Sybil was grateful to find two small cases in the back of her wardrobe which she quickly filled with a few articles of clothing and fewer personal affects. Most of what she possessed, she decided, did not truly belong to her and, even if she sought to take more with her, she couldn't very well lug her biggest trunks to the garage unaided and undetected. Tom had suggested that she take only a small bag with them and fetch her suitcases or trunks when they returned, but while they might return the car to the garage, she wasn't delusional enough to believe that, once she married the chauffeur, she would be welcome across the threshold of the great house again.
Tom's task was more complicated as he was loathe to leave any of his decidedly meager belongings. He eventually settled on packing most of his possessions into trunks, which he would retrieve when they returned the car, and a handful of essential items he packed into a small case to take on the short trip to Scotland. Sybil determined that tea time would afford her the best opportunity for removing her suitcases undetected from the house and so, while her mother and sisters sat in the drawing room sipping tea and munching whatever sweet Mrs. Patmore could conjure for the afternoon, Sybil slunk down the stairs and out the back door.
"What time will we leave, Sybil?" Tom asked nervously, terrified of her plan, yet preferring to execute it sooner rather than later.
"We'll leave before dinner. I'll tell Anna that I've taken ill and won't be down for dinner tonight. You should do the same."
He nodded hesitantly, unsure at that moment whether he was more scared to be running away with Lord Grantham's youngest daughter or to be stealing one of the family cars. Sybil could call it what she liked, but Tom understood enough of the world to know that a chauffeur driving off on an unsanctioned jaunt through the country would be sufficient grounds for most judges to lock away the chauffeur long enough for the daughter to forget her designs on marrying him.
By the time Sybil appeared shortly before dinner, Tom's heart was in his throat, everything he owned was packed neatly away, and the little cottage where he lived for nearly six years had been scrubbed to within an inch of its life. They may hate me, he thought as he cleaned, but let them never doubt that Sybil will have a good, clean home. His only regret was that he had not yet received a response for the paper in Dublin.
While he had been cleaning and packing, Sybil sat hunched over her desk writing and re-writing this most difficult of letters. Running short of time and dissatisfied with her previous efforts, she settled for a simple note:
To my family:
I am sorry to part from you in this way, but I have left to marry Tom. I love him terribly and am only sorry to know that you will not share in my happiness. We will be marred in Gretna Green before returning the car home and sailing for Dublin.
All my love.
Sybil
She tucked it into an envelope and rang for Anna.
"I'm afraid I am rather unwell this evening, Anna. Please tell my family that I won't be able to join them for dinner tonight."
Only a short time earlier, Anna had been downstairs and overheard Mr. Branson offering a similar excuse to Mr. Carson. So this was it, was it? She had never doubted that Lady Sybil would find a way, not since that morning so many years before when a small, blue book materialized from between the mattresses, but nevertheless, Anna was surprised to feel tears form in her eyes. She wiped them away quickly, not wanting to add to Lady Sybil's already great burden.
"I'm sorry, Anna. I am truly, truly sorry."
"Yes, milady. I'll let them know."
"And good luck to you," Anna added quietly, before turning toward the stairs to allow Lady Sybil the dignity of whatever exit she had planned for herself.
It pained Sybil not to be able to say good-bye to her family but she hoped they might one day come around and their parting might not be forever. Still, as Tom drove the car as quietly as possible toward the main road, Sybil was seized by the possibility that she might never again see her home. They had decided she would ride as usual in the back until they were well beyond town, so as not to arouse the suspicions of any acquaintances they might meet on the road. When he heard a muffled sob escape Sybil's lips as they turned onto the main road he was grateful she was in the back, for her pain would have been too deep and too raw if she were next to him and he would have been tempted to call it off and seek another way.
Sybil's despair was short-lived and as she turned her thoughts to her future as Mrs. Tom Branson, she decided to take advantage of her position behind him, and the fact that he could not spare more than a fleeting glance over his shoulder to ask a question that had nagged her since she first allowed him to kiss her nearly a week earlier.
"Tom, have you kissed many girls before me?" It took nearly all of her considerable courage to form the words, but as she did, she had the sensation of a weight being lifted from her chest.
The question surprised him such that he nearly drove the car off the road, and he heard her gasp as the car swerved. The truth, of course, was yes. He didn't know how future dukes and lords conducted themselves, although he certainly had a few guesses, but future chauffeurs, footmen, and dockworkers absolutely knew their way around the fairer sex well before reaching the age of majority, an age he had attained nearly a decade earlier.
