Author's note: I've used some dialogue from the show in this chapter.

August 1914

The morning of the garden party dawned bright and sunny, promising to stay like that and be a glorious day.

Mary watched sourly as Edith spent the morning fluttering about in an increasing state of excitement at the prospect of receiving a proposal of marriage from Sir Anthony that afternoon. The more excited Edith became, the crosser and more irritated Mary became.

Her sister did not deserve a moment's happiness, not after everything she'd done and all the trouble she'd caused. The thought of Edith ending today with everything she wanted from life was hard to stomach.

From the window, Edith watched as Branson handed her grandmother out of the motor. She studied him with interest, looking to see what might have attracted her usually very snobby elder sister to a servant.

He was good-looking, she supposed. If you looked at him objectively that is, and ignored the uniform. Although she had to admit, green was a flattering colour on him. And, of course, he was young. Younger than Sir Anthony that was for sure, but she quickly pushed that rogue thought aside.

He seemed pleasant enough when she spoke to him, but she couldn't say she'd ever really talked to him beyond giving him directions to where she wanted to go and instructions about when to pick her up.

For the life of her, though, she couldn't begin to imagine how any dalliance between Branson and Mary had begun. Had he charmed her from the front seat of the car? If so, how? The Mary she knew would never have countenanced a servant flirting with her, nor would she have flirted with a servant.

She knew Sybil talked politics with him, but Mary? She had never shown any interest in politics, so what on earth could they have in common?

He had a nice, soft, Irish accent. Could that be what had attracted Mary? Surely not. A pleasant accent and a nice face would not be enough for her to contemplate destroying what was left of her reputation, would it?

Maybe the attraction was that he was working class, not a dandy or an entitled buffoon like some of the aristocratic young men of their acquaintance. Perhaps Mary found the prospect of an affair with an altogether less refined – one might say rougher – man appealing.

Well, whatever it was, it was not an attraction that Edith understood. The whole thing was a mystery, but given what she'd discovered the other day, there was definitely something going on between Mary and their chauffeur.

Now she just had to decide how to use that information to her best advantage. She'd been ruminating on that for some days now, debating on the best way forward.

She could use it to silence Mary on the subject of the Pamuk letter, a kind of tit-for-tat arrangement. But there was also the possibility that this information was so incendiary that it would make her own misdemeanour appear vanishingly insignificant.

The only problem with that tactic was that it would be better to keep it in her arsenal for when Mary did something truly appalling, which wasn't a stretch of the imagination. In fact, it was almost a certainty given her nasty nature. The dirt she had on her sister was too juicy, too valuable to waste it on petty revenge.

Edith sucked her teeth, watching thoughtfully as Branson got behind the wheel and drove off. Hmm, yes, it was still something to ponder.

Mary looked up as an excited shriek broke the genteel hubbub of the garden party. Over near the tent where the staff were bringing the food out for serving, she could see Tom's familiar figure in his green livery with Sybil and the red-headed maid, Gwen. Rather strangely, all three of them were sharing an embrace, Tom with his arms around both of the women and, from what Mary could see, Gwen had a huge smile on her face.

Curious about what was going on, she began walking towards the small knot of people.

'Ah, good afternoon, Lady Mary,' Sir Anthony Strallan said, appearing at her side and walking next to her.

'Sir Anthony, how nice to see you,' she said a little stiffly, wondering if he'd already proposed to Edith.

'I was wondering if I could prevail on you to help me.'

Mary shot him a curious glance. 'What can I do for you?'

'I don't seem to be able to find your sister,' Sir Anthony said, looking a little nervous.

Mary bit back a smile as she realised that he had not yet proposed to Edith. Maybe all was not lost. It appeared she now had a golden opportunity to put a spoke in her sister's hopes. And quite naturally, she was going to seize it.

'I wonder where she is. Of course, she may have been cornered. I know there was some old bore she was trying to dodge,' she said as if she was simply sharing a delightful piece of gossip with the baronet.

'Who was that?' Strallan asked, his smile getting stiffer.

'I don't know. He's simply ghastly, apparently, but he's promised to propose today. I can't tell you how funny she was when she acted it out. She ought to go on the stage,' Mary said airily, giving Strallan a bright smile.

