Author's note: I've used quite a lot of dialogue from the show in this chapter. I'm sure you'll recognise it when you see it.
May 1914
When the first signs of trouble appeared, Mary was unprepared, having not seen them coming. The opening salvos began at dinner one evening, which had been quiet so far.
'I gather you went to hear the liberal candidate today,' Robert said, looking over at his youngest daughter.
'There were several speakers actually. He was the last,' Sybil replied, her eyes widening in surprise slightly, but not missing a beat in answering her father.
'Did he speak well?' Robert asked, his tone even.
'I thought so.'
'But there was quite a brouhaha.'
'You know what these things can be like – '
'I do. Which is why I'm astonished you should not feel It necessary to ask my permission to attend,' Robert interrupted, his anger palpable.
The room fell silent, the family and servants alike taken by surprise by the earl's outburst.
'I assume this was Branson's idea,' Robert continued, making Mary jerk her head up and look at her father in alarm.
Sybil shook her head. 'No, I – '
'I confess I was amused by the idea of an Irish radical for a chauffeur, but I see now I have been naïve,' Robert continued, on a roll now.
Mary stared at her father, shocked that he was blaming Tom for Sybil's jaunt without any evidence at all. She was getting a horrible feeling about all of this.
Cora broke into the argument. 'I told Branson to take Sybil.'
Robert glared at her, astonished that she had done such a thing. 'What are you saying?'
'Sybil needed to get to Ripon, and I asked Branson to drive her. I thought it was sensible. In case there was trouble,' Cora replied, calmly.
'I want to do some canvassing,' Sybil declared, garnering incredulous twin looks from her father and grandmother. 'The by-election is not far off, and – '
'Canvassing?' the Dowager echoed, quite unable to believe what she was hearing.
Sybil nodded, eager to explain. 'It's quite safe. You're in a group and you knock on doors – '
'Yes, I know what canvassing is,' the Dowager interrupted, astonished that Sybil appeared to see nothing wrong with her intended course of action.
'I think that Sybil is – ' Mary began, anxious to smooth things over.
'What?' the Dowager said, switching her attention from her youngest to her eldest granddaughter. 'Are you canvassing, too? Or would you rather take in washing?'
Mary bristled. 'I was only going to say that Sybil is entitled to her opinions.'
'Not until she is married. Then her husband will tell her what her opinions are,' the Dowager declared, scandalised by the modern outlook her granddaughters appeared to have on these matters.
Mary rolled her eyes. 'Oh, Granny.'
'I knew you wouldn't approve,' Sybil said, looking resentfully across the table at her father.
Robert glared back at her. 'Which is presumably why you hid all your plans from me.'
'I'm interested in politics, Papa! I want to learn more. I want to educate myself on the issues and what can be done about them,' Sybil cried, her passion coming to the fore.
'Well, it's not appropriate. You're too young. You're not even out yet,' Robert snapped.
'I'm not too young! You'll consider me old enough to marry very soon and if I'm old enough for that, I'm certainly old enough to listen to politicians' speeches!' Sybil retorted, getting crosser with every word.
'Of course, you are, darling,' Cora soothed, shooting a dark look at her husband.
Mary looked down the table at her younger sister, privately agreeing with her, but not wishing to draw her father's ire further. At least, Sybil was now the target of his disapproval and not Tom.
'Does this mean you won't be presented at court next month?' the Dowager asked, horrified at the thought of Sybil's debut being at risk.
'Certainly not. Why should it?' Sybil responded, puzzled as to why her grandmother should even make such a leap.
'I doubt I'd expect to curtsey to their majesties in June if I'd been arrested at a riot in May. But, of course, I'm old. Maybe things are different now,' Violet sniffed, quite sure things hadn't changed that much since her day where a young woman's debut season was concerned.
'It wasn't a riot, and she hasn't been arrested,' Cora put in, straining to keep her temper.
'But it might be next time,' Edith said slyly, unable to resist stirring the pot.
'There will not be a next time,' Robert declared, determined to draw a line under this affair.
Sybil glared at him, mutinously. 'You can't stop me from going.'
'I can and I will instruct Branson not to take you to any political rallies,' her father countered, staring her down. 'You will not go to any more of these affairs and that's an end to it.'
Sybil clenched her jaw, biting back her words, determined that she would go to the by-election count if it was the last thing she did.
'It's so unfair!' Sybil cried, pacing up and down in Mary's bedroom. 'I shouldn't need his permission to attend events I'm interested in.'
Mary watched her sister pace and sighed. 'You're underage, Sybil. Of course, he can refuse you permission to go.'
'If it wasn't that, it would be something else. I'm too young, I'm too female, it's not ladylike, it's too dangerous. And to blame Branson like I don't have a mind of my own! That's simply insulting!' Sybil raged, too irate to be soothed.
'So, it was definitely your idea, then?' Mary asked, not wanting to provoke her sister but needing to check that Tom was blameless in this whole thing.
'Of course, it was!' Sybil snapped, glaring at Mary. 'I heard the Liberal candidate was giving a speech and I asked Mama if I could go. She told Branson to take me like she said at dinner.'
'I believe you, darling. I just… well, you heard Papa; he immediately assumed Branson was to blame and I'd hate to see him get into trouble for something he didn't do,' Mary said, appealing to her sister's sense of fair play.
'Well, he won't,' Sybil said, stoutly. 'If Papa tries to pin any blame on Branson, I shall tell him straight that he has got it all wrong. Branson tried to get me out of there as soon as trouble started. It was me that didn't want to leave.'
'Then you must tell Papa that if he reprimands Branson,' Mary said, pressing her point home.
'Don't worry, I will,' Sybil replied, her eyes flashing. 'I will not let him take his temper out on Branson.'
Mary nodded, satisfied that she'd done all she could to protect Tom, but still worried that her father may take it into his head to dismiss him simply because his politics did not align with Lord Grantham's.
