A Scandalous Affair Chapter 3
Telephone Call at Downton
The phone call had brought a sense of urgency that cut through the quiet of the night at Downton Abbey. As Alfie, the nervous hall-boy, answered the telephone, his young voice trembled with anxiety.
"Hello! This is Downton Abbey," Alfie stammered.
"Who am I speaking to?" An imperious female voice on the other end demanded, "It's me, miss, Alfie, the Hall-boy."
Recognising him, Lady Edith's tone turned urgent. "Right, Alfie. It's me, Lady Edith. I need you to fetch Lord Grantham immediately. It's an emergency. Do you understand?" Her words carried a sense of gravity that left no room for hesitation.
"Yes, my lady, right away, my lady," Alfie responded, placing the telephone receiver on the hall table and racing to carry out Lady Edith's command. He knew the seriousness of the situation and didn't want to waste any time.
Alfie dashed to the servant's quarters to find Mr. Carson, the butler. Despite the urgency, Alfie was aware of the protocol; he was not to personally wake Lord Grantham, but Mr. Carson could.
Breathing heavily from his hurried journey, Alfie reached Mr. Carson's bedroom door. He knocked loudly and entered without waiting for a response, knowing that there was no time to waste.
"Mr. Carson, Mr. Carson, wake up!" Alfie implored.
Mr. Carson, a seasoned butler, awoke nearly instantly, trained to respond quickly to any situation that required his attention. He assessed the situation immediately when he saw Alfie's concerned face.
"What is it, Alfie?" Mr. Carson asked, his years of experience allowing him to maintain a sense of composure in the face of urgency.
"Mr. Carson, Lady Edith is on the telephone asking for Lord Grantham. She says it's an emergency," Alfie explained, his words rushed and filled with worry.
"Quick, lad, go downstairs and let Lady Edith know her father is on his way," Mr. Carson instructed. He understood the gravity of the situation and the need for prompt action.
With a nod, Alfie hurried back downstairs to relay the message, leaving Mr. Carson to prepare himself to wake Lord Grantham from his slumber.
As Alfie informed Lady Edith that her father was on his way, Mr. Carson sprang into action. He got out of bed quickly, slipping his feet into his slippers and donning his striped dressing gown. The urgency of the situation was evident, and he needed to ensure that Lord Grantham was awakened without delay.
He swiftly made his way downstairs, first checking his lordship's dressing room, and upon finding it empty, he proceeded to Lady Grantham's bedchamber to awaken his lordship.
"My lord," Mr. Carson said loudly, standing by Lord Grantham's bedside.
Groggily, Lord Grantham roused from his sleep, blinking at the unexpected sight of his butler. "What is it, Carson? It's the middle of the night," he muttered, his voice still heavy with sleep.
Mr. Carson, trying not to alarm his lordship, conveyed the message. "There's a telephone call for you, My Lord. They say it's urgent."
Lord Grantham, though still half-asleep, noted the urgency in Carson's tone. He turned to the clock in the room, squinting to make out the time. It was approximately 2 a.m. His bewilderment grew as he wondered who would be calling at such an hour.
With a bit of bluster, Lord Grantham climbed out of bed, informing his wife, Cora, that he would deal with the phone call. Mr. Carson assisted his lordship in donning his dressing gown, and they exited the room together. As they descended the stairs, Mr. Carson added with urgency, "My Lord, it's Lady Edith on the telephone." Lord Grantham turned to Carson in surprise and asked, "How can Edith be calling when I saw her go to bed after dinner?" With added haste, he hastened down the stairs.
Lord Grantham's heart raced as he listened to Edith's frantic explanation of the night's events. The initial confusion gave way to a growing sense of dread and anger. He struggled to comprehend the gravity of the situation and the reckless actions of his daughters.
"Edith, what's going on?" he implored, his voice strained with concern.
"Thank God, Papa, it's Mary; we think she has been arrested," Edith replied, her words tumbling out in a rush, her voice trembling with panic. In the background, Lord Grantham could hear the sound of Sybil crying, which only added to his unease.
"Arrested! How can Mary have been arrested? Is someone with you? I can hear crying," Lord Grantham's questions came in rapid succession, reflecting his growing alarm.
