That summer was particularly hot in Yorkshire and on the afternoons that Sybil spent pressing cold compresses onto the foreheads or limbs of patients she longed for the days many, many years before when in such heat she might have been allowed to swim in the river. Such an excursion was out of the question now, for little girls might swim in rivers but grown women certainly did not.
At least during the day she could distract herself with the tasks to be done; the nights, when the sodden, overheated air hung heavily about the house were a greater misery. Lying on the big bed, stretched from corner to corner, she would be very still, waiting for a whisper of air to bring relief. This seldom happened and by morning her nightgown was frequently damp and clinging to her person. Before her feet had touched the floor her mood was foul, and the hotter days did nothing to improve her condition. Sybil was not alone in being affected by the heat. Coming on the heels of the government's stricter rationing that spring and with anxiety for the war to end increasing every day, most everyone living and working at Downton was irritable on the best of days.
"With the windows closed I suffocate and with them open the noise of the crickets is insufferable," Edith complained one morning at breakfast.
"Sir Richard says it's cooler in London. Do you think we could go down, mama? We haven't opened the house in ages, but it would be nice to get away from here."
"Oh, I don't know, Mary. There won't be much of a season, of course."
"Yes, but mama, this heat is just killing me. And I'd much prefer to stay in our own house than with Aunt Rosamund."
"Robert, what do you say?"
"If you all want to go, I'm not opposed. We'll have to make do without much staff, though, as we can't well close down this house in its current state."
"Downton could spare a few staff, Robert. Surely we could bring O'Brien and Bates."
"And Mrs. Hughes to keep the peace then," Mary muttered, a bit louder than she had intended.
Robert thought for a moment. He had been traveling to London more frequently himself these days and he wouldn't mind a few weeks in the city. Certainly he'd be pleased to be away from this heat.
"Very well then, it's settled. We'll leave at the weekend."
"But Papa, I can't possibly go. I'm needed here and at the hospital."
Four sets of eyes turned toward Sybil.
"Sybil, do you really expect that the rest of us should stay here in this dreadful heat just so you can play nurse with a houseful of moaning officers?" Clearly the answer to Mary's question was no.
"No, not at all. But might I stay at Downton, Papa, while the rest of you travel to London?"
Robert looked to Cora. "I don't see a problem with that, Robert? Do you?"
"Fine. Sybil, you may stay, but I trust you'll not cause too much work for Anna."
The matter settled he turned his attention to Carson.
"Carson, please arrange to travel to London along with Bates and O'Brien. As the house has been closed for some time now, you will need to travel ahead of us to prepare everything. I'll ask Rosamund's butler to meet you at the station once you've given me your train time. I expect we will stay one month this year, although it may be longer or shorter depending what we find. Mrs. Hughes will stay here, along with Anna and the kitchen staff. Sybil will remain as well."
"Yes, milord."
The rest of the week passed in a blur as preparations were made for the Crawley family, minus Sybil, and the small contingent of household staff to travel to London. Rosamund dispatched her butler and housekeeper early in the week to prepare and open the house and Carson and O'Brien had taken the train Thursday to make final preparations. By Friday everything was in place and with the mercury inching higher by the hour, Robert decided they would ride an afternoon train into the city, rather than the next morning's train as he had planned.
As Robert, Cora, Mary, and Edith gathered to leave, Cora suddenly worried that she had erred in allowing Sybil to remain in Yorkshire while the rest of the family spent a few weeks in London.
"Sybil, dear, you're sure you'll be alright here without us?"
"I'll be fine, mama. Please give my love to Aunt Rosamund and the rest."
Cora was not convinced, but what was done was done and it was a relief now with the telephone that Sybil would be able to telephone if anything terrible happened. She offered her daughter a light embrace before climbing into the car for the ride to the station.
So it was that Sybil was left to face life without her family for the first time since she returned from York. Sybil's appearances at dinner had become less frequent over the past year and she certainly wouldn't have dreamed of asking Mrs. Hughes or Anna to serve an entire meal in the dining room for her sole benefit. She hoped whatever Mrs. Patmore was preparing for the evening meal that night would keep, for though she knew the staff had been expecting one last family dinner before they departed for London, Sybil wanted only a tray that evening.