Cora lay in bed listening to her husband's soft snoring and worrying about the letter Carson had shown her from Lord Flintshire's valet.
She had dared to hope that the rumours about the late, unlamented Mr Pamuk had finally died down. It had been several months since she'd heard any mention of them, but now this letter seemed to prove the rumours had been resurrected.
She was going to have to find a suitable moment to tell Mary. The family would be decamping en masse to London for Sybil's coming out season next month. If Mary was to face these rumours once again, she must be prepared.
Her heart ached for her eldest daughter. Was she never to be free of these incessant rumours about her character? Would they stop her from receiving any offers of marriage?
Cora resolved once more to scour her address book for possible suitors for Mary. She must be married as soon as possible, otherwise they would have to start thinking of alternative options if they were to salvage any chance of marriage proposals for any of the Crawley daughters.
Mary stared at the back of Tom's head as he drove her towards Thirsk.
He glanced up into the mirror, catching her eye. 'Are you all right, love? You've been staring at me since we left the Abbey.'
'Something happened at dinner last night that I think I need to warn you about,' she said, still worrying over her father's assumption that Tom was at fault for Sybil's political adventure.
'Did it?' he asked, surprised that anything said over the Crawleys' dinner table could have anything to do with him.
'Papa found out that you took Sybil to hear the Liberal politician speak, and he blamed you for it.'
Tom raised an eyebrow and huffed out a laugh. 'Did he? Then he needs to get to know his youngest daughter better.'
'It's not funny, Tom,' Mary snapped, her anxiety about this whole affair making her cross. 'For one horrible moment, I thought he was going to dismiss you!'
Tom glanced into the mirror, took one look at her face, and indicated to pull off the road. He parked the car and twisted to look at her.
'But he didn't dismiss me, Mary, so I think he was probably just letting off steam,' he said, gently.
'But what if he changes his mind? What if he really does think you're a bad influence and lets you go?' she persisted, her stomach twisting into knots at the thought of it.
'I didn't do anything, mo chuisle. It wasn't my idea to go to the speech, it was Lady Sybil's. And your mother knew all about it. She asked me to take Lady Sybil,' Tom said, trying to calm her. 'I really don't think he's going to sack me.'
'I can't… I can't lose you, Tom. I simply can't,' Mary said, feeling the horror of that thought deep in her heart. 'Promise me you won't do anything to antagonise the situation. Promise me you won't take Sybil to another one of these things.
Tom let out a breath, shaking his head. 'I don't think I can promise you that. If Lady Sybil orders me to take her somewhere, I can't refuse to do it.'
'You can! If it's dangerous, you can!' Mary insisted, fear rising up in her that he was going to get himself sacked if he wasn't careful.
'Well, yes, of course, I wouldn't take her anywhere dangerous, but by and large, these things are not dangerous, not usually,' Tom said, trying to get her to see reason.
'There was trouble at the speech!'
'Yes, there was, but not at first. And as soon as I saw things were taking a turn, I tried to get Lady Sybil out of there.'
'Papa is going to instruct you not to take her to anything political again,' Mary said, hoping he would see sense and do as her father said.
'Well, if he does, then, yes, I will be able to say no if Lady Sybil asks me to take her to a rally or speech or whatever. I'll have a reason to tell her I can't take her. But he hasn't given me that instruction yet,' Tom said, holding her gaze. 'And until he does, I can't say no if she gives me an order.'
'Then I'm ordering you not to take her!' Mary countered. 'There! Now you've got your blessed instructions!'
Tom sighed, shaking his head. 'It doesn't work like that, sweetheart, you know it doesn't. You can't countermand her order unless you're with her when she gives it. Your father can tell me not to take her and she might kick against it, but she'll know I can't disobey him. But if the order comes from you, she'll just tell me to ignore it and I'll have to. If I refuse to obey an order from a family member, that's grounds for sacking me.'
Mary ground her teeth together, knowing he was right. Eventually, she nodded, accepting what he was saying.
'All right, but don't take any risks. You have to be whiter than white. Especially now that Papa has already talked about you being a bad influence,' she said, still worried about this whole thing.
'I'll do my best, I promise,' he said, smiling at her.
'Make sure you do,' Mary said, still not entirely reassured.
Everything seemed to go quiet for a few days, and Mary began to relax. She'd managed to spend some time with Tom, Sybil was behaving, and all was well. Or so she thought until her mother appeared in her room one evening, her face grave.
'Anna, could you leave us, please?' Cora said, effectively dismissing Mary's maid.
'Of course, your ladyship,' Anna said, nodding her head and taking her leave.
Mary turned on her stool, looking apprehensively at her mother. 'This doesn't feel like you're going to say anything good, Mama.'
Cora sighed, crossing to Mary's easy chair by her dressing table. 'No, my darling, I'm afraid I'm not.'
'Go on then. Spit it out,' Mary said, bracing herself for whatever it was.
'It's two things, I'm afraid, although they are linked. Firstly, Carson showed me a letter from Shrimpie's valet referring to the rumours about you and Mr Pamuk.'
Mary sighed, her shoulders slumping. 'Really? I had hoped they might have died a death. I haven't heard anything about them for a while now.'
'I know. I thought the same, but apparently not.'
'What did the letter say?'
'Nothing we haven't already heard.'
'And Carson…'
'Doesn't believe a word of it, of course, but he's disturbed that such rumours could even be out there.'
'Of course, he is. Is he going to respond to his friend?'
'I told him not to dignify these rumours with a response, but I daresay he will reply and vociferously deny there is an ounce of truth in them,' Cora said, knowing their butler would go to his grave defending her eldest daughter against any attacks.
'Good old Carson. So, what's the second thing?' Mary asked.
'Your grandmother knows what happened with Pamuk,' Cora said, bluntly.
Mary gawped at her. 'What? How?'
