One evening William comes to the door of his cottage, a faint crease marking worry between the eyebrows on his usually smiling face.

"You haven't seen Lady Sybil, have you," he asks after Branson greets him, "Only she went out with the horse and cart and should have been back by now. The house is in a bit of a state. I thought if you drove into town today you might have seen her."

"No I haven't."

"Oh. Well you had better come to the house. Lord Grantham may want to drive out to look for her if she isn't back soon."

"Right," Branson reaches for his jacket. "I'll make sure the car is ready just in case."

If his movements are deliberate, Branson's thoughts are equally hurried and muddled. Where is she? Why hadn't she let him drive her wherever she was going? Perhaps he had been too forward with her and she was avoiding him. Perhaps she didn't want him to know where she was. Why wouldn't she want him to know? Had she run away? (Could he run with her?) Did she have a lover? (No, not Lady Sybil.) Is she lost? Is she hurt? Where could he look for her? (She can't be hurt. She can't.) Before he can truly work himself into a proper state of agitation, he sees two figures hurrying from the stables and stops in his tracks. Although she is covered in mud he is sure that he recognizes Lady Sybil, and in another moment he realizes the other is Gwen out of her maid's uniform. He changes his path to intercept them.

"Hullo," he calls, and the two freeze like startled deer. He grins at them, and Gwen looks so scared Branson half expects her to burst into tears. Lady Sybil looks exhausted and miserable, even her voice is tired when she answers him.

"Branson, thank goodness it's you. You won't say anything about this, will you? Gwen will be in trouble if you do. Oh please, say you won't."

"I won't," he says, and wonders silently if he'd ever be able to deny her anything she asked of him. "You'd better not go in together; everyone is looking for you, Lady Sybil. Gwen should wait and sneak in later if you don't want anyone to know she's been out."

"Quite right," Lady Sybil replies, and then turns to place her hands on Gwen's shoulders. "The ordeal is nearly over, and we both survived. You were very brave today, Gwen." The two smile at each other, and then Lady Sybil gathers her mud drenched skirt in her hands and turns back. "Thank you, Branson," she says, bestowing a smile on him as well.

"M'lady," Branson gives a slight bow, and as he watches her lift her skirts above her ankles and stride towards Downton he can feel his own mouth curling upwards in a smile. Before it becomes obvious that he is staring, he looks at Gwen and sees that her face is glowing through her weariness. Suddenly, Branson feels a stab of envy towards this girl who shares secrets with Lady Sybil and earns her praise. Gwen turns and meets his eyes and he realizes that he is being ridiculous. The poor girl looks like she is about to keel over so her wraps an arm around her shoulder and leans her body against his as he leads her towards his cabin.

"Come in and sit down before you fall down, and since I have already been sworn to secrecy and am more than a little curious you can tell me what you've been up to." Gwen looks shy for a moment, but then smiles.

"Do you know about my typewriter?"

...

By all accounts, it had been a strange day. Sybil feels that every inch of her not covered with mud is drenched in sweat. Her feet went numb long ago, but her legs and arms ache with an exhausting intensity. She is happy, though. At least, she is mostly happy.

Sybil had been young when she realized that for no apparent reason other than her father's name, her life and the lives of her sisters were vastly different from the lives of the other young women who lived in her home. She knew this was the reason Anna's fingers would sometimes linger on the luxurious silk gowns and the delicate ornaments she draped on her ladies' bodies but never her own. Sybil felt pangs of guilt on these occasions, but worse were the days when she would catch O'Brian glaring at the back of her mother's head with undisguised bitterness. Those acid looks made Sybil uncomfortable and a little angry, but it was her sisters who made her truly heartsick. It wasn't just the undeniably superior beauty and charms that Mary possessed; it was the way she had of exhibiting these advantages in front of Edith that inspired her sister's corrosive jealousy, as if she encouraged it. As if she enjoyed it.

Sybil can hardly bear to acknowledge this, but she can see how jealousy is slowly turning to hatred.

For all these reasons Sybil does her best to keep envy from her heart, but all day she has felt the tug of it on her mind. It is not strong, but enough to make her think how she would like the chance to shape her own destiny by effort instead of tradition. She longs for an opportunity to prove her worth, if only to find out what she is really made of and what she could make of herself. But while Sybil has vague desires and ideas about school and politics, Gwen knows exactly what she wants to do, and that certainty is enviable indeed. Sybil looks back towards the aspiring secretary and is a little surprised to see Branson circling an arm around her shoulders and walking her to his cabin door, and even more surprised at the sudden biting pain inside her chest accompanied by a flare of anger. Almost as soon as it appears Sybil mentally scolds herself and the pain drains from her chest leaving her feeling sad and empty.

"Ridiculous," she says out loud, and comforts herself by imagining the day when she and Gwen can laugh about all this together.