"We were at an Inn in Carlton near Carlisle, and it was raided by the police, and Mary and Branson were taken away," Edith explained, her voice quivering with fear. "I spoke to a constable, and he said the Inn was a brothel, and that all the inhabitants of the Inn have been arrested and taken to the central police station in Carlisle," she continued, desperation evident in her words.
Lord Grantham's confusion deepened. Why were Edith and Mary in Carlton? Had Branson driven them in the motor? His concerns were mounting.
"Edith, I don't understand. Why were you and Mary in Carlton?" Lord Grantham's tone conveyed a mix of fear and frustration as he sought answers.
"Sybil was trying to elope with Branson. Mary found out. Mary and I followed them to Carlton. We found them in a Coaching Inn. Nothing had happened yet, so Mary was able to persuade Sybil to come home. I took Sybil to the motor while Mary ensured that Branson didn't try and stop Sybil leaving. When we got back to the motor, suddenly the police arrived, and there was yelling and shouting. We saw men and women being removed from the Inn and put in police wagons. We saw the police take Mary too. They had Branson as well."
Lord Grantham's voice thundered with incredulity, "Sybil was trying to elope with the chauffeur!" His roar startled Mr. Carson, who was standing nearby, growing increasingly worried as he overheard the conversation. The gasp from behind them revealed Lady Grantham, Cora, who had been roused from her sleep by the commotion.
"Papa, listen! Mary and Branson have been arrested and taken to Carlisle," Edith tried to steer her father's focus back to the critical details. "Papa, I think I saw a reporter take Mary's photo as she was being put into the police wagon," she added, her words weighted with concern.
At last, Lord Grantham comprehended the gravity of the situation, and it was as though a switch had been flipped. "Where are you now?" he demanded, urgency lacing his voice.
"We are in a train station about an hour away. This is the first public phone we could find," Edith replied, her voice strained with anxiety.
"Come home right away, and make sure Sybil doesn't run off," Lord Grantham instructed Edith firmly, his paternal concern shining through.
"Yes, Papa, we will be home as soon as can be," Edith confirmed, her voice determined, and with that, she hung up the phone, ready to take action.
Lord Grantham turned to his wife, Cora, and Mr. Carson, who had remained by his side throughout the conversation. "My God! Mary has been arrested along with Branson in some raid near Carlisle," he summarised the situation for them, his voice heavy with worry.
Cora looked as though she might faint, her face drained of colour at the shocking news. Mr. Carson listened attentively, ready to carry out his lordship's instructions.
"Mr. Carson, as I seem to be without a chauffeur, can you have a hall boy cycle to the Dower House? I will need to use Mama's car and chauffeur as a matter of urgency," Lord Grantham instructed, a sense of urgency permeating his words.
"At once, my lord," Mr. Carson replied, his butler's efficiency already in motion.
"I am going to the study to write a quick telegram to Mr. Murray; you will need to have it sent to the village immediately," Lord Grantham added, his thoughts already on the next steps. "Can you have someone wake Bates? I will need to dress."
"Of course, my lord," Mr. Carson replied, ready to execute the tasks ahead. Cora, too, added her own instructions for Mr. Carson, making it clear that the entire household was now mobilising in response to the crisis.
Robert quickly sat at his desk in the dimly lit study, his face illuminated by the soft glow of the desk lamp. He took up his pen, the tip hovering over the crisp telegram form, his hand steady despite the turmoil within. His solicitor, Mr. Murray, was their last hope in this bewildering situation.
As Robert began penning the message, Cora entered the study, her elegant presence a stark contrast to the tense atmosphere. Her brows furrowed in confusion and concern, she voiced her unease, "Robert, I don't understand what is going on?"
Her voice held a mix of worry and curiosity, and she scanned the room, clearly surprised. "I thought all the girls had gone to bed," she continued, her eyes searching for answers in her husband's expression.
Robert paused briefly, his eyes meeting Cora's. "Edith said she and Mary were in Carlton to stop Sybil from eloping with Branson," he explained with a touch of anger creeping into his voice. "I didn't even know she liked Branson," he added, his bewilderment evident.
He quickly finished the telegram, folded the form with practiced efficiency, and held it ready to give to Carson when he returned. Rising from his chair, he approached Cora, concerned for her well-being. "It's worse than that," he said with a heavy sigh, struggling to articulate the painful truth. "Edith says she thinks Mary has been arrested for being..." He hesitated, the words carrying the weight of disgrace. "A 'woman of the night.'"
