he'd had the last time he had to purchase petrol. And when the war ends, of course, the men will be back from the front and we'll be able to find a new chauffeur easily enough."
Sybil suddenly feared she might be sick sitting there at the table. Yet, she dare not excuse herself, for as much as she hated to hear this conversation, she was more terrified of missing it and of learning in the morning that Branson had been dismissed.
"But what about when Aunt Rosamund or Sir Richard visits? Or Matthew? Surely we need a chauffeur to meet them at the station. And how would Sybil get to the hospital? You can't expect her to walk every day, especially not with all those ghastly men Mrs. Bird feeds each week."
"Mary! What a terrible thing to say. Those men served this country proudly and will never be the same because of it. The least we should be able to do to show our appreciation is to offer them a decent meal," Cora was nearly trembling with anger.
"I don't see why when we can't even offer ourselves a decent meal anymore."
"Mary, apologize at once. I will have not my daughter speak that way at my dinner table."
"Then I shall say good night."
As Mary rose stiffly from the table she exchanged a defiant look with her father before passing by Carson and Anna, who stood frozen in place by the entire scene, and out of the room. As the door closed heavily behind her, the remaining four Crawleys sat in silence, rhythmically spooning soup into their mouths. After several minutes, Edith spoke again.
"What she said was awful, Papa, but it is true that the number of discharged soldiers milling about town seems to grow by the week."
"I said I was thinking of letting Branson go, not that I've made the decision."
"Robert, I hadn't thought of the men. Do you think it's really safe for Sybil to walk to the hospital by herself anymore?"
He sighed heavily. "Sybil, when are you going to the hospital next?"
"Tomorrow morning, papa."
Robert pivoted toward Carson.
"Carson, will you ask Branson to accompany Lady Sybil to the hospital on foot? He can wait in town until her shift is over. Better yet, tell him to see if Mrs. Bird needs any help with her soup kitchen."
"Very well, milord."
With that, Robert rose from the table, irritated that women, or at least his women, were so incapable of a reasonable conversation when it came to such matters. He had never understood the men who ruled their families with an iron fist, but at moments like these he felt they must be correct in their manner.
Sybil had hardly slept that night after dinner, tossing and turning and more than once springing from bed to pace the floor, such was the state of her nerves. It seemed she had only fallen asleep when her alarm clock sounded the arrival of a new day. Although Sybil had stopped summoning Anna before her morning hospital shifts shortly after she returned from York, she was grateful to hear the knock at her door that morning.
"Milady, I thought you could use some help this morning."
"Thank you, Anna, yes. Do you think my father will really dismiss Branson?"
"I can't say, milady. But I believe everything will work out."
Sybil's hands trembled, her head piece was crooked, and she looked in manner and in dress roughly how Anna guessed she must feel inside.
"Milady, if you're to work as a nurse this morning, I think you ought to relax a bit. You'll make the men nervous just looking at you!" At this Sybil smiled slightly.
"Do you remember how you felt when Bates left, Anna?"
Anna nodded, of course she did. She still worried every day that he might again.
"If Branson left I don't believe I could live."
"You'd find a way, milady. We women always do. Just look at the women whose men have marched off to war these past four years. It would be difficult for you, but you would survive."
"No, Anna, not me. He must stay. He must."
"I'm not the one you need to tell, milady. Now, if you're to make your shift on time, you'd best be off."
In truth, Anna had slept very little herself, the devastation that had crested across Sybil's face at dinner flashing through her mind at regular intervals all night. How was it that the problems of the people you worked for could affect you so deeply? In some ways she envied Thomas and O'Brien for their ability to separate themselves from their employer. Thomas's remarks after Lady Grantham lost her baby had seemed cruel, but perhaps he was correct in asking why they must live through the family who employed them.
It was too late for Anna, though, for the matters of her mistresses' hearts had long ago become matters of her own, and her heart broke a bit for Lady Sybil that morning. As she made up the bed and opened the curtains she offered her own small prayer on their behalf. If two people ever deserved to be together, she thought, it was Lady Sybil and her chauffeur. Yes, even perhaps more than she and Mr. Bates.
Despite Anna's best efforts to calm her and send her out the door properly and tidily dressed, Sybil still arrived at the garage in an air of distress.
"It's a fine morning for a walk, milady," Branson greeted her happily, then stopped as he got a better look at her.
"Is everything alright?"
"Oh, Branson, no, it isn't at all."
"Shall you tell me why ever not on the way to hospital?" He set a brisk pace, but quickly slowed, as he sensed a timely arrival at the hospital was not her foremost concern this morning.
"At dinner last night Papa announced he was considering dismissing you!"
Branson was surprised, but not shocked. It seemed most weeks lately he spent as much time moving furniture or otherwise assisting with the running of the house as he did as an actual chauffeur. Most houses had lost their chauffeurs to the call-up; the ranks of those who remained dwindled regularly, especially now that fuel was so strictly rationed.