'She got a letter from Susan Flintshire telling her the rumours and asking if they were true. She showed it to me and asked me if there was any truth to the matter.'
'And you told her?' Mary asked, staggered by that.
'I didn't see that I had much choice. The letter stated quite baldly that the rumour was that Mr Pamuk died in your bed after the two of you had been intimate.'
'But Granny didn't need to know the truth!' Mary cried, rocked by the thought of her beloved grandmother thinking badly of her. She stopped, narrowing her eyes at her mother. 'Or did you not tell her the whole truth?'
'No, I told her the truth. I told her he assaulted you and that it was not a consensual act. And I told her I helped you move his body,' Cora said, calmly.
Mary stared at her mother, hardly able to believe what she was hearing. 'So, she… she really does know everything?'
'Everything.'
'And how did she take it?'
'She was shocked. Very shocked, I think it's fair to say. I think it might be the first time I've ever seen your grandmother speechless,' Cora said, giving Mary a small smile. 'It took her a day or so to come to terms with it, but she eventually came to see me and said she hoped she'd have had the strength to do the same thing we did. And she was concerned for you, of course.'
'Was she? Or does that simply mean she wants to marry me off as quickly as possible, too?' Mary asked, dryly.
Cora frowned at her. 'That's not fair, Mary. You know how much your grandmother loves you. And so do I.'
'I know, I'm sorry,' Mary said, feeling contrite for being so cynical. 'It's just… well, I know she will think that a reasonable response.'
'She's written to Susan to say it's all a load of nonsense and Susan should know better than to listen to idle gossip.'
'So, we're back to square one, are we? As far as the rumours go,' Mary said, heavily.
'Yes, I'm afraid so,' Cora agreed, as disappointed as her daughter with this unwelcome turn of events.
'Just in time for Sybil's coming out season.'
'Yes, unfortunately. That's why I wanted to warn you. I wanted you to know what you could be walking into when we get to London.'
'But where is this all coming from?' Mary hissed in frustration. 'Nobody knows what happened except for you and me and Anna. How has any of it got out? None of us have told anyone.'
'I don't know, darling, I don't know,' Cora said, reaching out a hand to Mary. 'Didn't you say Evelyn was going to try to find out?'
Mary nodded. 'Yes, he was. I haven't heard from him in a while. I might write and ask if he's discovered anything.'
'Yes, although I'm not sure how much help it will be,' Cora said, resigned to having to go into battle for her daughter yet again.
'Maybe not, but it would be good to know, even if just to satisfy my own curiosity – and possibly to exact a little revenge,' Mary said darkly, fed up to be a hot topic among the smart set once again. Just when she thought it was over too.
Once more, things settled down for a few days. There were no more mentions of the hateful Pamuk rumours, no more threats from her father to dismiss his radical Irish chauffeur and no more sabre-rattling of the political variety by Sybil.
In fact, the only unpleasant thing to happen was Anthony Strallan arriving at Downton to invite Edith out to the opera in York. That was a bit of a conundrum for Mary because while she was eternally glad she wasn't the one having to endure his dull conversation for an evening, she couldn't bear Edith's smugness at being the one to be asked.
It wasn't until she was lying in bed with Tom on his half-day that she could come to accept Strallan preferring Edith over her. Given a choice, she would rather have what she'd got with Tom than Edith's tepid relationship with a man older than their father.
Yes, life was good, she thought as she lay in Tom's arms, both of them naked, cooling down after making love. Life was very good. So, when jeopardy came knocking once again, Mary was still not prepared for it.
'She ought to be back by now,' Cora said, glancing at the clock on the mantelpiece, wondering what was keeping her youngest daughter.
'Those meetings can go on forever,' Robert replied, fairly unconcerned about Sybil's absence.
'What do you think I should wear next Friday?' Edith mused, thinking about her opera engagement with Sir Anthony. 'I thought about the green with the brown trimming, but it might be a bit wintery.'
Mary heaved an irritated sigh. 'Are we really going to spend a week discussing your clothes?'
Her mother shot her a look of reprimand. 'You look very nice in the green,' she said to Edith before her middle daughter could snipe back at her sister.
Edith nodded, sparing Mary a look of dislike before turning her attention back to her mother. 'Then I thought about the pink, but is it too grand for York?'
Mary looked away, rolling her eyes, trying to keep her irritation under control as Edith and her mother continued to discuss potential outfits. At a side table, William was clearing a cup and saucer. To her surprise, he made a point of subtly catching her eye and nodding towards the doorway. She glanced over and saw Gwen hovering there. When Mary looked at her, the maid made a quick beckoning motion.
'I think I might go up,' Mary said, putting her cup down.
Her mother frowned. 'Already? It's early yet.'
'I really can't spend the evening reviewing Edith's wardrobe,' Mary replied, absolutely certain of that even if there didn't appear to be some intrigue in the hallway that required her attention. 'I'd rather go and read my book.'
She rose, going to kiss her mama's cheek then wandered over to do the same to her papa before leaving the room.
In the hallway, Gwen guided her away from the drawing room door towards the Great Hall.
'I've fetched a coat,' she said, holding it out for Mary to slip into it.
'Why? What do I need a coat for?' Mary asked puzzled, glancing in surprise at Tom standing in the hall, holding his cap and looking worried. Her heart raced as she wondered what was going on, whether Gwen had somehow discovered her visits to his cottage.
'I've come to fetch you, milady,' Tom said, his voice low, his servant's blank not quite as blank as it usually was when they weren't alone. 'We've taken Lady Sybil to Crawley House. In the village.'
Panic shot through Mary. She touched Tom's arm, stopping him in his tracks. 'What's happened?'
'I took her to Ripon for the count. She got caught in a fight,' he said, his face troubled.
Mary shot her hand out to grab his arm before remembering Gwen was standing behind them and clapped it over her mouth instead. Then as if she couldn't stop herself, her hand was back on his forearm.