'Ah, how amusing,' Sir Anthony replied, looking crestfallen.

'Well, if you'll excuse me, Sir Anthony, I need to speak to my other sister,' Mary said, inwardly delighted that her words seemed to have had the intended effect. With a bit of luck, Strallan would not be proposing to Edith today after all.

'What's going on? What's all the racket about?' Mary asked, arriving behind Tom and Sybil as Gwen hurried away with a tray in her hands, Mrs Hughes watching her go with eagle eyes.

'Gwen's got a new job! She's going to be a secretary!' Sybil said, excitedly. 'Tom's just brought the news.'

'Oh, is that good, is it?' Mary asked, not really sure how being a secretary would be any better than being a maid.

'Of course, it's good! It's something she's dreamed of, and now her dream is coming true!' Sybil cried, failing to see how Mary couldn't appreciate that being a maid was not necessarily Gwen's dream job. 'She wanted to better herself and she's doing it.'

'Well, good for her, then,' Mary said, her eyes latching on to Tom's as he stood beside Sybil grinning.

He smiled back at her, a big, beaming smile that warmed her from the inside.

'Isn't it wonderful to see someone chase their dreams and achieve them?' Sybil carried on, seeing a chance to once more encourage Mary to let Branson do the same. 'Don't you think so, Tom?'

'Yes, I do, milady. It makes me think that I could be doing more myself,' he said with a nod.

'Of course, you could! I have no doubt about that,' Sybil said, pressing her hand to his arm.

The warmth inside Mary died as Tom spoke. Suddenly, she began to worry that this could be the catalyst that started him on his road to bettering himself, a road that would take him away from her. She had to get Sybil away from him immediately to stop her from encouraging him to make more of himself.

'I came to get you, Sybil,' she said, moving to slip her arm through her sister's. 'We need to check on Mama.'

'Oh, right. Well, goodbye then, Tom. Thank you for bringing me the news,' Sybil said, smiling warmly at him.

'Goodbye, Lady Sybil, Lady Mary,' Tom replied, returning her smile but looking at Mary, a little surprised.

He watched them go, his eyes still fixed on Mary, wondering about the way her face had stiffened and how she'd seemed a little panicky before she hustled Lady Sybil off.

Mrs Hughes came to stand alongside him. 'Be careful, my lad. Or you'll end up with a broken heart and no job,' she said, fixing him with a look.

Tom felt his heart stutter. 'What do you mean?'

'She's engaged. And she's not for the likes of you, anyway. You know that as well as I do,' Mrs Hughes replied, a glimmer of sympathy in her tone.

Tom looked away, relief surging through him that Mrs Hughes had once again thought his attentions were focused on the youngest sister and not the eldest.

'I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't encourage Tom to pursue a different career,' Mary reprimanded Sybil as she frogmarched her over the lawn.

'What? Why not?'

'Because I don't want to lose him!' Mary hissed.

Sybil sighed. 'You can't hold him back, Mary. If you refuse to let him follow his dreams, I'm fairly sure you'll lose him anyway.'

'Oh, and when did you become a fortune teller?' Mary snapped, irritation making her cross. 'He's happy here with me. Don't jeopardise that.'

'But he doesn't want to be a chauffeur forever,' Sybil argued.

'Maybe not, but he can do it for a few more years at least,' Mary shot back.

'Oh, Mary, I really wish you'd rethink this tactic,' Sybil said, shaking her head. 'Let Tom better himself and you never know what might be possible.'

'But how long would that take? How long does it take to train to be a journalist? Months? Probably years! And how would he even go about becoming a politician?' Mary hissed in exasperation, coming to a sudden halt, dragging Sybil to a stop too. 'Don't you get it, Sybil? He would have to leave Downton, and I can't bear even the thought of that. I can't be without him, I can't!'

Sybil stared at her, seeing the upset Mary was trying desperately to hide. She put her hand on top of her sister's, patting it comfortingly. 'All right, all right. I won't say anything else to him. But I think it's something you might have to face up to sooner or later.'

'Then let it be later,' Mary said, determinedly. 'Much later.'