She discovered that requesting a tray had the added benefit of allowing her far more time with Branson in the evenings, and she fell into the routine of finishing her dinner quickly and then heading toward the back door. Able to come and go freely, Sybil was blissful that she need not wait for anyone else to say good night before paying a visit to the garage and she began to consider her time with him as a reward for suffering through the torrid July heat.
Their conversations those nights ranged far and wide, well beyond the war and politics, beyond their childhoods; more and more they discussed their hopes and dreams.
"Do you know what I dreamed of last night, Branson?"
What Branson wanted her to dream of was him, or them, or some version of a future that included her by his side till death do them part. He no longer worried that his love was unrequited, but the fact that she could not – or would not – admit her feelings beyond the occasional use of a plural pronoun frustrated him greatly. He was certain whatever she had dreamed it was not what he dreamed, which was "of us," and nearly every night.
"Tell me, milady, what did you dream?"
"I dreamed of the most delicious cake, Branson. With real sugar and flour and even cream for the icing. It was the most beautiful thing. I think I ate three pieces of it!" She laughed.
"When the war is finally over, Branson, and rationing has ended, I think I should like to make just such as cake, as Daisy taught me before I left for York."
"And will you offer me a slice of this post-war cake, milady, or shall you eat it all yourself?"
"Depending how long until I can make such a cake I might like to eat it all myself! I'm only kidding, of course. I should very much like to offer you a slice of my cake."
"Is that a promise?"
"It is."
"In that case, do you think you'll remember how to make it?"
Here she laughed harder and he did, too, soaking in the wondrous sound of her laughter and only hoping that she might one day make just such a cake for him.
Another evening Branson told of her a letter from a recently married friend who had written with the happy news that a baby was in the offing for the New Year.
"Do you like children very much, Branson?"
"Generally speaking, I believe I do, milady, at least the ones I've known."
"Of course, I imagine one always prefers one's own children to any of previous acquaintance."
"And do you hope to have your own children one day, milady?"
"I should think so very much, Branson. Why, if it hadn't been for this war, I'd likely be married and with a child or two already!"
Then we have at least one reason to thank God for this war, thought Branson.
"Do you hope to have children one day, Branson?"
"Milady, I'm Catholic. That's like asking a butcher if he'd like meat with his dinner."
Catholic. Well of course he must be; she knew that all the Irish were. It was one of the sources of the conflict, of course, but she'd never stopped to consider that Branson must be Catholic.
"But you never go to church."
Now it was his turn to laugh.
"Next time we drive to town, point me to the Catholic church, milady, and I'll be sure to attend mass there in the future."
She blushed deeply, embarrassed by her ignorance. Of course he didn't go to church; there was no Catholic church in the immediate area. Quickly she sought to change the subject.
"Did I ever tell you my mother's family was Jewish?"
"No, milady, I don't believe you have. That's quite interesting really. For they may disapprove of me for being a poor chauffeur, and perhaps even for being Irish, but it's reassuring to know they'll not have membership in another faith to hold against me."
She blushed again at the obvious implication of his words. Oh, Branson, she thought, if only it were that simple.
Before Sybil knew what happened, two weeks and then three had passed and she began to count the days until her family returned with disappointment rather than anticipation. She was pleased in the third week when her father phoned to say they would stay in London one week longer than planned; they would return now on the fifth of August. The change in plans was due in part to the Allied successes at the Battle of the Marne; the news – and men – pouring across the Channel was more positive with each passing day and should the war end in the early days of the month, he preferred to celebrate in London.
Anna could not help but remark on her ladyship's good humor when she brought the dinner tray that night.
"You seem in a very fine mood this evening, milady."
"Papa has just phoned from London to say that they'll stay an extra week, Anna."
"And this pleases you greatly."
"Well I can hardly slip outside to the garage each evening when everyone is home."
"Milady, with all respect: there may come a time when you have to choose, you realize. It's not my place, of course, but I'm only saying."
"I prefer not to choose, Anna. At least as long as that is possible."