"A few milady, only a few." Compared to the record his brother was continuing to compile, this was true. More precisely he had taken somewhere in the neighborhood of a half dozen girls into his arms before Sybil, but the exact number, he was confident, was more than she needed to know and he hoped she wouldn't press the point.
"Tom, you don't have to call me 'milady'!" They both laughed, but the truth was that for him 'milady' had ceased to be a term of respect or rank and had morphed into one of endearment and affection.
"So how many lads have been lucky enough to share your kiss?" He knew he shouldn't have asked, and certainly if he were a gentleman such and question would be unthinkable, but he couldn't help himself. He really was curious if she had kissed anyone else.
"Only one. It was my season before the war. His name was Tom, too, and I thought perhaps that I might even marry him one day. This must all sound very silly now."
"Not at all. So tell me, what happened to this other Tom?"
"He was killed at Verdun."
Tom flashed back to one of their first great arguments, the time he had spoken to her so harshly that he had nearly flown to Ripon after she stalked from the garage and posted a note of apology to her. Thinking back, he was ashamed; he suspected even then that the particular friend she mourned was more a friend than most. Still, he had added to her grief at the time she received the news and he regretted it still. She was quiet then and he wondered if she, too, was reliving this earlier episode in their relationship.
He need not have worried, or rather, he might have worried about the new direction her thoughts had taken.
"Have you ever? … I mean, did you ever…?" Her voice trailed off and she felt the blood rush into her cheeks. She could not make herself ask what she really wanted to know. God knew, the closest she'd ever come to a proper conversation on the topic was the whispered tones in which she'd learned of Mary's transgression with Mr. Pamuk.
He let her squirm for a minute and debated whether to make her say the words before issuing any response. Perhaps she would drop the subject if he simply ignored it. But this felt wrong, so he drew in his breath and plunged ahead.
"Do you really want to know, Sybil?" he asked quietly. This was not a conversation he expected or was prepared for, but he knew no matter what else in their lives transpired, he owed it to her then and always to be honest with her.
"Yes, I do," she said rather boldly, the confidence in her tone surprising both of them.
He sighed, glad again that at least she was behind him and he did not have to look into her eyes as they discussed this.
"Yes." He felt her begin to form another question and did not wait to see where this line of questioning might begin – or end.
"Sybil, I love you as I have loved no woman in my life. You have nothing to worry about."
As they drove on in silence, his respect for her continued to grow. He could not imagine many women, let alone one of her class, who would be so brash as to confront such a topic on their way to the altar. She was unlike any woman he had ever known and, not for the first time since she declared her love for him, he sent a silent prayer of thanks into the heavens that she was his.
Once they were safely beyond the town limits Sybil moved to the front passenger seat. The night had grown rather late by then and she fretted over how much further they still needed to travel.
"Do you think we can make it to Gretna Green tonight?"
"I don't know. I don't have any idea how much farther it is."
He had looked at a map before they left, but he had no idea how long it would take to cover the distance or even how much distance remained.
"Do you think we should stop for the night?"
He raised his eyebrows. Surely she knew they couldn't take a room together for the night. Yet, in the smaller and smaller villages which they passed, where most inns had at best three or four rooms, they would almost certainly be forced to do so.
"And how would we do that?"
"We could say we're already married, Tom. We're far from Downton. No one would know."
While Sybil and Tom were debating where and how to spend the night, Mary was reading the note Sybil wrote that afternoon.
"Anna, did you know about this?"
"I feared as much, milady." It was as close to the truth as Anna could admit at that moment.
"We have to stop them. Return the key to Mrs. Hughes and get a message to Edith. She'll have to drive. Tell Mrs. Hughes that you'll sit with me tonight, as I've also taken ill. We'll leave as soon as dinner ends so not give mama and papa too much cause for suspicion."
Mary was furious, but she knew instinctively that drawing her parents in at this moment would only make things worse, especially when she might still catch them and prevent Sybil from committing this ultimate act of selfish stupidity.
"You both knew and neither of you told me?" Edith asked incredulously as she drove toward Gretna Green.
"Oh, Edith, I hoped she was just being silly. I didn't want to alarm the whole family."
"I'm not the whole family. I would have kept her secret."
"You certainly didn't keep mine."