'Take me there at once,' she said, heading for the door, Tom right beside her.
Once they were in the car and heading down the drive, Mary began interrogating him.
'What happened? Is she hurt?'
'She got in the middle of a fight. I don't know quite what happened, whether the bloke clipped her on the side of her head with his fist or whether she just got jostled, but she fell and banged her head on a table,' Tom said, his voice worried. 'Mr Crawley and I got her out of there as soon as we could.'
'Not soon enough!' Mary cried, furious with him and worried for Sybil all at the same time. 'What were you thinking? How could you be so stupid, taking her to the count?'
'I didn't know I was! She told me it was something else! I swear I would never have taken her there if I'd known, Mary, I wouldn't have!'
'She's been hurt, Tom!'
'I know! I was there! I saw it happen!' he snapped, worry for Lady Sybil making him anxious. 'You can't make me feel any worse about it than I already do. I tried to persuade her to leave, but you know what she's like when she makes her mind up about something.'
Mary glared at the back of his head, irrational jealousy bubbling up in her as he talked so familiarly of her sister. 'And you know her so well, do you? Well, enough to speak of her like that? Like she's a… a friend or… or maybe you wish she was more!'
Tom flicked his eyes to the mirror, the shock apparent on his face. 'No. Mary, no! Of course, I don't. I… I like Lady Sybil, of course, I do, but not… not like that. How could you even think that?'
Mary glared at him, her jaw set tightly, her anger and her sudden, crippling jealousy simmering within her, warring with the genuine worry she felt about whatever state Sybil might be in. 'Just take me to her. As fast as you can.'
Tom flicked her a worried look then focused on the road, putting his foot down, making the car go as fast as he dared in the narrow, dark lanes.
Mary's heart leapt into her throat as she swept into Isobel's sitting room and saw her baby sister lying prone on the sofa, a gash on her temple, dried blood caked down the side of her face and on her blouse. Isobel sat beside her in her dressing gown, gently sponging the blood from her skin.
Mary went towards the patient, reaching out to her. 'My God! Oh, my darling!'
'I didn't know what to do, so I had Branson bring her here,' Matthew said, hovering anxiously watching his mother tending to Sybil.
Mary knelt and took Sybil's hand as Isobel dropped iodine onto a clean cloth.
'Quite right. Mama would have fainted if she'd seen her like this. And as for Papa,' Mary said, shuddering at the thought of what her father was going to say about all of this.
'This will sting a bit, but it's stopped bleeding,' Isobel said to Sybil, leaning forward to dab the cloth on her wound. She looked up at her son. 'Did you know she was planning this?'
'Of course not,' he said, rather indignantly.
'Well, what were you doing there?' Isobel pressed him, unfazed by his denial.
'I was working late. I'd forgotten it was election night or I wouldn't have stayed.'
'I'm so grateful you did,' Sybil said from the sofa, gazing adoringly up at Matthew.
'Oh, I could wring Branson's neck,' Mary said, still angry with Tom for taking her sister into danger.
Matthew nodded, agreeing with her. 'What was he thinking? I'm afraid it will cost him his job.'
Mary stared up at him, panic seizing hold of her as she realised that he was probably right, and Papa would sack Tom and he'd have to leave Downton. Her heart rebelled. That was… that was unthinkable.
Sybil rallied a little, coming to Tom's defence, her strong sense of fair play kicking in. 'No. I told him he was taking me to a committee meeting. When he realised what it really was, he wanted to come straight back.'
Mary stared at her sister, her heart thumping, her stomach twisting. She couldn't lose Tom, she simply couldn't. 'You'll have to stick up for him because Papa will skin him alive.'
As Isobel moved away from Sybil, Matthew took her place, crouching down to bring himself to eye level with her.
'Are you feeling strong enough to go home?' he asked her, gently.
Sybil gazed back at him. 'I think so. If you'll take me.'
Matthew smiled at her, holding out his hand to help her get to her feet. Mary watched as Sybil rose, her eyes locked on Matthew, a look of hero worship on her face. For his part, he looked at her with such fondness that it was impossible not to see it.
Isobel glanced over at her, and they exchanged a look, both of them seeing the same thing – the most overt show of affection either of them had ever seen pass between Matthew and Sybil.
Mary shrugged her coat off, stepping forward to hold it out to Sybil. 'Pull your hair forward and, here, wear my coat to cover the blood. You'll look more normal,' she said, briskly.
Matthew took it and helped Sybil into it. 'Lean on me,' he said, his voice tender as he shepherded her to the door.
Mary and Isobel exchanged another look. For the first time, Mary was completely sure that Matthew felt the same way about her sister as Sybil felt for him. And she could see quite plainly that Isobel knew that too.
In the back of the car, Mary sat silently, Sybil between her and Matthew. Every now and then, she saw Tom try to catch her eye in the rearview mirror, but she took care not to acknowledge him, partly because she was still cross with him and partly because they weren't alone. Even distracted by his worry about Sybil, Matthew was astute, and she was quite sure he would notice that her relationship with the chauffeur was closer than it should be.
Instead, she focused on how Matthew's arm was curled around Sybil's shoulders as she leaned against his chest. In any other circumstances, it would have been scandalous. Mary chewed her lip, wondering if she was witnessing the official start of a romantic attachment between her youngest sister and their father's heir. There was no way either Matthew or Sybil could either hide or deny the affection between them after this.
Tom pulled up outside the main door of the Abbey, stopped the car and got out to open the rear door. He held his hand out to her and she took it, sneaking a glance at him despite herself. He met her eyes and then he released her hand, moving to help Matthew get Sybil out of the car.
As soon as Sybil was standing on the gravel, Matthew took over, wrapping his arm around her, helping her walk towards the open front door.
Mary took a step to follow them only to stop as she felt Tom's hand on her arm, a swift, fleeting touch that still halted her in her tracks. She turned to look at him, hugely conscious of the staff hovering in the doorway.