Sybil sighed again, deciding to give up trying to persuade her sister to give Tom a better chance in life for now. 'Come on. Let's go and get a drink.'

'What's up with you?' Thomas said as Miss O'Brien walked briskly towards him as he came out of the drinks tent with a tray full of glasses. He did a double-take at the sight of her face as she got closer. 'Are you crying?'

'No,' she hissed, the bright shimmer in her eyes making a liar of her.

Thomas caught her elbow, stopping her as she tried to pass him. He glanced around quickly and then focused back on the lady's maid. 'What's happened? Has she sacked you?'

'No,' Miss O'Brien said, looking up at him, her face stricken. 'She never was going to sack me. It was all a mistake. The advert was for a lady's maid for the Dowager. The old girl has just told me herself.'

'Oh. Oh,' Thomas said, letting go of her elbow. 'So, what you did, you did it for – '

'Yes, for nothing. Because there was never any need!' Miss O'Brien said, her voice catching. 'No need at all.'

With that, she pushed past him and hurried off to the house. Thomas watched her and then straightened up at the sound of Mr Carson's voice coming closer. Time for him to get back to work. He might have told the butler he was leaving to join the Army, but he still didn't need to feel the rough side of his tongue.

Edith couldn't understand it. Sir Anthony had been so looking forward to the garden party, yet now he seemed hellbent on leaving when it had really only just started. And he hadn't even asked her the question he'd intimated he was going to ask.

'You can't be leaving yet!' she said desperately, finding herself inelegantly scampering along beside him as he walked away.

'I'm afraid I must. Please make my excuses to your mother,' Sir Anthony said stiffly, seemingly barely able to look at her.

Edith came to a stop as he lengthened his stride, leaving her unable to stay with him unless she was prepared to run in a most undignified manner. She stared after him at a complete loss as to what had just happened.

Her eyes snagged on Mary standing some small way away, looking smugly across at her. And then Mary raised her glass to Edith in a small toast, that same irritating smirk on her face as she sipped her champagne, and it hit Edith like a sledgehammer. Mary had said something to Sir Anthony to stop him from proposing.

Anger flooded through her. How dare she! How dare she interfere with Edith's life.

She stormed over to Mary, propelled by rage.

'What did you say to him?' she cried.

'To whom?' Mary asked, innocently.

'Sir Anthony! I know you said something to him!'

'Oh, he asked me where you were and I may have said something about you trying to dodge some old bore who was threatening to propose,' Mary said, serenely.

Edith reared back as if Mary had slapped her. 'You did what?'

'Don't tell me he took it seriously?' Mary continued, barely able to hide her glee at the look on Edith's face.

Edith gawped at her. 'You… you… he's gone! He's left!'

'Has he?' Oh, dear,' Mary said, taking another sip of her champagne. 'What a shame.'

'It's your fault he's gone!'

'Is it? I hardly think it's my fault if he can't take a little joke,' Mary said, not even bothering to hide the smile tugging at her lips.

'A joke? This is not a joke! This is my life!' Edith shrieked, fury exploding inside her.

'Your life is a joke, Edith. The thought of you being desperate to marry that old man is a joke. Everything about you is a joke,' Mary hissed, her own temper suddenly igniting.

Edith backed away, shaking her head. 'You're going to regret this,' she cried, her voice shaking.

'Am I? Because I don't think that I am,' Mary replied, keeping her own voice low. 'And stop shrieking. You're making a spectacle of yourself.'

'I'm going to get you back for this. You see if I don't,' Edith vowed, determined to make Mary pay for ruining her chances with Sir Anthony, and then she turned on her heel and fled before the tears came pouring down her face.

The serene atmosphere at the garden party changed swiftly after Lord Grantham announced the country was now at war with Germany, a mixture of excitement and raucous patriotism offset by a few doom-laden voices bemoaning the state of affairs.

Guests stood in clusters discussing the news, with one group of young men excusing themselves to go off to the Army recruiting office in Ripon, determined to join up and fight the good fight, get a bit of excitement before they had to settle down. Some of the older men seemed envious of the younger ones, wishing they were young enough to join in the great adventure that was about to begin.