Cora's expression turned from confusion to shock, and she swayed slightly at the shocking revelation. Robert instinctively gripped her arm to support her and guided her to a nearby settee. He intended to request that tea be brought to her room once Carson returned.
"Edith says there was a reporter there too!" Robert added, his voice filled with a growing sense of dread.
Reality was sinking in for both parents, and they shared a heavy silence, contemplating the dire implications for their eldest daughter, Mary.
"I'll horsewhip Branson if I get my hands on him," Robert muttered vehemently, his anger flaring.
Cora, her thoughts aligned with Robert's for once, spoke in a hushed tone, weighed down by the gravity of the situation. "If there was a reporter there, and they print the story, it will ruin Mary for good," she whispered, her voice trembling with worry.
Cora had long observed Mary's unhappiness since the tumultuous events of 1914, and she couldn't help but feel responsible for interfering in her daughter's relationship with Matthew. She wished they hadn't meddled, and that Mary and Matthew could have been married by now. But fate had led Matthew to Lavinia, and Mary to the wretched Carlisle.
Inwardly, Cora made a silent vow. If Mary emerged from this ordeal untarnished, she would never again interfere in her eldest daughter's life.
"Oh God! What are we going to do about Sybil?" Cora's thoughts shifted to their rebellious youngest daughter, who had been challenging her position since the war. "At least Sybil didn't throw her life away on Branson," she added bitterly, her anger momentarily directed at the absent chauffeur. "May he go to hell," she thought vindictively.
Finally, Carson returned to the study, interrupting their sombre contemplation. "Here is the telegram," Robert handed it to Carson, who accepted it with his usual efficiency. "Very well, my lord. Mr. Bates will meet you in your dressing room," Carson informed Robert. "Can you have some tea sent to Lady Grantham's room, please?"
"Yes, my lord," Carson replied with a slight nod before exiting the study to carry out his orders.
"Come, dear," Robert said gently, his concern for Cora evident. "I think it is going to be a long night. Are you sure you wouldn't like to try and get some sleep?"
Cora shook her head, her resolve unwavering. "I couldn't possibly sleep. Besides, I will need to deal with Sybil when she gets home. I might have to ask Mrs. Hughes to lock Sybil in her room, at least until we have the Mary situation sorted."
With that, Robert escorted his wife back to her bedchamber, the weight of uncertainty and fear heavy in the air as they prepared to face the challenges of the coming day.
The night at Downton Abbey was cloaked in a deep, quiet darkness, interrupted only by the faint sounds of night creatures and the soft rustling of the wind through the trees outside. The house seemed to slumber peacefully, its grandeur shrouded in shadows. All was still, until an unexpected commotion stirred the tranquillity.
Mrs. Hughes, the ever-vigilant housekeeper of Downton, was abruptly roused from her slumber by the distant clamour emanating from the male servants' quarters. The urgency in the noise sent a shiver down her spine, and she knew something serious had transpired. Hastily, she threw on her warm dressing gown, her fingers trembling slightly in her haste.
As she ventured through the dimly lit corridor, her footsteps hushed by the soft carpet underfoot, Mrs. Hughes scanned the hallway for any sign of Mr. Carson, the butler. She needed to ascertain the gravity of the situation and whether the female servants needed to be awakened from their slumber.
With purpose, Mrs. Hughes arrived at the door that separated the men's quarters from the women's. She had always been entrusted with the keys to Downton Abbey, a responsibility she took most seriously. She ensured the door was securely locked behind her, safeguarding the privacy and modesty of the women under her care.
Mr. Carson, who appeared to have just exited Mr. Bates's room, caught sight of Mrs. Hughes, and discreetly signalled her for a quiet conversation. She approached him, her expression a mix of concern and curiosity.
"What's going on, Mr. Carson?" she inquired, her voice laced with worry.
Mr. Carson, his usually unshakable demeanour wavering, responded in a hushed tone, "A calamity is what. Lady Sybil tried to elope with Branson."
Mrs. Hughes's face registered shock, but there was an underlying layer of understanding. The signs had been there – Lady Sybil's rebellious spirit and her growing fondness for the chauffeur Branson. This was the culmination of her defiance.