'She's not badly hurt, is she?' he asked, his face worried.
Mary softened, thinking of him worrying himself silly outside Crawley House, not knowing what was happening inside. 'I don't think so, no.'
'Thank God,' he said, relieved.
Mary smiled at him but felt she'd better warn him of the potential consequences, the ones that were scaring the living daylights out of her.
'Better be prepared. I'm afraid Lord Grantham will hit the roof,' she said, mindful to use her father's title within earshot of the footman at the front door and Matthew and Sybil disappearing through it.
Tom gazed at her, his eyes trying to say more than he could out loud. 'I would never have taken her there,' he said again. 'I may be a socialist, but I'm not a lunatic.'
Mary gave him a wry smile. 'I'm not sure Papa knows the difference,' she said, softly.
Tom nodded, knowing he would be lucky to keep his job after this. 'You'll let me know how she gets on? Please?'
Mary stared at him, anger and a smidgeon of jealousy flaring up inside her again. Why was he worrying more about Sybil's relatively superficial injuries when their entire relationship was in jeopardy if her father sacked him as he very well might?
'If you wish,' she said rather formally, turning abruptly on her heel to follow Matthew and Sybil inside, leaving Tom alone on the driveway.
Mary stood by Sybil's bed, watching her father work up a head of steam, feeling more and more worried about Tom's chances of remaining at Downton by the second. The sick feeling in the pit of her stomach grew, threatening to overwhelm her.
Finally, as she'd been both expecting and dreading, her father reached the point in his rant where he turned on the Irish radical in their household.
'Of course, I blame Branson,' he thundered.
'I don't think that's fair,' Mary started, determined not to let her father dismiss Tom without a fight.
Robert glared at her. 'We had none of this – none of it – until he set foot in our house! I suppose I should give thanks that he hasn't burned the place down over our heads!'
'Branson didn't know anything about it until we arrived there!' Sybil cried, sticking her head defiantly in the air.
'He leaves tonight!' Robert roared, in no mood to be contradicted.
Mary felt her stomach lurch sickeningly, despair sinking its talons deep into her heart.
'If you punish Branson, I will never speak to you again! Never!' Sybil shouted back at him, pushing to her feet, her hands on her hips, determined not to let their chauffeur bear the cost of her rebellion. In that second, Mary could not have loved her sister more.
She saw her father hesitate in the face of Sybil's heated words and seized on it, trying to underline how none of this was down to Tom.
'I don't believe this was Branson's fault. Truly, Papa,' she said earnestly, willing him to believe her.
'Blame me!' Sybil cried, still fiercely fighting Tom's corner.
'I do blame you!' Robert retorted, glaring at his youngest daughter.
Cora intervened, trying to calm things down between them. 'Robert, can we do this in the morning? Sybil needs rest.'
Sybil eyeballed her father, her chin jutting out argumentatively. 'If I find tomorrow that Branson is missing, I'll run away. I warn you!'
Robert looked at her, fighting back the sudden urge to laugh, knowing it would only incense his youngest further. 'Oh? And where will you go?'
For the first time, Sybil looked uncertain. 'Well, I can't think now. But I will go, and you'll be sorry!'
Mary watched, her heart still in her mouth, as her father calmed down, his anger dissipating at Sybil's attempt to save face after her impassioned declaration that she would run away if Robert gave Tom his marching orders.
'I would be sorry. Very sorry, indeed,' he said, his voice gentler.
Mary recognised the pattern of rage and bluster followed by a softening and calming as his temper receded. She allowed herself a small sigh of relief, feeling like kissing her sister because she may well have saved Tom's job and his place at Downton after all.
'How is she?' Matthew asked anxiously as Robert and Mary returned to the Great Hall, leaving Cora to settle Sybil after the excitement of the evening.
'She'll be perfectly fine,' Mary said, relieved her sister had not been more seriously injured.
'I gather you're the shining knight in all this,' Robert remarked to his heir.
'Oh, not really. I'm glad I was there,' Matthew replied, awkwardly.
'So am I, by heaven. If it had been left to that bloody fool Branson…' Robert glowered, demonstrably still annoyed with his chauffeur. 'You should see what he reads. It's all Marx, Ruskin and John Stuart Mill. I ask you.'
Mary felt her temper spike, angry that her father was still blaming Tom when Sybil had quite plainly told him her attendance at the count had all been down to her and Tom hadn't known where he was taking her.
'Papa prefers the servants to read the Bible and letters from home,' she countered tartly, fixing her father with a disapproving look, desperate to get him off the topic of Tom.
Behind her, Mrs Hughes arrived in the Great Hall announcing there were sandwiches for Mr Crawley in the dining room and, with that, Robert put Mary in charge of feeding Matthew and went to soothe his wife. Watching him go, Mary began to tentatively hope that Tom might yet survive all this trouble.
In the dining room, Mary sat watching Matthew pile the sandwiches Mrs Patmore had rustled up for him onto a plate.
'Was it very wild at the count?' she asked, curious to know what it was like.
'It was rather. Will you have a glass of wine with me?' Matthew asked as he poured the red wine into the wine glass.
Suddenly, a glass of wine sounded like exactly what she needed after the night she'd had. 'I'll ring for another glass.'
'No, no, there's no need,' he said, taking the highball glass for the water and pouring red wine into that.
Mary watched him, partly amused, partly horrified by the uncouthness of it all. 'You're not very fastidious about doing things properly, are you?'
'Are you?'
'Less than you might think,' she replied wryly, thinking of her relationship with Tom.
'Well, no I'm not one for always doing things properly. Which may go some way to explaining why I squared up to that thug at the count,' he said, turning to face her.
'What thug?' Mary asked, curiously.
'There seemed to be an organised mob of thugs at the count. Simply there to cause trouble, I suspect.'
'And you "squared up" to one of them?'