The two sisters fumed while Anna stared intently out of the windows. How had her life become so intertwined with theirs, she wondered? For, at that moment, she felt as if her destiny were as much in the balance as Lady Sybil's. Lady Mary might protest all she liked, but when his lordship got wind of what happened, she would certainly be sacked. When she finally cried out that she saw the car, a wave of relief washed over the three women.
Anna stayed in the car while Mary and Edith rushed into the Swan Inn.
"Excuse me. I would like to see Tom Branson. I believe he has taken a room here." Mary used her most imperious tone with the elderly innkeeper.
"Ah, yes, Mr. and Mrs. Branson checked in a few hours ago. Their room is just at the top of the stairs."
Mr. and Mrs. Branson! Good God in heaven, had they somehow managed to marry in only the few hours since they left Downton? Mary knew that Gretna Green had a 21-day waiting period, but had they somehow, somewhere found another place to be married?
She burst into their room expecting the worst and thanked God when she found they were not staying as a married couple, but that both were fully clothed and Sybil was alone in the bed. Mercifully, nothing had happened and Sybil might yet be saved. In fact, Sybil resisted being taken from the room far less than Mary had expected. So this would be a simple matter after all, would it? She could give her father a basic version of the facts tomorrow at breakfast and Branson would be on his way to Ireland before dinner.
As they entered the car, Edith and Anna in the front and Mary and Sybil in the back, Mary asked, "So what exactly was your plan, darling?"
By now Sybil had lost whatever composure she had maintained and her response came in bursts, sobs puncturing her words.
"I … never should have … left a note." Here she heaved a heart wrenching sob into the night.
"It was … in the letter." She paused to collect herself.
"We were … going to be married … in Gretna Green."
"Tomorrow?" Mary asked, disbelieving that her sister's naïveté could extend this far.
"Yes, tomorrow."
"If ever I needed further proof that you know absolutely nothing about life, darling, then here it is. Gretna Green has a 21-day waiting period. You can't simply stroll into town in the morning and expect to be married by luncheon."
Mary threw back her head and laughed cruelly, but she had overplayed her hand.
In a controlled and icy tone that reminded all four women far more of Mary than of Sybil, Sybil leveled a final repartee.
"If you say anything to papa, Mary, I shall tell him of Mr. Pamuk. And I shall not stop with him. Sir Richard may not publish the black and white facts that his fiancée is a whore, but there are many other newspapers that would be only too happy for their readers to learn of Lady Mary Crawley's exploits over their breakfast. And before he can read it in his morning paper, I shall tell Cousin Matthew of the details myself."
Mary sucked in a great breath while Edith and Anna held theirs.
"I love Tom Branson and I will marry him. You may have delayed this but you will not stop it. That is a promise I make before God."
The night sky was streaked with the beginning of the morning when at last Edith pulled the car into the garage. No one had spoken since Sybil made her threat – and her promise. Quietly, the four women entered the house and made their way to their respective rooms. All three Crawley sisters nursed angers and hurts, but none more than Sybil. She was exhausted, but before giving herself over to sleep she jotted a quick note:
Do not leave me now. We will survive this together.
She awoke several hours later and rang for Anna to deliver the note when she next saw him. Anna wanted to refuse; the stakes were higher now, but one look and she knew Lady Sybil was not asking as an employer but as a friend; Anna could not deny her this favor.
It was almost dinner before Anna saw Mr. Branson. He looked more tired and drawn than she had ever seen him. If Mr. Carson had cause to wonder at the veracity of his illness the day before, one look at him now was enough to convince anyone that the chauffeur was ailing. After her adventure the night before, Anna did not look much better, and the other servants were happy to give them wide berth, lest whatever ailed them was catching.
"Mr. Branson, I have something for you," Anna said quietly as he sat drinking a cup of tea. She pushed the paper toward him, careful that Thomas or O'Brien not see. He unfolded it and nodded.
"You were in the car," he said, seeing how tired she looked. "How is she?"
"Not well, Mr. Branson. She was worried about you. She is worried about you. I think she has fixed things with Lady Mary though, so that your position will be safe."
He nodded again; he was surprised when he returned that neither his lordship nor Mr. Carson was waiting to dismiss him. So she had fixed things, had she? He wondered how she managed that. He had returned in great anger, but reading her note and hearing what Anna said, he felt some of his anger dissipate.
As he rose from the table, Anna reached for his arm.
"She loves you, Mr. Branson. Remember that."