The women were split between the sisters who also envied the freedom of their brothers to rush off to war, the mothers hoping it would all be a storm in a teacup, and those who simply couldn't muster an interest in this silly game of European power politics.

Carson approached Lord Grantham as he stood talking to his sister.

'Might I have a word, your lordship?' he said, respectfully.

'Of course, Carson,' the earl replied, turning slightly away from Rosamund, who did not move.

'I thought I should tell you that all that business with Thomas has been concluded in a most unexpected but satisfactory fashion.'

'Oh?'

'He informed me that Dr Clarkson has secured him a place in a training scheme for the Royal Army Medical Corps. He's to leave in a month's time.'

Robert's eyes went wide. 'Thomas is to become an army medic?'

'Yes, milord.'

'Well, well, well. I suppose stranger things have happened at sea.

'My thoughts exactly, milord. But it's worked out well given the conversation we'd had about his future here or lack of it,' Carson said with some satisfaction.

'It has, indeed. It's saved all the uncomfortableness of having to dismiss him. Well, thank you for telling me, Carson. I can't say as I'm not surprised by the news. I didn't have Thomas pegged as the type to voluntarily join the Army, and I'm not sure about Dr Clarkson's judgment in recommending him for a place, but I suppose it is what it is,' the earl said, nodding at his butler in dismissal.

'Problem?' Rosamund asked as her brother turned back to her and Carson withdrew.

'No, not a problem. It's more of a solution to a problem, actually. Carson was about to dismiss our footman, but it seems Thomas has been unexpectedly afflicted with a bout of patriotism and is to join the Royal Army Medical Corps,' Robert said, his surprise still evident in his voice.

'Does he have medical experience?' Rosamund asked, her eyes searching out the black-haired footman. Gorgeous to look at but untrustworthy had always been her opinion of that one.

'Not that I know of.'

'Hmm. Perhaps he thinks it's safer than joining the infantry and becoming cannon fodder in this brand new war,' she said, rather astutely.

Robert slid a look her way. 'You never think the best of people, do you?'

'Not often, no. Generally, I find that people tend to do whatever they think is in their best interests, which is not always the noblest course of action.' She glanced at her brother again, thinking of Mary's secret crush on a mysterious working-class man. 'Do you think you'll lose many of your servants to the war? How many young men do you have in your employ?'

'Well, there's the footmen, the gardeners, the groundkeepers, the grooms and the stablehands. Oh, and Branson, of course,' Robert replied, wondering for the first time whether any more of his servants would leave, enticed by the excitement of war.

'Branson?'

'Our chauffeur. Although he's an Irish republican, staunchly in favour of Home Rule, so I doubt he'll be rushing off to join the British Army.'

'Hmm, yes, of course, Branson. I remember him now,' Rosamund said thoughtfully, picturing the good-looking, young Irishman who had picked her up from the station.

'And there are the tenant farmers, of course. Although I should think we'd need to restrict how many farmers go to war. After all, someone needs to grow and harvest the food.'

Rosamund gave Robert a sharp look. 'How long do you think this war is going to go on for?'

He shrugged. 'Oh, not that long, I shouldn't think. They'll still be doing a lot of work behind the scenes to bring it all to an end before things get too desperate. I hope so anyway. A house and estate like this take a lot of people to run it. We can't afford to lose too many men to the Army.'

'Well, at least you don't have to worry about losing your chauffeur,' Rosamund replied with a smile, her thoughts once more returning to the young Irishman.

'Thank goodness for that. I'd have to start riding everywhere again, and I think I am altogether too old for all that,' Robert replied, giving his sister a wry grin.

'Nonsense. You make it sound as if you were in your dotage, brother dear, and as I am but two years younger than you, I will not allow you to make us out to be old,' Rosamund replied, slipping her arm through Robert's.

'I feel old, Rosamund,' Robert said heavily, confiding in his sister. 'What with Cora losing the baby and Sybil being engaged. And now there's this war that all the young ones will be rushing off to fight in.'

'Well, at least they won't send an old man like you to war,' Rosamund said affectionately, sliding a smile his way. 'Come now. Escort me to a footman and secure me a glass of champagne. I find all this talking has made me quite thirsty.'

