A/N: SECOND CHAPTER TODAY – There's a bit of a backlog, thanks to the website going down. Thanks for the lovely reviews! This is a lot of fun to write.
Text from Matthew Crawley to Tom Branson, Christmas Day, 20:04
Merry Christmas, brother. And to Sybbie as well.
Tom Branson to Matthew Crawley, 20:05
Merry Christmas! Hope you're well. We're fine here. Did you talk to M and G already?
MC to TB, 20:05
Y. They were at R's. Mother was there too.
TB to MC, 20:06
We're going over there in a bit.
MC to TB, 20:07
Mary told me
TB to MC, 20:08
What? What'd she tell you?
MC to TB, 20:09
That you're coming over later
TB to MC, 20:10
Oh
MC to TB, 20: 11
Violet and Mother told me the other thing, about C and Mrs. H.
MC to TB, 20:11
Did you see this coming? Did she say anything to you?
MC to TB, 20:11
You can tell me, I'm 7000 miles from home
TB to MC, 20:12
She never said anything to me before, sorry
MC to TB, 20:13
Never mind, thought you'd know something
MC to TB, 20:14
Everyone's in shock
TB to MC, 20:14
I know
TB to MC, 20: 14
Sorry I can't talk longer but we're still at my mother's and we need to get over to R's house
TB to MC, 20:15
Merry Christmas! Hope we can FaceTime with you, maybe next week?
MC to TB, 20:17
Absolutely. I'll txt you when I'm off duty. Merry Christmas!
Tom Branson sat in the corner of the room. Normally, the cacophony of relatives' voices and the football game would have been enough to steal his attention. He glanced up, content to see Sybbie surrounded by cousins, aunts and uncles, showing her gran her new dress. He sighed. He didn't like lying to Matthew. But it wasn't lying exactly. Neither Mrs. Hughes nor Mr. Carson had said anything to him…directly.
The first time he thought something was odd was last March. Mrs. H had come to the city branch of the firm, where he worked full time. She only came there twice a week. The rest of the time, it was up to him to sort office business out, around his legal business and pro bono work. She had seemed distracted, which was unlike her. They'd had their regular half-hour meeting over coffee, then he'd left to go to court.
She had called him later that day, and asked if he could drop off her laptop the next time he was at the main office. That really piqued his interest. He couldn't remember her ever leaving her laptop behind.
A few weeks later, it was something else. He had gone into her office (she wasn't there that day) to find a legal notepad and found a pink tie in one of the filing cabinets. Granted, she was the Lost and Found for the firm in both offices, and she often had solid color ties and jackets for the men, pantyhose and sensible shoes for women; attire that forgetful attorneys sometimes forgot they needed to wear to court. But Tom knew of only one attorney at Carson, Crawley & Bates that wore pink ties on a regular basis.
Mr. Carson. And during his previous visit, he had only stayed an hour for a staff meeting, and that was in the conference room. He had not been wearing a pink tie that day.
Still, Tom might have been able to find a reasonable explanation for one of Mr. Carson's ties to be in Mrs. Hughes's city office.
Until last July. He had gone in on a Saturday, even though he hated working weekends. It had been right before Matthew left to go on military leave and he and Mary had taken Sybbie and George to the zoo for the day. Tom had noticed Mrs. Hughes's car in the garage. When he entered the suite where the firm had its office, there were no lights on anywhere, and the place seemed quite empty. He had worked for nearly an hour before getting up and going to the mini-fridge that was stocked with bottled water.
Her office door was closed. That in itself was unheard of, unless she was on a conference call or doing inventory. She'd have no need to have it closed on a weekend when the place was quiet. Otherwise, if she was working, no matter the day or whichever office she was in, her door had always been open. He had wondered if she had simply come into the city and parked in the garage, and wasn't in her office at all. There was no light on. He had been about to walk back to his own desk when he heard them.
Mrs. Hughes, and a man in her office.
Tom considered himself open-minded, but he had found his limit that day. He had been rooted to the floor, unable to move for a full minute despite knowing quite well what could possibly make a woman moan like that. The office door had rattled, as if someone was pressed against it. Then he had heard the unmistakable rumble of Mr. Carson's voice. Though Tom had never heard his voice do that, either.
He had hoped he never had to hear it that way again. Ever.
He had left the office quickly, decided that he should work outside. He had taken his laptop and relevant files to the local park. It hadn't been more than half an hour later when he saw Mr. Carson walk past the park, carrying his suit jacket, tie askew and the top three buttons on his shirt undone. His usually impeccable hair was wild.
Tom had always been impressed by the man's bearing, by the way he stood and walked. His demeanor demanded respect. But on that summer day, Tom watched the managing partner strut down the block, a smirk on his face. Thankfully, Mr. Carson had not seen his junior associate in the park. Walking quickly back to the garage, Tom had then caught a glimpse of Mrs. Hughes walking to her car. Her hair was down, not in its usual up-do. He could not be sure, but he had thought she walked with a bit more sway to her hips than was normal. She drove away, a brilliant smile on her face.