It required all of the restraint Anna had acquired in her many years of service to refrain from asking how – and who – Lady Sybil would choose when the time came. She believe she knew, and she believed she would not like to be Lord and Lady Grantham when that came, but she had worked in great houses long enough to know that the people upstairs could be mighty fickle. She did not envy Branson his current position, she was certain of that.
The next evening, Sybil's hand was around the handle of the back door when she heard a sharp voice behind her.
"Lady Sybil. Where are you going at this hour?"
Sybil dropped her head and looked at the floor. She contemplated lying to Mrs. Hughes, who allowed her to stand uncomfortably in the silence, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. What as the point? She had been caught and whatever she said, the housekeeper obviously knew her intended destination. Sybil was surprised to feel tears spring to her eyes.
"Lady Sybil? Will you join me for a cup of tea?"
Sybil nodded, fear and anger and frustration comingling together in her heart. The older woman led the way to her sitting room where she slowly poured two cups of steaming tea and set them on saucers. Into hers she stirred a few precious grains of sugar; Sybil shook her head when Mrs. Hughes offered her the same; she would drink her tea black tonight, the better to taste the bitterness. If Sybil had considered for one minute that the tea was already steeped and two cups sat at the ready, she may have realized that theirs was not a chance encounter that evening. She did not notice, however, and they sat sipping their tea quietly for several minutes before Mrs. Hughes spoke.
"Lady Sybil, may I assume I know where you were going?"
Sybil stared into her teacup, unable to answer even this question. Mrs. Hughes was going to call her father in London and Branson would be fired before the sun rose again. How could she have taken such a risk assuming no one would notice her comings and goings these past few weeks? What was she to do?
"Lady Sybil?"
The younger woman looked up, not quite able to meet Mrs. Hughes's eyes. If she had been Mary she would have been bold and defiant, denying everything and daring Mrs. Hughes to cause a scene. But while many would consider Sybil bold and defiant in any number of ways, insolence toward the staff was not one of the ways these traits manifested themselves in her.
"I'm going to start again, Lady Sybil. I will not ask any questions, but if you believe what I say is incorrect at any point, you will please correct me."
She poured herself a bit more tea and refilled Lady Sybil's cup as well. Sybil nodded slowly in agreement.
"I hope you don't think that no one in this house notices that hours at which you leave and return to the house most evenings. I believe that when you do, you are paying a visit to Mr. Branson in the garage. Whether that is correct each and every time you leave is beside the point, for it is what people believe that matters and the people who live and work in this house are beginning to believe that you are not conducting yourself entirely as becomes a lady."
Sybil sat up at the strength of her words and for the first time looked Mrs. Hughes in the eye. She expected to see anger, but instead saw only a deep reserve of kindness. If Mrs. Hughes was telling her these things to be helpful, perhaps she had best listen and learn.
"Many is the night that Anna or myself has sat a vigil in the servant's hall waiting to see that you were safe inside before we locked up for the night – and to make certain that ours were the only eyes that saw you. But Lady Sybil, this cannot continue. I will not pry into your personal affairs, but Mr. Branson is the chauffeur and as such, his affair is my affair. If he's to continue working here, you mustn't jeopardize his position."
She did not want to cry, but the situation suddenly seemed so overwhelming, and Mrs. Hughes so kind, that Sybil was overcome. She couldn't believe that she and Anna had kept watch over her from the servant's hall and she felt a great debt to them for doing so. Either of them so easily might give Branson away but for reasons she did not fully understand they had not. Mrs. Hughes continued more quietly now and Sybil wiped the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand.
"I warned Mr. Branson years ago to be careful lest he end with no job and a broken heart. He's a good lad, milady, I'm sure I don't have to tell you that. And I see now that if he ends that way it won't be entirely his doing. Please be careful, Lady Sybil. I shouldn't like to see either of you hurt."
Mrs. Hughes returned to her tea then, adding a few more grains of sugar then stirring, giving Lady Sybil time to collect herself before she spoke.