"It's worse than that," Mr. Carson added gravely. "Lady Edith has reported that Lady Mary has been arrested."
Mrs. Hughes's eyes widened in astonishment, her hand instinctively rising to cover her mouth. The implications of such an event were almost too overwhelming to comprehend.
"Arrested, Mrs. Carson?" she managed to ask.
Mr. Carson nodded sombrely. "On a charge that I dare not utter."
Understanding the urgency of the situation, Mrs. Hughes swiftly received Mr. Carson's instructions regarding Miss O'Brien and Anna. She was to wake them both, for her Ladyship required Miss O'Brien in her dressing room immediately, and Anna would be needed when Lady Edith and Lady Sybil returned to the house. Additionally, Lord Grantham had requested tea for her ladyship.
With her tasks clear in her mind, Mrs. Hughes made her way to Miss O'Brien's room. She entered, turning on the light, and gently shook the ladies maid awake. Miss O'Brien stirred with a start, her voice groggy as she inquired about the disturbance.
"What is it, Mrs. Hughes?" she inquired, her voice groggy from sleep.
"Her ladyship needs you," Mrs. Hughes replied firmly. "And she needs you now."
Miss O'Brien grumbled, clearly disgruntled by the late-night summons. "Now? In the middle of the night?"
"Yes, now," Mrs. Hughes insisted with unwavering resolve.
Miss O'Brien grumbled at the inconvenience but, with a resigned sigh, began the process of getting dressed. Her mind raced with curiosity, trying to fathom the reasons for this abrupt summons.
As Mrs. Hughes left Miss O'Brien's room, she made her way to Anna's quarters. The room was dimly lit, and Anna lay in peaceful slumber. Mrs. Hughes turned on the light and gently shook the maid awake, her voice hushed as she shared the disconcerting news. Anna, still bleary-eyed from sleep, quickly comprehended the gravity of the situation. She nodded and began dressing, preparing herself for the demanding night that lay ahead.
Mrs. Hughes, having woken Miss O'Brien and Anna, proceeded to the kitchen to ensure the fires were lit and the range was operational. She knew that with the events unfolding, tea would be in high demand, and the kitchen maid, Daisy, needed to be ready to meet that demand. It was going to be a long night at Downton Abbey, one filled with uncertainties and apprehensions that none of them could have foreseen.
In the grandeur of Downton Abbey's great hall, Mr. Carson stood vigilant, awaiting the anticipated return of Ladies Edith and Sybil. As he maintained his post, Lord Grantham descended the ornate staircase, a look of weariness clouding his features.
"Ah, Carson," Lord Grantham greeted, his voice carrying a hint of exhaustion. "I am going to the library. If you could direct Lady Grantham to me when she comes down. Also, could you send someone up to see to the fire and a pot of tea?"
"Of course, my lord," Mr. Carson responded with his characteristic professionalism.
With a nod from Lord Grantham, Mr. Carson proceeded to execute his instructions. He signalled a hall boy, assigning him the task of keeping watch for the motor's return. Then, using the servants' stairs, he descended below stairs to the bustling servants' hall.
Daisy, the kitchen maid, had already sprung into action, getting the range up and running while a kettle hissed and steamed atop it. Seeing Mr. Carson's return, she couldn't help but voice her curiosity. "What's going on, Mr. Carson? Why do we all need to get up?"
Mr. Carson, determined to maintain order in the face of uncertainty, replied firmly, "Never you mind and just do as you're told. I need you to go up to the library and get the fire going for his lordship."
Turning his attention to Anna, the head housemaid, he issued another directive. "Anna, his lordship is looking for tea. Could you prepare a tray?"
At that moment, the footman, Thomas entered the servants' hall, clearly disgruntled at being roused from his slumber. Mr. Carson, his patience thin, fixed Thomas with a stern look and conveyed his expectations. "I need you to serve tea to his lordship, then return here, no lollygagging, do you hear me, Thomas?"
Thomas responded with a roll of his eyes, irritated but aware of his duty. "Yes, Mr. Carson."
Satisfied that his instructions were being followed, Mr. Carson made his way back upstairs, resuming his position in the great hall, where he maintained his watchful gaze over the entrance.
It wasn't long before Mr. Carson heard the distant hum of an approaching motor. He stepped toward the front door, preparing to open it as the vehicle pulled up to the house. The door swung open, revealing the familiar figure of Sprat, Lady Violet's driver, assisting the Dowager Countess of Grantham as she alighted from the motor.