Robert gave a small laugh and set off over the grass with his sister in search of refreshments as Rosamund mulled over what she knew of the chauffeur.

Could he possibly be the young man Mary had been talking about? She'd said he didn't work at Downton, but where else would Mary meet a working-class man? Besides, Rosamund couldn't shake the feeling that her niece had not been entirely honest with her during their conversation.

Edith patted her cheeks, took a deep breath, and knocked on her mother's door.

O'Brien opened the door, pulling it wider for Edith to step through. 'It's Lady Edith, milady.'

'Edith. Oh, my darling, come here,' Cora said from the bed, pulling herself upright. 'Come and tell me how it went with Sir Anthony.'

Edith walked over to her mother, anger and disappointment welling up in her again.

'Well, that's just it, Mama. It didn't,' she said, perching on the edge of the bed.

Cora stifled a sigh and glanced over at her maid, deciding she didn't need to hear about Edith's heartbreak. 'Thank you, O'Brien. You may leave. I will ring for you when I need you.'

'Your ladyship,' O'Brien said, bowing her head and leaving the room.

'Tell me, my darling. What happened?' Cora said, turning her attention to her daughter again, taking her hands in hers, ready to soothe her broken heart.

'Mary happened,' Edith cried, unable to hold back her bitterness.

'Mary?' Cora echoed, uncertainly, taken aback by Edith's words. 'What do you mean? What did she do?'

'She told him I was trying to dodge an old bore who was going to propose to me. So, he left!'

Cora frowned. 'Mary did that?'

'Yes!'

'But why would she?'

'Because she hates me!'

'No, no, darling, of course, she doesn't hate you,' Cora said, patting Edith's hand soothingly.

'She does!'

'I know you two don't always see eye to eye, my love, but your sister does not hate you. You're being quite unfair there,' Cora said, stoutly. She refused to believe her daughters could be so at odds with each other that Mary would deliberately sabotage Edith's marital prospects, especially when she knew how Edith's expectations had been dealt such a blow by the Pamuk rumours.

Edith pulled her hand away. 'Why do you always take her side?'

'I don't.'

'You do! You've just done it now!' Edith cried, hurt and anger bubbling up in her chest.

'Come now, Edith. Don't be silly. I know you're upset, but I'm sure Mary didn't do this deliberately.'

'Yes, she did! I know she did!'

'She wouldn't be so cruel.'

'She would! Especially to me! If she knows something would hurt me, she will go out of her way to do it!'

'No, I don't believe that for a second.'

'Why not? You know what she's like!'

'I do know what she's like and I don't believe she'd be deliberately cruel.'

'Just like you don't believe she'd lie about what really happened with that man she's rumoured to have gone to bed with?' Edith spat out, furious that her mother was defending Mary.

Cora stiffened, her mouth straightening into a tight line. 'Do not say that, Edith. You have no notion of what Mary went through with that man.'

'I know she says it was not her choice.'

'No, it was not.'

'I don't believe that.'

'That is because you are not aware of the circumstances.'

'Then how do you explain the fact that she's got another lover?' Edith snapped, viciously.

Cora stared at her, shocked. 'What?'

'Mary. She has a lover. How do you explain that if everything with Mr Pamuk was as vile as she pretends it was?' Edith demanded.

Cora held up her hand for silence, her thoughts whirling at Edith's accusation. 'What makes you think Mary has a lover?'

'Because I followed her to her little love nest and I saw her go in,' Edith said, enjoying the look on her mother's face.

'Where? In London?' Cora asked, her mind racing through all the possible young men that Mary could be dallying with.

'Oh, no, Mama. He's not in London, her lover. He's right here in Downton,' Edith said, delighting in spinning out the revelation that Mary was not whiter than white after all.

'In Downton?' Cora repeated, a sense of foreboding descending on her. 'Who? Who is it?'

'Branson,' Edith said with relish.

'Branson?' Cora echoed faintly, recalling the vague suspicions she'd had at times over the past year about an indefinable closeness between Mary and Branson.

'The chauffeur,' Edith nodded, watching the shock on her mother's face with a vicious sense of satisfaction.