"You're correct, of course, Mrs. Hughes. I was going to the garage and it is where I go each evening when I leave the house. I'm terribly sorry I've caused you and Anna to worry so; I never thought… In any case, I'm very grateful to you for telling me these things tonight. And I will be careful, I promise. I shouldn't like my father or Mr. Carson to have cause to dismiss Branson, of course, or to be cross with me."
"They won't hear about it from me, milady, but I'll not be party to any further incidents. Why if either of them knew I had my suspicions and didn't report it, I should be dismissed. I'll not say that again."
Sybil blanched visibly at the prospect of Mrs. Hughes reporting them or of her losing her own position for not.
"Not to worry, Lady Sybil. I was young once, too, believe it or not. I know how these things go and I'd hate to be the cause of dividing two people who care about each other so. You do care about him, don't you? I should hope this is not a sort of game like we've seen from others. Such games usually end badly."
"I do care for Branson, Mrs. Hughes. Very much. I shouldn't say so, of course, even to you. Oh, but I just don't know what do."
"Well, milady, a good housekeeper must always be discreet. And I trust you will figure everything out in your own good time. Now, I've kept you long enough this evening. Is there anywhere you need to go or shall I send Anna up to help you change into your night clothes?"
"Please ask Anna to come upstairs, Mrs. Hughes. And thank you. I know it must be difficult, this position I've put you in."
"Not nearly as difficult for me and it is for you, I'm afraid. Good night, milady. Try to sleep well."
As Sybil wept that night in her room, Anna was taken back to the evening two years before when Lady Mary learned that Matthew Crawley would marry Miss Swire. On the outside it looked so easy and pretty to be a lady, she thought, but their real lives are no easier than ours – and at least we've got beds to make and floors to scrub to distract us from our troubles. When at last she retired to bed, she wished for John Bates to lighten her burden just a little.
Nearly a week passed before Sybil had another opportunity to speak with Branson. The afternoon before her family would return from London she saw him washing the car in preparation for their return.
"Is everything alright, milady? I've missed your company these past few nights."
"I'm terribly sorry, Branson, but I couldn't leave the house. I've been, well I suppose we've been, found out by Mrs. Hughes."
Branson had continued to wash the car as she spoke but he stopped now suddenly and turned to face her.
"Shall I look for another place then?" he asked quietly, shaken by what this news.
"She said she won't tell father or Mr. Carson, Branson, but she also insisted I must stop sneaking off at night. I've been dying to tell you, of course, but I didn't want to write it in a note and I haven't seen you outside at all this week."
"I see. Milady, I'm very grateful to Mrs. Hughes, I won't pretend otherwise. That's only a temporary solution of course, that she won't say give us away to his lordship. I don't know if you have realized this yet, but you will have to make a choice. At least while there's a war on we might continue as we have, but after the war we will have new lives to live – together or apart."
His words were an echo of Anna, of course, and also she supposed of Mrs. Hughes, who had warned her off games of the sort which Mary had played so terribly with Matthew. She thought of the two of them now, how perfect they had been together, until they weren't because Mary had been too proud to risk life as a solicitor's wife. Sybil didn't believe she was too proud, no, she wasn't concerned with a great house or a fortune and a title or even a massive wardrobe the way her sisters were. She believed it was exactly as he had said months before: she was simply too scared. To choose Branson would mean to leap with both feet into the unknown, to walk through life without her family at her back, to create new friendships at a time most women had cultivated their dearest friends for the better part of two decades. These were the things that scared her. Yet, if she had to choose tomorrow, she would choose him in an instant.
Thank God I don't have to choose tomorrow, she thought, as she drifted off to sleep.
She was correct; she would not have to choose tomorrow. Tomorrow she would greet her family, newly returned from a season in London and brimming with news that the war seemed nearly won. Tomorrow was August 5; Sybil did not know it that night, but the last hours of the Marne would be fought tomorrow and Germany would be for the rest of the war in retreat. Three days later one of the last great battles of the war would begin near the little town of Amiens and her family's destiny would once more hang in the balance. Had she known these things she may not have slept so soundly, but she did not. Instead, the heat finally broke and she awoke the next day ready to be again amongst her family and to face the day.