Mr. Carson hastened forward to offer his assistance, extending a gloved hand to Lady Violet as she exited the car. With practiced efficiency, he removed her coat, revealing the dignified presence of the indomitable Lady Violet.
"I hear there is trouble, Carson," she declared in her usual forthright manner.
"Yes, my lady," Mr. Carson affirmed with a respectful nod.
With a sense of purpose, Lady Violet inquired further, her tone as uncompromising as ever. "Where is my son?"
"In the library, your ladyship," Mr. Carson replied dutifully, "Thomas has just brought up tea."
"Good," Lady Violet remarked briskly. "I will go and talk to my son, Carson. No need to accompany me."
Mr. Carson watched as Lady Violet proceeded swiftly in the direction of the library. Her steely resolve was a reassuring presence in this time of uncertainty, and Mr. Carson continued his vigilant post in the great hall, prepared for whatever challenges lay ahead.
Lady Violet found her son Robert sitting by the crackling fire in the library, a hint of surprise in his eyes as he looked up from his contemplation of the flames. Nearby, Daisy, the young kitchen maid, diligently stoked the fire, ensuring its warmth permeated the room. Thomas, always one to seize an opportunity, was engaged in preparing Lord Grantham's tea, his presence part of the typical hustle and bustle of Downton Abbey's daily routines.
Robert's voice carried a tone of curiosity as he spoke, "Mama, what are you doing here?" His mother's unexpected presence had caught him off guard.
However, Lady Violet, renowned for her ability to ignore what she deemed trivial matters, focused her attention elsewhere. "Thomas, a tea for me too," she declared, her voice carrying a hint of authority.
"Yes, my lady," Thomas responded obediently, beginning to prepare the second cup of tea. He had learned long ago not to question Lady Violet's requests, especially when she appeared in the library in the dead of night. He approached Lord Grantham and Lady Violet, each with their teacups in hand. "That will be all, Thomas. You can leave the room," Robert instructed, dismissing the footman with a curt nod.
Thomas reluctantly obeyed, retreating from the room. His interest in the Crawley family's affairs was insatiable, and tonight seemed to promise a juicy piece of gossip. As the door closed behind him, Thomas couldn't help but wonder what was unfolding within the confines of the library.
With the footman gone, Lady Violet turned her keen gaze toward her son. "Quick, give me a precise summary of what is going on," she demanded, her voice firm and authoritative.
Robert, though taken aback by his mother's sudden appearance and the urgency of her request, wasted no time in providing an account of the situation. "I was woken up as there was a call from Edith," he began, his words hurried. "She reported that Sybil had tried to elope with Branson and that somehow Mary and Branson were arrested."
Lady Violet took a deep breath and leaned back in her chair, her mind racing with possibilities. The situation was grave, and she knew it required her wisdom and guidance. Her son, Robert, possessed many admirable qualities, but she couldn't deny that his ability to handle crises left much to be desired.
Just as the gravity of the situation weighed heavily on the room, Lady Cora entered, her voice filled with distress. "Mama!" she exclaimed, her eyes wide with concern. "Did Robert tell you the dreadful news?" She hurried to her husband's side, her worry palpable.
"I'll have Branson horsewhipped when I get my hands on him," Robert declared angrily, his frustration and anger evident. Cora, too, looked furious at the mention of their chauffeur.
Lady Violet, ever the voice of reason, cautioned against hasty actions. "Now, don't be too hasty. We need to hear what the girls say," she advised, her tone measured and composed. Robert looked at his mother in disbelief, her calm manner in stark contrast to the turmoil in his mind.
Cora, still grappling with her own emotions, voiced her bewilderment. "I don't understand what Sybil was thinking," she admitted, her voice tinged with sadness. "I can understand Mary and Edith going after their sister, but how could Sybil do this to the family?" Her eyes welled with tears, reflecting her deep disappointment.
"Ever since the war, Sybil has been rebelling against her place in society," Lady Violet explained, her voice carrying a hint of understanding. She knew her granddaughter well and understood the restlessness that had taken hold of Sybil's spirit. "Now, quiet. I need to think," she added, her thoughts already formulating a plan on how to handle the situation with Sybil.