Cora stared at her daughter, images flashing through her mind of Mary and Branson talking together, standing closely, him holding her hand for too long, them dancing at the Servants' Ball.

'Tell me what you know, Edith,' she finally said, a hard edge to her voice.

'O'Brien said you wanted to see me, Mama,' Mary said, entering her mother's bedroom.

'I do, yes,' Cora said, turning on her seat at her dressing table to face her eldest daughter, her face like stone.

Mary glanced at Edith, sitting on the chaise longue, looking unbearably smug.

'Is everything all right? Has something happened?' she asked her mother, getting the feeling that something was not quite right.

'Well, I think that's a question I should be asking you,' Cora said, coldly.

Mary looked at her in confusion. 'I don't understand.'

'Is it true?'

'Is what true?' Mary asked, completely mystified.

'Are you indulging in some kind of… inappropriate relationship with the chauffeur? And I warn you, my girl, I want the truth,' Cora said, steel in her voice.

Mary felt her heart plummet, shock pulsing through her at her mother's question. 'An inappropriate relationship? With Branson? Why… why on earth would you ask me that?'

'Because I believe it to be the truth.'

Mary stared at her mother, wondering how on earth she'd found out about her relationship with Tom.

'Why… why would you think that?' she hedged, not willing to admit to anything before she'd learned precisely what her mother thought she knew.

'Because I saw you,' Edith interjected, unable to keep quiet any longer.

Mary shot a wary look at her sister. 'What do you mean you saw me? Saw me doing what?'

'I saw you go into his cottage. But when I looked through the downstairs windows, there was no sign of you. Your hat was on the kitchen table, but there was no sign of you,' Edith said gleefully, painting a damning picture.

'By which I can only conclude that you were upstairs in his cottage,' her mother added, icily.

Thoughts raced across Mary's mind, her fight-or-flight response kicking in and urging her to fight. Ruthlessly, she quelled her rising panic that she was about to lose Tom and forced herself to think clearly. She knew she probably couldn't expect to deny Edith's claim and have anyone believe her, but she desperately hoped she might be able to save Tom's job and keep him at Downton despite everything.

'All right, yes, I was at Branson's cottage,' she said as calmly as she could, facing her mother. 'And I was upstairs, but I was alone. Branson wasn't with me if that's what you think.'

Cora frowned as Edith narrowed her eyes suspiciously at Mary.

'What were you doing at Branson's cottage if he wasn't with you?' Edith challenged, determined not to let Mary wriggle out of this. 'And how do we know he wasn't with you?'

'You saw me go into his cottage on Thursday afternoon, yes?' Mary fired back, knowing that was the only possibility this week.

'Yes.'

Doing her best to radiate calm assurance, Mary turned to her mother, knowing that Tom had an unshakeable alibi for that day. 'Branson drove Papa to the barracks in York on Thursday. They were gone all day.'

Cora nodded, recalling her husband's engagements this week. 'He did, yes. So, what were you doing in his cottage? Did he know you would be there?'

Mary hesitated, knowing this could be damning to Tom's chances of remaining in his job. 'Not specifically, no, but he knows I visit his cottage. I have his permission to be there.'

'His permission?' her mother repeated, her eyebrows arching upwards.

'Yes.'

'And why do you visit his cottage?'

'Because it's the only place I can get any proper sleep,' Mary confessed, keeping her eyes firmly on her mother, ignoring Edith leaning forward on the chaise longue, listening to everything.

Cora stared at her, completely taken by surprise by her answer.

Edith frowned, shaking her head. 'What's wrong with your own bed?' she asked, not believing a word of it. 'Why can't you sleep in that?'

Mary spared her a look of intense dislike then focused back on her mother. 'I can't sleep in my bed, Mama, not since Mr Pamuk di -'

'Mary,' Cora cut her off, glancing at Edith. 'I don't think we need to discuss that here.'

'Oh, didn't Edith tell you? I don't suppose she would have. She's been too busy trying to paint me in a bad light. Edith knows all about Mr Pamuk and how and where he died, Mama,' Mary said smoothly, feeling a vicious sense of pleasure at dropping her sister in it. 'She even took it upon herself to write to the Turkish ambassador in London to tell him about it too. That's why those false rumours have been circulating around London about me for months now. Edith is the source.'