'Yes, he asked me what my problem was, and I told him he was,' Matthew informed her, thinking back to that moment and the anger he felt at the belligerence of the flat-capped oaf who had tried to intimidate him.
'Goodness. What happened then?'
'He threw a punch at me. I hit him back, but that's unfortunately when Sybil got caught in the ruckus. It all got a bit rowdy. Sybil got jostled and that's when she fell.'
Mary stared at him, shaken by what he was saying and trying to process what she was hearing. It tied in with Tom's account, but Matthew was adding more details – details that were crucial to the understanding of what had really happened tonight. 'He tried to hit you?'
'Yes.'
'But he hit Sybil instead?' she asked, seeking clarification.
'Well, no, I don't think he actually hit her, but she did get caught up in the subsequent hullabaloo. Branson and I both had our hearts in our mouths when we saw her go down like a nine-pin. And then when we saw the blood…' Matthew's eyes flickered away like he was seeing Sybil fall again before he looked back at Mary again, resuming his tale. 'Well, I don't mind telling you, I was horrified. So was Branson. He scooped her up like she was nothing more than a child and was striding out of there with her in his arms quicker than you can imagine.'
Mary narrowed her eyes at Matthew, her temper rising within her as it became apparent to her what had happened at the count for the by-election. 'So, what you're telling me, what I'm hearing, is that Sybil's injuries are your fault?'
Matthew frowned at her, taken aback by her conclusion. 'What? No, that's not what I said.'
'You said you provoked the thug, then you ducked when he tried to hit you and Sybil got caught in the commotion. Is that not correct?'
'Well… erm, yes, I suppose when you put it like that, that was the sequence of events, yes,' Matthew said uncomfortably, beginning to squirm a little in his seat, horrified by the realisation that his actions had inadvertently put the woman he was falling in love with in danger.
'So, you put the chain of events into motion then. And yet you were perfectly happy to let me, Papa and everyone else believe that this was all Branson's fault,' Mary bit out, her voice icy calm even as her fury built.
'No, I… that wasn't my intention, no,' Matthew protested.
'You intimated as much to me at Crawley House when you asked what he was thinking and said it would cost him his job. And you certainly let Papa think you were the hero of the hour and Branson was the villain,' Mary continued, determined to press home her point.
'Branson took her there,' Matthew pointed out, feeling both under attack and guilty.
'Because she lied to him! Sybil herself admits that. And from what I can gather from what both Branson and Sybil have said, he was making every effort to get her out of there when you arrived on the scene and stirred things up. Or are you about to deny that?'
Matthew shook his head. 'No, that's true. Branson was begging Sybil to leave when I got there, and she was ignoring him. She was determined to stay.'
'And you didn't think to back him up and help him remove her from harm's way?' she asked, incredulously.
'Yes, I did! Of course, I did. I pressed her to go, too, but you know what Sybil can be like when she doesn't want to do something,' Matthew protested, unwittingly echoing Tom's words of earlier.
'But instead of joining forces with Branson to make her leave, you chose instead to get into a confrontation with a thug, which led to her getting hurt,' Mary said, skewering him with a look. 'You disappoint me, Matthew. I thought you had more sense than that. And more integrity. A gentleman would not let a servant take the blame for his actions, unintentional though they may have been. Papa is gunning for Branson now, threatening to sack him for something that was not his fault. Do you think that is fair?'
Matthew looked at her in surprise, a flash of guilt crossing his face. 'I… no, no, of course not. You are absolutely right. Now I think about it, I do carry the blame for what happened to Sybil.'
'Then you should let Papa know before Branson pays for your mistakes with his livelihood,' Mary said, holding his gaze, letting him see in no uncertain terms quite how unimpressed she was with his behaviour.
'Yes, I will. I will speak to Cousin Robert first thing in the morning. I certainly would hate to see Branson carry the can for this,' Matthew said, looking contrite, appalled that his actions could have led to Sybil being injured and Branson potentially losing his job.
'Then I don't think you should wait. I think you should speak to Papa this evening. Tomorrow may be too late. He threatened to have Branson gone by the morning,' Mary said swiftly, unwilling to risk that eventuality because Matthew had left it too late to speak up.
'But he's retired for the evening, hasn't he?'
'He said he was going to settle Mama, but he may not have retired yet himself. I will go and tell him you wish to see him,' Mary said, rising to her feet.
'All right,' Matthew replied, looking at her in surprise.
'Papa has to know the truth. It's important,' Mary said, fixing Matthew with a look.
'And I'll tell him the truth.'
'You can't let him sack Branson. Sybil would never forgive you if you could have prevented it from happening and you didn't. And neither would I,' she said, sternly.
'No. That wouldn't be fair, I agree,' Matthew said, a small, slightly puzzled frown appearing on his face.
'Right, well, I'll go and fetch Papa then,' Mary said, turning to go, beginning to worry slightly that she'd overplayed her hand and betrayed too much concern for Tom.
'Mary.'
She stopped and looked over her shoulder at her cousin.
'I'm sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen when I stood up to that man,' Matthew said, quietly.
Mary softened slightly, believing that he was telling the truth. 'I know, Matthew. But now you must do what you can to make things right.'
'I will.'
'Good.'
'I love her, you know,' Matthew said, looking up at her, his blue eyes sincere. 'Sybil. I love her.'
Mary turned fully to look at him. 'Have you told her that?'
'Not yet. Not in so many words.'
'You should tell her.'
He bit his lip, holding her gaze. 'Do you approve? I know you don't always have the highest opinion of me.'
Mary sighed. 'Oh, Matthew, how many times do I have to tell you that you shouldn't pay any attention to the things I say?'
'But I do. Your good opinion means a lot to me.'
'Then I shall tell you now that you have it. And I know that you will do your utmost to make Sybil happy. That is all that matters to me.'
'Do you think your father will approve?'
She nodded, smiling at him. 'I think he will be thrilled. But you know you won't be able to announce anything until after Sybil comes out, don't you?'