However, despite their concerns for Sybil, their immediate worry was directed towards Mary. Lady Violet turned her attention to the practical matters. "When did Edith say they would arrive?" she inquired, her voice filled with a sense of urgency.
Robert and Cora exchanged very worried looks, their concerns mirrored in their eyes. "Edith said they were an hour away at 2 am," Robert replied, his voice carrying a sense of impending dread.
The three occupants of the room simultaneously turned their gaze to the ornate clock on the mantle. Its hands pointed to 2:55 am, reminding them that they wouldn't have to wait much longer for the wayward daughters of Downton Abbey to return home.
Finally, at 03:10, the night's silence was broken by the distant sound of a motor approaching the imposing facade of Downton Abbey. The Crawley family, assembled in the library, exchanged anxious glances. They had been waiting for what felt like an eternity, each passing minute intensifying their worry. The voices outside the library grew louder, and Carson, the ever-dutiful butler, opened the door with an air of solemnity, announcing the arrival of Lady Edith and Lady Sybil.
Carson, ever the guardian of the Crawley family's privacy, discreetly withdrew from the room, closing the door behind him. He stationed himself in the hall, ready to intervene should any servant, particularly the ever-curious Thomas, attempt to eavesdrop on the family's conversation.
Edith and Sybil entered the room, their appearances reflecting the night's events in stark contrast. Sybil's eyes were red from crying, her expression wrought with both distress and defiance. Edith, surprisingly, appeared calm and collected, her demeanour earning her a nod of approval from her grandmother.
Robert, their father, his patience wearing thin, commanded Edith, "Edith, tell us what happened." His voice held an air of authority, demanding a detailed account.
Edith began to narrate the evening's events, her words measured and concise. "Mary and I had just retired to bed," she started, casting an accusing glance at her sister. Sybil flinched, her guilt palpable. "Mary wanted to check on Sybil as we thought she was ill, but Mary found the door locked, and Sybil didn't open the door when Mary knocked." Edith continued, her gaze unwavering. "Mary got the key and unlocked the door, where we found a note from Sybil, saying she was eloping with Branson to Scotland. We just hopped in the second motor and went after her. We eventually caught up to them in a Coaching Inn in Carlton, just south of Carlisle."
Taking a deep breath, Edith composed herself before recounting the rest. "We found them fully dressed," she continued, "Mary persuaded Sybil to come home. I took Sybil to the car, while Mary remained with Branson, so he didn't follow Sybil. We had just gotten back to the motor when all these policemen appeared, blowing whistles and shouting. The next thing we knew, they were pulling the inhabitants of the Inn out into the night and putting them in police wagons. I saw a constable and asked what was going on. He said the Inn was a brothel, and everyone in the building was being arrested, and they were being taken to the central police station in Carlisle."
Robert's anger flared, his face reddening with frustration, while Cora, his wife, wept quietly, her concern for Mary overwhelming her. Meanwhile, their grandmother, Lady Violet, sat with pursed lips, her sharp mind processing the information presented to her.
The room's attention shifted to a tearful Sybil as her father's booming voice reverberated, "How could you do something so foolish?" His anger was palpable, and Sybil lifted her chin defiantly, a hint of rebellion in her eyes. "I love him, Papa!" she declared boldly, refusing to back down.
Robert's anger only intensified at his daughter's declaration. "You love him? He's the damned chauffeur! You can't love him!" he retorted vehemently.
"I do love him, and we were going to get married and go to Dublin," Sybil insisted, her defiance unwavering.
Lady Violet recognised the need for her intervention before the situation escalated further. She had a plan, but it required gathering all the details of Sybil's relationship with Branson. "So, you have been having a secret affair with Branson?" she inquired gently, holding up a hand to quell Robert's inevitable interruption.
Sybil's response was immediate, a scandalised expression crossing her face. "No, of course not, Granny," she retorted indignantly. "Nothing like that. I said we love each other, and I wanted to wait until marriage."
Lady Violet considered this information carefully, recognising it as a potential path to resolve the situation with Sybil's reputation intact. "Sybil, how could you?" Cora interjected, her shock evident. "Are we meant to believe that the scoundrel hasn't seduced you?" Robert added, his anger still simmering.
"No, Papa! I only let him kiss me once," Sybil asserted firmly, annoyed that her family would doubt her virtue.