Edith flushed, her mouth opening and closing silently like a goldfish as her mother sent her a furious look.

'What? Edith, tell me this is not true!'

Edith stuck her chin defiantly in the air, deciding to stand by her actions. 'I did what I thought was only right. I thought he deserved to know that his countryman died in the arms of a slut,' she said, repeating the same words she'd said to Mary, glaring at her sister.

Cora paled, the enormity of Edith's actions hitting her like a freight train. 'Oh, you did not! You foolish, foolish girl!'

'She had him in her room, Mama!' Edith countered, shooting a vicious look at Mary. 'And now we know she's giving herself to Branson, how can you trust her word that she did not give herself to Mr Pamuk too?'

'I did not give myself to Pamuk! And Branson wasn't there on Thursday! He was with Papa all day,' Mary shot back, desperate to press that last point home, to exonerate Tom from any wrongdoing. 'So, you know nothing of the sort!'

'Maybe not this time, but how many other times has he been there while you're in his bed?' Edith riposted.

'Stop this!' Cora thundered, raising her voice to an unusual volume for her.

Both Mary and Edith subsided, glaring at each other.

'Mary, how often do you go to Branson's cottage?' Cora asked, feeling slightly sick at even having to ask the question.

'Whenever I need to sleep,' Mary said, a mutinous look in her eyes.

'And how often is that?' Cora persisted.

'Once or twice a week maybe,' Mary admitted, reluctantly.

'Once or twice a week?' Cora echoed. 'And how long have you been doing this?'

'Since not long after Pamuk attacked me.'

Cora stared at her eldest daughter, hearing the words and not quite able to process them. 'You've been going to Branson's cottage for over a year to sleep?'

'Yes. It's the only place I feel relaxed and safe enough to sleep,' Mary said, holding her head up high. 'I couldn't bear it in my own room, but I couldn't swap to another room. Not without raising questions. And you didn't believe that he attacked me at first, so you wouldn't have agreed to it.'

Edith narrowed her eyes, pouncing on that bit of information. 'Ah, so maybe it's not true about him attacking her. If you didn't believe her then, why do you believe her now?'

Mary sent a look of loathing sailing towards her sister, her lips pressing together in a furious line. 'He raped me, Edith! That is a fact.'

'Is it, though?' Edith persisted, looking to her mother for support. 'Do you really believe that is the truth, Mama?'

'Yes, I believe it is,' Cora said flatly, gazing at Mary, feeling a strange mixture of disappointment in her behaviour and guilt for not seeing her distress over the Pamuk situation at the time.

'Why? Why do you believe her? She's a proven liar!' Edith cried in frustration.

'Because Mary told me in detail what that man did to her and I believe her,' Cora said, her tone brooking no argument.

'And Branson?' Edith flung out. 'Do you believe her about that too?'

'I know that Branson was definitely with your papa in York on Thursday,' Cora said slowly, thinking the matter over.

Mary nodded, eagerly. 'Yes, he was.'

'But how often is he at his cottage when you are there sleeping?' Cora continued, gazing at Mary as if trying to discern the truth.

'Hardly ever,' Mary said, stoutly. 'I go in the afternoon, so he's nearly always at work.'

'And when he's not? When he's there with you? What does he do then? Tuck you in?' Edith sneered.

'He makes me hot milk and lets me sleep,' Mary said firmly, staring Edith down, not giving an inch.

'Hot milk?' Edith said, derisively.

'Yes.'

'You really expect us to believe that?' Edith scoffed.

'I don't expect you to believe it because it doesn't suit your narrative, but it's the truth,' Mary said, shooting her sister another disdainful look.

'Why does he let you sleep at his cottage?' Cora asked, suddenly curious to know how this peculiar arrangement between her daughter and the chauffeur had started.

'Because he's a kind man,' Mary said calmly, transferring her gaze to her mother, trying to ignore Edith in favour of standing up for Tom and painting him as her knight in shining armour.

