Sybil wants to go looking for Branson first thing in the morning, but when she tries to get out of bed the floor plunges beneath her feet threatening to topple her over and a pain bursts into life in her head as if she has been struck anew. Reluctantly yielding to necessity she remains in bed and rests patiently until her mother and Anna come to fuss over her and ply her with a tray of food. She eats slowly and lets Anna gently wash the remaining blood out of her hair while her mother sits at her side and regards her with worried eyes for a while before speaking.
"Well, I simply cannot wait to tell your grandmother about this."
"Oh, Lord," Sybil cringes, and even though Anna pulls a hankie from her pocket to shield her face Sybil does not believe for one moment the noise that escapes from the maid is actually a sneeze.
"Language, Sybil," Cora admonishes automatically, but then pats her daughter's hand. "I think we might leave that pleasure to your father, what do you say?" Sybil cannot manage a smile, and stares unblinking at her mother.
"Are you and Papa terribly angry with me?" Her naturally low voice is reduced to a rasping whisper.
"Very angry," Cora replies, almost equally soft and low, "But it is hard to remain that way when we are so relieved that you are alright."
"I am sorry. Truly."
"I know you are, darling, but the more you lie to us the less we can trust you."
Sybil swallows back unexpected tears of shame, and eats the rest of her food in silence.
Once she is feeling strong enough to stand and can walk without the floor moving under her she convinces Anna to help her dress. She makes her way slowly down the stairs and after stopping for a minute to let the sudden throbbing pain in her head subside, walks through the doors and down the lane, intent on making good on her promise to check on Branson. As she walks she tries to think of what to say to him, but the effort makes her head hurt and her stomach swim unpleasantly so she gives up and hopes the right words will come when she sees him. If she sees him…she had better see him… Before she makes much progress she sees Mary walking towards her from the direction of the stables looking particularly preoccupied. When she closes the distance between them, Mary takes her sister's arm.
"Darling, you look dreadfully pale. You should really be resting." Sybil resists and tries to pull her arm away from Mary's.
"I have to make sure Branson is still here."
"But I've just seen him. Don't worry, Sybil. Papa hasn't had him drawn and quartered."
"I want to see him myself," Sybil replies, and part of her wonders quietly why she wants it so strongly.
"I assure you we still have a chauffeur, but he has things to be getting on with this morning and I don't think he'll have time for you. Come back to the house with me. Please." Sybil looks at her sister and can see how worried she really is. She feels she has already caused her family enough worry, so Sybil yields to Mary's arm and they begin to walk back towards Downton's great doors. After a few steps Mary tightens her grip slightly and asks what Sybil thinks is an odd question.
"Sybil, how much do you like Cousin Matthew?"
"I have always liked him. And after last night I rather think he has earned the title Perseus over Sea Monster, don't you?" She starts to laugh, and is surprised when Mary does not even smile.
"I am being serious, dear," Mary replies evenly. Sybil stops laughing and looks quietly into her sister's dark eyes until she understands.
"I do not like him as much as Edith does," she says pointedly. Mary only sighs and curls her lip dismissively in return. "Oh, Mary! I think it would be wonderful if you married Matthew, but you won't be cruel to Edith about it, will you?"
"Why should Edith matter? She's set her sights on Sir Antony anyway."
"You know why she should matter. She does matter."
"I'll never know why you were born so much sweeter than either of your sisters. No wonder he prefers you."
"But I'm sure Matthew does not prefer me. You know very well he has been smitten with you since the first time he came to Downton." Mary looks confused for a moment and Sybil notices her eyes glance distractedly back down the path before she smiles and pulls on her sister's arm. "Never mind that, dearest. Let's get you back inside before Papa notices you have left the house and summons the bloodhounds." Sybil lets herself be led up the path and thinks, not for the first time, that Mary is concealing something from her.
...