This revelation pleased Lady Violet, who saw a glimmer of hope in the situation. She knew that preserving Sybil's reputation was paramount, and if her granddaughter truly had never lain with the man, there was a way to expedite matters.
"Now Sybil dear, what was your plan, you must have had one?" she asked gently, she knew at this stage she would get more out of the girl by presenting a calm front. "Thank you, Granny, I did," she said while tossing her hair of her shoulder while glowering in defiance at her angry parents. Robert tutted at the defiant display. "We were going to get married and go to Dublin. Tom's a writer and he has gotten a job at a Dublin Newspaper," She explained.
"A writer!" scoffed her father.
Lady Violet, with her keen interest in family matters, was intrigued by the notion of Tom Branson being a writer. She recognised that this additional information could be a potential turning point in managing the situation and appeasing her son's concerns. She leaned forward, her piercing eyes focused on Sybil, and inquired, "A writer? What kind of writer, Sybil?"
Sybil's eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as she began to speak more about Tom's literary pursuits. "Oh, Granny, he's ever so good," she began, her voice filled with admiration. "He writes short stories, poems, and articles for magazines and newspapers. He has even had a book of poetry published," she proudly shared.
This revelation piqued the interest of the family members gathered in the Library. Cora, in particular, seemed surprised by the revelation. She was still concerned about Sybil's liaison with Branson, as she listened to Sybil's passionate description.
"If he is such a great writer, why was he working as my chauffeur?" Robert challenged, his scepticism still lingering.
Sybil's response was delivered with conviction, as she aimed to provide her family with a clearer understanding of Tom's motivations. "He said he wanted to save some money so that he could afford a wife and build his reputation as a writer," she explained, her voice filled with genuine belief in Tom's aspirations.
As the pieces of the puzzle fell into place, Lady Violet recognised the potential in Tom's ambitions. She realised that this newfound information could be instrumental in salvaging this night's misadventures, especially if Tom Branson's talent as a writer could provide the family with a more acceptable justification for a match. Sybil had inadvertently provided them with a possible solution to offset the possible scandal to present to Robert.
With a calculated nod, Lady Violet decided that it was time to guide the conversation in a direction that could lead to a more favourable resolution. She had a plan, and this new revelation about Tom's writing talents had only strengthened her position.
"I think it's time for the girls to go to bed, don't you, Cora?" Violet suggested, her tone calm and assured.
Edith, concerned for Mary, urgently interjected, "What about Mary?"
"Don't worry, Edith dear," Violet assured her. "Your father has contacted Murray and will leave shortly to fetch her. You've done very well tonight, dear, very well." She smiled proudly at Edith, her acknowledgment a rare and cherished moment for the often-overlooked daughter.
As the tense conversation finally concluded in the library, Lady Edith suddenly realised she had forgotten a crucial detail—a detail that could have serious implications for her sister Mary. She interrupted the silence, her voice filled with urgency.
"Wait, there's something I forgot to mention," Edith interjected, drawing the attention of her family.
Lord Grantham and the others turned their gaze toward Edith, their expressions a mix of curiosity and concern. "What is it, Edith?" her father asked, his voice tinged with impatience.
Edith took a deep breath, steadying herself before revealing the new information. "I saw a reporter at the inn, Papa," she confessed. "He had a camera, and I think he took Mary's photograph as she was being put into the police wagon."
A heavy silence descended upon the room as the significance of Edith's revelation sank in. Lady Cora's face paled further, and Lord Grantham's brows furrowed with worry. Lady Violet, ever composed, considered the potential consequences.
Lady Violet knew that the involvement of the press could escalate the situation dramatically. This added layer of complexity would require careful handling to protect Mary's reputation and the family's standing in society. She exchanged a knowing glance with her son, silently acknowledging the gravity of the situation.
"Now, more than ever, we must exercise discretion and wisdom," Lady Violet declared, her words carrying the weight of her years of experience. The family, united by their concern for Mary, nodded in agreement, ready to face the challenges that lay ahead.
Cora at this point joined in, commanding the girls to retire for the night. "Yes, girls, Anna is up. Why don't you return to bed, and Anna will see to you." Cora recognized the need to speak with Mrs. Hughes to ensure that Sybil remained in her room, preventing any further attempts to run off to Branson.