Her younger co-worker had never seen her look so happy. He had thought about saying something about it to Mary perhaps, or Robert. In the end, he said nothing to anyone. If they wanted to be private, then so be it.
"Daddy! Look at what I got!" Sybbie danced across the room, a DVD of Inside Out in her hand. She ran to him and he swept her onto his lap.
"That's wonderful, love!" Mentally he knew he was in for a never-ending run for the next few months (she finally was getting into things other than Frozen), but as he kissed his little girl, he wouldn't have it any other way. Her enthusiasm often reminded him of her mother. "Is that the last present to open?" She nodded. "Well, ask Gran to help you get all of your gifts together. We're going to Donk's house for dinner."
"Yay!" Sybbie yelled, jumping off of her father's lap. Tom headed for the bedroom where he found his coat in the pile on the bed. Kieran lounged in the doorway to the kitchen.
"Off to the posh house, eh?"
Tom ignored the snub. "Sybbie's excited to see George. Have you seen my keys?" His brother tossed them to him and he headed outside, into the freezing air. As he started the car, he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He fished it out as he walked back to the house.
"Hello?"
"Hello? John?"
The skittish voice of Joseph Molesley, records clerk, reached his ear.
"No, Joe. This is Tom. Branson," he clarified. Even though Barrow worked in the other office, and was known as Thomas, they still were confused for each other sometimes.
"Oh! Tom! Sorry, I thought I was calling John. Bates, Branson, they're next to each other in my address book."
"No problem," Tom went back into the living room and picked up a bag of Sybbie's presents to take to the running car. "Merry Christmas. How's the skiing?"
"It's all right. Phyllis is great, I'm terrible, I keep falling over-"
"You're not getting yourself too badly injured, are you?"
"No, just bruised. Listen, Tom, I did mean to call John but since I've got you on the phone, maybe you can tell me."
"What's that?" Tom smiled to himself. How many times and different places had this conversation happened today?
"Is it true Mr. Carson proposed to Mrs. Hughes? They're engaged?"
"True story," Tom said. "It happened last night." He popped the trunk and put the bag inside, making sure it wouldn't spill over. "Didn't Phyllis tell you? I'm sure Mr. Carson called his own secretary to tell her personally."
"He did call her," Joe sounded flabbergasted. "Last night. And she told me then. But it sounded so incredible, I wanted to ask someone else, just to be sure she wasn't pulling my leg-"
"Joe. Would she lie to you about something like that? It's true." Tom said steadily. His mother waved at him from the doorway. "I have to go. Sybbie and I are at my family's, we have to leave now. We're going to Robert's for dinner."
"Wow," Joe said. Tom doubted he'd heard anything over the last minute. "Wow. No wonder Thomas tried to call Phil about forty times today. Reception is horrible here, I'm surprised I can hear you."
"Tell her and your dad I said hello. Merry Christmas, Joe."
"I will. Merry Christmas! I hope Sybbie is having a great day!"
"Oh, she is. Bye."
"Bye, Tom."
Tom and Sybbie hugged all the Bransons before leaving. By the time he got her strapped in the car and headed to the Crawleys, he knew they'd be a little late. Oh well. His thoughts drifted to Sybil, as they always did during the holidays. Every day, really.
He wished he could see her reaction to the engagement news. No doubt she'd be thrilled. Both she and Tom had been particularly close to Elsie, even though Sybil had known Mr. Carson since she was born. But Elsie had been a stalwart supporter of them as a couple, even after Robert had wanted to get Tom fired after finding out he was dating his youngest daughter. Mr. Carson at the time had even been in favor of him leaving. He'd come around eventually. But not Elsie. She was there from the beginning.
A huge grin split his face as he pulled into the Crawleys' long driveway. He was thrilled for her. For them. In a way, it seemed poetic that they found happiness together.
After all, it was she who'd slipped the round-trip tickets to Vegas into his hands that day in the parking lot several years ago, when he thought he was on the verge of being kicked out. "Just do it, lad," was all she'd said. So he and Sybil had flown to Sin City for the weekend and gotten married.
He still hadn't told anyone who gave them the tickets. He never would.
Like he would never tell where Sybbie's college fund came from, even though Robert still pestered him about it from time to time.
It hadn't been two months after Sybil's funeral. He was just beginning to gather the shards of his life back together again when the managing partner had knocked on his office door. The older gentleman had said nothing, the grief etched on his face. He had slid a manila envelope across Tom's desk, then left. The paperwork inside was revealing enough. But it was the post-it note Tom kept inside his wallet that moved him the most.
No need to say anything to anyone. It's for the baby. For her sake.