Sybil did not go to the garage the first night or even the second. She was stung by the realization that they could not marry in Gretna Green and needed time, not to face Tom, but to face the fact that they would have to sail for Ireland unwed. She had hoped to ring in 1919 as Mrs. Tom Branson, but as one December day bled into the next, it was clear that would not be the case.
She might have risked a trip to the garage anyway, if not for Mary's admonishment the first morning after they returned from the Swan Inn.
"Be careful, Sybil. I've tried to warn you, but you won't listen to me. I'll not give you away because I see you're determined to destroy the family either way, but mind that you don't bring Papa down upon your head before you are prepared to meet his wrath."
Mary spoke in the same measured tone Sybil used the night before and to a similar effect. She then turned on her heels and walked, tall and proud, away from Sybil. They had not spoken since.
Sybil received a similar message from Tom, via Anna, who wrote, I'll not leave you, milady. Please be careful. How deep his anger with her ran was indiscernible from the few words scribbled hurriedly on the small page, but she hoped she could count on his understanding and not be forced to justify herself before him of all people.
By the third day she was desperate to see him and asked her mother, "Might Branson drive me to Ripon to do my Christmas shopping, Mama?"
"I don't believe you'll find much in the shops, my dear. I'm afraid we'll not have many gifts to exchange this year."
"May I have a look all the same? I might find something small."
Cora hesitated. The day was blustery and she was anxious that Sybil – so recently ill – not catch further sickness by running about on such a raw afternoon. The family wouldn't exchange many gives that year, she was certain, but she had noticed the changes in her youngest daughter since the end of the war. More often than not, Sybil had seemed distracted and at loose ends so if going to town would give her a purpose, then Cora supposed it couldn't hurt. She reluctantly agreed and it was all Sybil could do to keep from skipping from the library.
"You're in fine spirits this afternoon." Tom was surprised to see her in the middle of the day, to say nothing of his assumption that when he did see her she would not be in such a bright mood. He smiled broadly and moved to close the distance between them. Instinctively she backed away.
"Branson, I'd like to go shopping in Ripon. Will you drive me?"
At first he was taken aback by both her use of his last name and her formality. She was more observant than he, however, and was aware of Thomas who strode by within hearing distance as she spoke.
"Certainly, milady."
He brought the car from the garage and held the door as she climbed inside. Safely out of earshot once the doors were closed, she switched tones.
"Tom, I've missed you desperately. How are you?"
"Better than I expected to be. Anna told me you fixed my position with Mary. How did you manage it?"
By the time she finished the sordid tale of the Turkish diplomat, he was so thoroughly stunned that, had a response been required, he didn't believe he could have furnished one. He was stunned by Lady Mary's indiscretion and stunned by Sybil's cool calculation at using this moment of weakness against her sister in order to save him, to save them. As he drove toward the main road, he hoped he would never acquit himself in such a manner as to find himself in the future Mrs. Branson's crosshairs.
"Which shop, Sybil?"
"I won't find anything in any of them. Drive around town and then we'll return home."
If he had any doubt after the story about Lady Mary, this instruction confirmed that not only was the afternoon's trip was a ruse, but that she would do whatever she must to keep herself near him. As he drove, she spoke, turning the conversation to their future.
"I'm afraid we have no choice now but to marry in Ireland, Tom."
He nodded, sorry that this admission distressed her.
"I want to do it properly. You must write your mother. Tell her I will sail with you and we will be married in Dublin as soon as it is possible to do so. Then, we can sail in the spring."
"I don't understand the need to delay, Sybil. Why not leave for Ireland the way we left for Gretna Green?"
"There are several reasons. My sisters are correct that I must find the courage to face my family. I will do so, but first you must have a new position. Our decision will at least seem properly thought out then. Also, if you write your mother now and then we wait several months to sail, she will see that we didn't have to marry."
He had already written to the Dublin papers, but this second point had escaped him and was more than valid, especially if she was to establish herself as a nurse once they arrived. No one would hire a nurse of questionable morals, not least a British aristocrat who had run off with the family chauffeur. Yes, the onus would be on them to prove that their marriage was for love and not for any other reason. He agreed to write his mother; she would expect a Christmas post from him by the end of the year, so now was as fine a time as ever to deliver the news.
Sybil asked him to drive around back and as she stepped from the car and into the garage she kissed him lightly.
"Soon. We will be married soon."
He drew her to him, wrapping her in his arms.
"I love you, milady."
They drew apart and softly her heels clicked from the garage and toward the home that she longed to leave.