Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.
You guys are awesome & thanks for the alerts/reviews etc. :D
This chapter's for BeckyPearce to thank you for your amazingly enthusiastic review which made me smileee :D
Onto Chapter 5! Kind of a filler chapter if you will, but sets up the story for laterrr :)
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After Branson's departure, Sybil's mood lowered considerably. She appeared to have altered so much that even Mary was asking her if everything was alright. She threw herself into any jobs she could come up with, just to keep her mind busy. As the months dragged on it became more and more unbearable. She constantly kept up with the news to see how the war was progressing, and watched as others she knew signed up to the army and left as well; William had gone, and she'd heard from her sister that Cousin Matthew was planning on enlisting soon too.
The worst part was that there was no one she could talk openly to about what was wrong. If she did they'd find out about her and Branson and, at worst, her father could find out and stop her contacting him. Of course, she'd find a way around that if it happened, but it would make everything ten times worse. And she absolutely hated being on bad terms with her father, she'd found that out the hard way. She could tell her father still remembered when Branson had taken her to the count in Ripon where she was hurt, and consequently continued to hold it against him to however small a degree.
Sybil guessed her father's supposed 'grudge' was also because he had figured out it was the 'Irish radical' who was responsible for his daughter's growing political fervour. She smiled to herself at the last thought; yes, he'd without doubt influenced her and she wouldn't have it any other way. She had to admit her life had become much more exciting after he had arrived, and now he was gone- she paused mid-thought; not gone, just away- now he way away,she'd have to sustain her political interests without him.
They had been writing to each other constantly ever since he left. So far, at her request, he had informed her all about his training; the inspections, the other soldiers that had volunteered in his regiment, the weapons training, and anything else she could think of to ask. There was little of interest with which she could reply about Downton as it was pretty quiet these days, so she consequently looked forward to every letter he sent.
On the announcement of the post Sybil immediately raced towards the front door, like every time it was delivered these days, and checked to see if there was anything from Branson. This was because, for one, she wanted to see how he was getting on, and to make sure he was alright, and second she couldn't let her father know she was writing to a servant, a male servant of her own age nonetheless, and so had to get there before he did. Luckily she'd placed herself conveniently close to the door and so was able to check before anyone noticed. Her spirits rose immediately when she discovered one addressed to her and she raced up to her room to read it.
It was his latest letter that would change everything;
Dear Sybil,
Hope you are well and everything is as it always is back at Downton. I'm afraid this is the last letter you may receive for some time. As you know from my previous letters, training has been tough, but it's finally coming to an end. Though I'm not sure whether that's a good or bad thing. I wanted to let you know that we've been told our division is being sent to France soon, and so I will be fighting with the soldiers on the front lines. To tell you the truth, -
Sybil could tell he was about to go on about the war and what he really thought, but a large section of the letter had been blacked out. She sighed, this had happened before, and she had guessed that the government did not want the public receiving the letters to see the real side of war, the side that would make them think twice when told it would be over by Christmas. It was that, or they thought that she was a potential spy for the enemy. The last thought made her laugh; Sybil Crawley, a spy? Either way, this angered her more than anything; she wanted to know the truth. She quickly skipped over the blackened paragraph to the last two lines which brought a smile to her face in a way that only Branson seemed to be able to do these days, despite the fact he wasn't even there;
The last thing I want you to do is worry about me, but you'll probably do it anyway, so I'll just say that I'll be careful.
I made a promise, and I intend to keep it.
Yours,
Tom
She reread it. And then reread it again. So the moment she had been dreading had finally arrived; he was being sent to the front. As she kept up with the news she had heard the stories and reports of the thousands of men who had been killed in action in the early battles of the war, and she prayed that Branson would not become one of that ever growing number of casualties.
Just the thought of him going there filled her with fear, so she tried to push it out of her mind. It was a lot harder than she thought it would be. Sybil grew frustrated. She just wanted to do something, anything. If she was allowed she would, like Branson, have signed up to the army immediately. But, being a woman, she could do no such thing.
If she couldn't follow him into battle on the front, she'd have to find her own way to get there.
It was that moment in which an idea hit her. If she wanted to make a difference and help, here was her chance. It allowed her to become more independent, aid the war effort, and perhaps be closer to Branson, which would greatly ease her worries.
She would train to become a nurse.
She wasn't naïve enough to think that by becoming one she would immediately be taken to France, and therefore to Branson. But she knew this was what she should do, both for herself and her country; she would work hard to become an accomplished nurse and then ask about being sent overseas, where she could do more, and know she was closer to him.
Sybil glanced back down at the letter in her hand; Branson would have supported her decision if he were there, would it be too much to hope her family would do the same?