"Well I should be sorry to go, but I can't say as I blame him. It's mighty hard to employ a chauffeur when the fuel these days is rationed as it is."
"But if he were to dismiss you… If you lost your position, what would we do?"
"I know what I would do, milady. I'd return home, be part of the fight for Ireland. It's up to you to decide what you would do."
He did not mean for his words to sound cruel, but if it came to pass he knew he had no choice. It was about time Lady Sybil faced up to the fact that the decision as to whether they were parted was hers and hers alone.
They continued in silence, each contemplating an uncertain future with – or without – the other. When they arrived at the hospital Sybil turned to Branson.
"So you'll wait for me here at the end of my shift?"
"Yes, milady, you'll find me here."
As he watched her walk into the hospital, he wondered if he would really and truly be able to sail for Ireland without her.
As the weeks passed and the tide of the war turned undoubtedly toward Allied victory, Robert said nothing further on the matter of the chauffeur. He'd asked Mrs. Hughes to hold off on replacing Esther ("I believe you mean Ethel, milord," Mrs. Hughes had corrected gently), but he did enjoy having a chauffeur of course and by now he'd rather grown to like Branson. He was a fine driver, no doubt, but more than that the cars were always in impeccable running condition, with smooth brakes, softly purring engines, and gears that shifted without a hitch. They were spotless, as well, and after five years of service the chauffeur seemed as much a part of the car as a wheel or a door. One or another of the Crawley sisters always seemed to dislike most of the staff, but the fact that all three seemed to genuinely like Branson was another mark in his favor. Or at least, Edith and Sybil at least seemed to genuinely like him; Mary didn't actively appear to dislike him, which Robert considered to be almost the same. He was surprised then, when his mother broached the subject one evening at dinner.
"Robert, dear, I heard you were considering dismissing the chauffeur."
"It was only an idea, mama, but I've decided doing so is unnecessary."
Every ounce of tension in Sybil's body seemed to evaporate and Mary gave her a sideways glance that Sybil preferred not to acknowledge. She focused intently on her vegetables, which had suddenly become very interesting.
"Well I should think so. All the best people have chauffeurs, Robert. You have to consider what people would say."
"I have to consider many things, mama, but what people would say is not always one of them."
"Well there's no need to be huffy now. I'm only glad to know you won't be so foolish."
"But how did you know, granny?" Mary couldn't help herself from asking. Surely, she thought, Sybil hadn't gone to her grandmother.
"Why Edith told me. She mentioned it just last week. You said, "Why I hope father won't dismiss Branson now that the war's almost through," didn't you dear?"
"Granny's right, papa. I didn't think it right now that the end feels so near."
"Why, yes, I decided much the same thing myself. Although I am rather sorry I raised the topic with you lot."
Anna could not help smiling as she cleared away the first course. Sybil radiated relief and already in her mind Anna could hear the footsteps on the stairs and unlatching of the back door, for if she knew Lady Sybil at all, Anna knew that tonight she would be powerless to stop herself paying a visit to the garage.
Mrs. Hughes was also within earshot of the back door that night and noticing Anna with her mending basket in the hall she invited the younger woman to share a cup of tea with her.
"I don't know what's going to happen to that one," Mrs. Hughes said softly, stirring a bit of saccharine into her tea in lieu of the rationed sugar.
"I suppose that's not for you or for me to say, Mrs. Hughes." With a sharper tone it could have been a defiant statement, but Mrs. Hughes knew by the resignation in Anna's voice that the comment came from a kind place.
"Poor lad. I wish he would have listened. They won't be able to hide from his lordship forever, you know."
"Do you think he has any idea? Or her ladyship?"
"I should say not. Branson would be sacked at moment's notice if they had. Of course, we must remember, Anna, that there's none as blind as those who refuse to see."
"Do you think Lord and Lady Grantham refuse to see?"
"That's not my place to say. I think, however, that you and I are not the only members of this household with eyes, and ears, and minds that think."
"Do you think Mr. Carson suspects anything?"
"Mr. Carson can't afford to suspect anything, or he'd feel the need to rush to his lordship."
Mrs. Hughes took a long sip of her tea and decided they had said what there was to say about Lady Sybil carrying on with the chauffeur. Gently she turned the conversation.
"Now how are you and Mr. Bates getting on, Anna?"
"We do the best we can. It's very difficult, Mrs. Hughes, to love someone so and yet know you might never properly be with them. "
They were both silent then, reflecting on the simple truth of Anna's words. She had spoken them with regards to herself and Mr. Bates, but in the quiet of the servant's hall, they could not help but tally the number of people, both upstairs and down, who faced that reality with each new day.
"I must be off to bed, Mrs. Hughes. Will you wait for her?"
"You may put out the light, Anna, but yes, I'll wait to lock the door until I know she's come inside." She did not add, 'and I can be certain no one else has seen her,' but each woman knew the reason for the vigil. Mrs. Hughes suspected Anna herself had done this before, but there was no need for both of them to lose sleep over Lady Sybil tonight.