'I know. I can't say as I understand the importance of a season, but I do know that I must wait to propose to her.'
'But that doesn't mean you have to wait to tell her how you feel,' Mary said, knowing that a declaration of love from Matthew would make Sybil deliriously happy.
He smiled, his face lighting up with hope. 'So, you think she'll accept me?'
Mary returned his smile. 'I don't think either of us have any doubts on that score, do we?'
Matthew's smile grew wider. 'Then send your father down and I will save Branson's job. I'd hate to be in Sybil's bad books. Or yours,' he said, perhaps a tad more shrewdly than Mary would have liked.
She nodded and left to fetch her father.
When Matthew left the dining room after speaking with Robert, he found Mary loitering in the Great Hall.
'I thought you might have gone to bed,' he said, smiling at her.
'I wanted to know how it went with Papa,' she said, desperate to know.
'I told him everything and apologised for my part in it.'
'And Branson? What is Papa going to do about him?' Mary asked, her heart in her mouth.
'Nothing. By the time I'd finished telling it, I was the villain and Branson was the hero of the hour. Without him, Sybil may still have been bleeding on the ground in Ripon,' Matthew said, offering a small wry smile. 'I have definitely tarnished my halo with Robert.'
'So, he's not going to sack him?' Mary asked, seeking absolute clarification.
'No, he's not.'
'Oh, thank goodness for that,' she said, a sigh of relief escaping her.
Matthew looked at her curiously. 'Why are you so worried about Branson? I mean, I commend you for it, but I must admit I'm a little surprised by how passionately you've fought his corner.'
Mary took a few seconds to calm herself, her relief that Tom wasn't going to be dismissed making her too giddy.
'He's a servant here, and I believe we must treat the servants fairly. It didn't seem fair to me that he was possibly going to be dismissed when he had done nothing wrong,' she said, hoping that would be a good enough answer.
'And that's it, is it?' Matthew asked, still looking a little perplexed.
'Well, that and Sybil had threatened to run away if Papa dismissed Branson,' Mary confessed, suddenly seeing a way to make her staunch defence of Tom seem more in character and understandable.
Matthew smiled, nodding his head. 'Yes, I could quite see that. And that's the last thing any of us want, isn't it? Especially when she should be taking things gently.'
'Exactly. And you know Sybil. She can be quite passionate about these things.'
Matthew nodded fondly. 'Yes, she can. Will you tell her I'll be along to visit her tomorrow?'
'I will. I'm sure you'll be just the tonic she needs,' Mary said, reaching out to press a grateful hand to his arm. 'Thank you, Matthew.'
'Oh, don't thank me. All I've done is try to right a wrong. Hopefully, I have and that's an end to it.'
'Let's hope so,' Mary said, resisting the urge to cross her fingers.
'Goodnight, Mary. Sleep well,' Matthew said as Carson approached him with his hat and coat.
'Goodnight, Matthew.'
After Matthew left, Mary found her father still sitting at the dining table, a glass of port beside him.
'So, Matthew told you what really happened then?' she asked, coming to sit next to him.
'Yes. According to him, he was the one who provoked the incident,' Robert said, moodily. 'Branson is as innocent as a babe, apparently.'
'I truly don't believe it was Branson's fault, Papa. Not from what both Matthew and Sybil have said about what happened this evening,' Mary said, quietly.
'I'm still not convinced he didn't know he was taking her to the count,' Robert insisted.
'Sybil says he didn't. She says she lied to him because of what you'd said about instructing him not to take her to anything political.'
Robert chewed his lip, thinking about that.
'You can't deny you said you were going to do that, Papa,' Mary continued.
'No, I did say that, but I didn't follow through with the order. I never gave Branson that instruction.'
'But Sybil doesn't know that,' she pointed out.
'No, I suppose she doesn't,' Robert said, grudgingly.
'I really don't think it would be fair to dismiss Branson. It seems that even though Sybil lied to him, he was the one who got her to safety when things got dicey. I think it would be a poor reflection on us as employers if you were to sack him under those circumstances. Don't you agree?' Mary said, holding her breath.
'All right, yes, when you put it like that, I suppose it would be rather unfair.'
'Then he can stay?'
Her father let out a sigh. 'Yes, I suppose so. But I will be keeping an eye on him. I don't trust him not to lead her astray.'
Mary rose to her feet and kissed her father on the forehead, trying her hardest not to let her relief show. 'Thank you, Papa. I'll let Sybil know she needn't worry about him anymore. And for what it's worth, I don't think Branson will be doing anything to lead Sybil astray. I think she's proved she can do that all by herself.'
Robert harrumphed and picked up his glass of port.
Tom heard the rat-a-tat-tat on the door of his cottage and bit his lip, fully expecting it to be Mr Carson coming to give him his marching orders and tell him to clear out his things.
He walked reluctantly to the door and opened it. He stared in surprise at Mary as she bustled past him, wrapped in a dark coat.
'Shut the door before anyone sees a woman entering your cottage,' she said, quickly.
'What are you doing here?' he asked, swiftly doing as she said and then turning to her.
'You wanted me to tell you how Sybil is.'
'Yes, but I didn't expect you to come here in the middle of the night.'
'Then how did you expect me to tell you? Telepathy? Carrier pigeon? Hot air balloon?' she snapped, clearly out of sorts.
'Send a hall boy with a message. Tell me tomorrow. Let me find out at breakfast. Not waltz down here all by yourself in the pitch black!' he retorted, not willing to bear the brunt of her anger.
Mary glared at him then her shoulders dropped, and she sighed. 'Let's not fight, Tom. I didn't come here to fight with you.'
'Did you come here to tell me Lady Sybil is badly injured?' he asked, worry on his face.
'No, I didn't. She's all right. She's a little battered and bruised and she's got a bit of a headache, but she's all right,' Mary said, watching with a curious mixture of affection and jealousy as relief flooded his face.