The message summoning his presence arrives for Branson not long after Lady Mary leaves him. As he enters Downton there is an immediate hush, followed by a long, low whistle. Branson looks around for the source until he sees Thomas standing in the doorway arching his eyebrows expressively and half hiding an amused smile while raising a cigarette to his lips. Branson counts to ten (Thomas drags from the cigarette), to twenty (and then lets the smoke trail from him open mouth) and is somewhere in the vicinity of thirty eight when Mr. Carson arrives.
"Follow me, Branson" he beckons, his sonorous voice sounding more than ever like the peal of doom. Branson follows. As he walks up the stairs he notices Anna and Gwen trying to give him encouraging smiles that look more like grimaces. In what seems like a moment he is standing before Lord Grantham who appears as tired and worn as Branson feels. When he speaks, however, his words are as precise and deliberate as ever.
"I had rather a long talk with Mr. Bates this morning. He informed me that he spoke with you at some length last night, and that you were sufficiently aware of your actions and their consequences. He said that there was nothing I could tell you about your misconduct and that of Lady Sybil or the importance of my daughter's safety that you do not already understand. I hold the word of Mr. Bates in the highest opinion, and have had a good amount of time to arrange my thoughts since the events of last night. For these reasons you will be spared the angry sermon that I have already administered to my daughter," he pauses to rub his brow tiredly before continuing. "Although I have been assured by multiple sources that you are blameless in this matter, I must request that in the future you will refrain from speaking to Lady Sybil about politics or any topic, for that matter, outside of your duties as a chauffeur. And if anything like this happens ever again, rest assured I will lock her doors and bar her windows so I can turn you out without references in peace."
Unable to speak, Branson bows and silently begins counting to ten as he leaves the room.
When Branson finally stops counting he is in a secluded corner outside the kitchen that the staff uses to smoke judging from the scattering of cigarette stubs crushed into the ground.
Branson sits on a crate, balancing his elbows on his knees and resting his forehead on his hands. The lack of sleep is making him feel unpleasantly drunk. His limbs are heavy and his thoughts muddled, his skin feels hot and clammy. He does not even notice Mr. Bates joining him until he sits on the crate next to his. Branson looks at the older man and manages a small smile.
"Mr. Bates, I believe I owe you thanks for what you said to Lord Grantham."
"I would not have said it if I did not think it was true."
"He said that we spoke last night. I…I don't remember what I said to you."
"You didn't have to say much. I was a soldier so I know what fear looks like, and guilt and I are old friends.
Branson stands and begins to pace with uneven, faltering steps.
"Something on your mind?"
Branson feels something inside him come loose and suddenly words are spilling out of him.
"They think they can tell us what to say and what to think and how to feel. They have no right. None."
"Easy, lad." But Branson does not want to calm down and he cannot stop the words from tumbling out in half formed sentences.
"Lady Mary, Lord Grantham warning me to keep away from Lady Sybil – they can't…What do they think I'm trying to do to her?"
"What are you trying to do?" Branson stops suddenly to turn on Mr. Bates, but when he meets his eyes he can see that it was an honest question.
"I…I talk to her. She tells me things. We discuss politics and argue and laugh. Like friends," he blusters. "I never would have taken her there," he adds unnecessarily, and feels even more like a fool. Mr. Bates regards him quietly for a few moments before speaking again, and when he does his voice is purposefully quiet.
"Lady Sybil is a beautiful girl." Branson does not dare raise his voice above a whisper when he replies.
"She is more. You know that."
"Yes, I do. But I also know that just because something is within our reach does not mean we should try and take it." Branson looks steadily at Mr. Bates, and sees his own pain reflected in the other man's face.
"What should I do?"
"Deny it. Deny it out loud to anyone who asks, and silently to yourself whenever you see her or think of her. Eventually you'll convince everyone, including yourself."
Branson knows he will never speak of this again to anyone.
"It would be a lie."
"Then lie, if not for your own sake then for hers."
The effort takes all his will, but Branson nods assent.