'Oh, thank God,' he muttered, closing his eyes briefly and blowing out a relieved sigh.
'You seem very worried about her,' Mary observed, her unexpected but undeniable jealousy beginning to win out over her other emotions.
'Well, of course, I am. She was bleeding from a head injury, Mary! And she lost consciousness for a while!'
Mary bit her lip, her stomach churning horribly at the passion in his voice. 'And those are the only reasons, are they?' she barked before she could think better of it.
Tom looked at her in surprise. 'Are those not reasons enough to be worried about her?'
'I don't know, Tom! You tell me!' she snapped, her jealousy and anger bubbling over after the high emotion of the night.
He narrowed his eyes at her. 'Is this connected to what you said earlier in the car? Are you… are you jealous because I'm concerned about your sister?'
'You seemed awfully familiar with her, the way you spoke about her,' Mary said, sniffing.
'Oh, Mary, we're friends, Lady Sybil and I, that's all,' he said, annoyed by her jealousy where once he had found it somewhat adorable.
'Friends? Really?' Mary asked sceptically, looking at him, unable to stop herself.
'Yes, I'd like to think so. We talk a lot when she's in the motor,' he said, trying to smooth her ruffled feathers.
'About what?'
'Politics, mainly. She's passionate about the vote for women and I admire that, although it's not just women who need the vote,' he said, stepping closer to her. 'But I don't have any designs on her if that's what you're worried about. You know I don't, so what's all this about?'
Mary glared at him then stalked forward, pushing at his chest. 'You shouldn't have taken her to the count!'
'I didn't know I was!' he snapped, standing firm. 'I've already told you that!'
'Didn't you? You must have known it was the count in Ripon today. Weren't you suspicious when she asked you to take her to Ripon?'
'Not really, no! She said she was going to a committee meeting. Why would I doubt her? I'm not in the habit of assuming that people are lying to me!'
'You promised me you wouldn't take risks! You promised me!'
'I didn't take a risk! I didn't know she was going to the count! I only found out when we got there!'
'Why didn't you stop her going in?' Mary shouted, her anger rising to the surface.
'Because I was in the car, blocking the road, with the cars behind me honking their horns! I couldn't just abandon the motor! I couldn't force her back into the car! She was already heading into the count! What did you expect me to do? Jump out and manhandle her into the backseat?' Tom said, hotly.
'I don't know! Something! Anything! I told you Papa was ready to dismiss you! I told you that!' Mary yelled, her panic about the whole situation and the possibility of losing him pushing her to the edge of her temper. 'I warned you! I told you you can't take risks like that, and you did it anyway!'
'No, I didn't!' Tom shouted back. 'I did nothing of the sort and, if you're honest, I think you know I didn't!'
'Don't you care? Don't you care if Papa dismisses you?' Mary shouted, shoving furiously at his chest again. 'Don't you care if you have to leave me?'
Tom rocked on his feet but stood his ground. 'Of course, I care!'
'Because it doesn't seem like you do! I've had to fight so hard for you tonight because you didn't listen to me!'
'What do you mean, you've had to fight for me?'
'With Papa! He wanted to get rid of you! He blamed you for everything!'
'It wasn't my fault, Mary! I did everything I could to get her out of there!' Tom cried, grabbing hold of the top of her arms.
Mary stared at him, his dear, familiar face, and then darted her head forward, kissing him. Tom kissed her back, wrapping his arms around her, putting all his conviction into the kiss, determined to reassure her that he cared.
When they broke apart, Mary threw her arms around him and buried her head in the crook of his neck while he held her tight. 'I was so scared that Papa was going to sack you.'
'And is he going to?' Tom asked, tensing in her arms, his worries about being forced to leave her flooding back.
Mary shook her head. 'No, I don't think so. Sybil and I went to bat for you. She threatened to run away if she found out he'd sacked you. And Matthew finally did the right thing and told him he provoked the man who hit Sybil.'
'Aye, that wasn't the best idea Mr Crawley has ever had, riling up a bloke who was already spoiling for a fight,' Tom muttered.
'Well, he's confessed his part in the matter to Papa and told him you were the one who got Sybil out of there,' Mary said, looking him in the eye. 'So, it seems you'll still be our chauffeur in the morning after all.'
Tom nodded, relief rippling through him. 'Are you sure?'
'Yes, I spoke to him about it after Matthew told him everything and he confirmed that you could stay. I don't think I've ever been so relieved about something in my entire life,' Mary said, finally beginning to let go of the stresses of the night.
'I'm sorry you've had to worry so, mo chuisle. Although truth be told, I thought I was gone too. When you knocked on the door, I thought that was it, and Mr Carson was here to turf me out.'
Mary shuddered. 'Don't. Don't even say that. Let's hope it's all done with now. There'll be no more rallies, no more by-elections, no more counts. And you will have to be as innocent as a lamb in everything you do from now on.'
Tom smiled at her. 'I don't think I can promise that. Not when you and I are carrying on as we are.'
'Apart from that then. Promise me you will be whiter than white in your dealings with Papa and the rest of the family. I can't go through this again, Tom,' she said, sternly.
'I promise,' he said, gathering her closer. 'Now, I should probably walk you home before you're missed.'
Mary shook her head. 'Oh, no. I'm staying here tonight. Everyone thinks I'm tucked up in bed. Anna helped me escape once more, and I have every intention of spending tonight making you apologise to me thoroughly and extensively.'
'Do you?' he asked, a smile forming on his lips.
'I do. After the stress and worry you've put me through today, the very least you can do is make love to me until I'm no longer all tense and miserable,' Mary said firmly, looking him square in the eye.
Tom grinned, running his hand up and down her back. 'Well then. I should probably get started on that.'
'Yes, you should,' Mary said, tilting her head as he began to kiss her neck, determined to forget all about this horrible evening for the next few hours.