'No, I mean, why? How did this arrangement even come into being?'

'He found me in the woods the day after Pamuk attacked me. I'd gone out to escape all the hullaballoo around Pamuk's death, but I was very upset, and I fainted. Branson found me and carried me to the car. He wanted to bring me home, but I couldn't bear the thought of coming back here to all that noise, so I asked him to take me to his cottage for a cup of tea,' Mary said, holding her head up high.

'You asked to go to his cottage?' Cora said, scandalised by the very thought of it.

'Yes. Everyone here was talking about Mr Pamuk, and I simply couldn't stand the thought of hearing his name. Not after what he'd done to me. I was still trying to come to terms with what had happened.'

'And Branson just took you to his cottage, did he?' Edith put in, hardly believing what she was hearing.

'Well, he couldn't very well refuse, could he?' Mary said, caustically. 'Not without fearing for his job.'

'And you went to sleep there, did you?' Cora said with a frown, not seeing how that made any sense.

'No, not that first time. It wasn't until a few days later that I asked him if he would let me sleep there,' Mary explained, reluctantly. 'I couldn't sleep at all those first few nights after the attack. I could see and hear Pamuk every time I closed my eyes when I was in my own room. I could feel him on top of me and I couldn't bear it. I was exhausted and desperate for sleep, so I asked Branson for his help.'

Cora looked at her sharply. 'Why Branson? Does he know about what happened with Mr Pamuk?'

'Yes,' Mary said, holding her mother's gaze. 'He knows exactly what happened.'

'Oh, dear God, Mary,' Cora said, shaking her head in disbelief. 'Why would you tell him something so personal? Something that has the potential to ruin you. A servant! Someone you barely knew!'

'I didn't mean to, but I was very upset when he found me. I was beside myself. He was kind to me, and I ended up telling him everything, just blurting it all out. And I don't regret it. He's been nothing but kind, decent and generous to me. And he's never once betrayed me. Unlike some,' Mary said, skewering Edith with another glare.

'How "kind" has he been to you?' Edith sneered. 'Is he your lover now?'

Mary flushed, straightening her spine, determined to do all she could to protect both Tom and their secret. 'Really, Edith, you should try to keep your mind out of the gutter. It's most unbecoming in a young lady.'

'Do you deny it?' Edith challenged.

'Branson has been kind and loyal and has done nothing to warrant your attack on his character,' Mary responded firmly, sidestepping the question.

'You sleep in his bed, Mary! Is that how you repay him for his kindness? By sharing your favours with him like you share his bed?' Edith accused, voicing the very worst thing she thought her sister could do.

'Edith! That's enough!' Cora roared, shocked by the naked hatred on her daughter's face and the venom in her voice. 'I did not raise you to speak so coarsely.'

'Me? You're accusing me of being coarse? She's the one sleeping with the chauffeur!' Edith sputtered in outrage.

'I was alone in his cottage! He was not there!' Mary roared, desperate to underline that point.

'This time!' Edith countered, red with anger. 'What about all the other times you've scurried over there?'

'Be silent! Both of you!' Cora cried, bolting up from her seat, swaying a little on her feet.

Her daughters subsided into silence, shooting dark looks at each other.

'Mary, is there anything untoward going on between you and Branson?' Cora asked bluntly, focusing on her eldest daughter.

'Of course, there is! She's sleeping in his bed!' Edith snapped, unable to stop herself.

'Edith! Be quiet!' Cora barked, rounding on her middle daughter. 'I won't tell you again.'

Mary pressed her lips together, trying not to let her satisfaction show that Edith was getting on their mother's last nerve with her behaviour.

'Mary. Answer me,' Cora said, returning her attention to Mary after delivering a final quelling look at Edith.

'No, Mama,' Mary lied smoothly, looking her mother straight in the eye. 'Branson has been a good friend and confidant to me. He has been a perfect gentleman.'

'Gentleman! He's hardly that,' Edith muttered scornfully, swiftly falling silent at another look from her mother.

'You swear to me that nothing of an intimate nature has taken place between you?' Cora asked, fixing all her attention on Mary.

'I do,' Mary said, keeping her answer short and simple in the hope that she wouldn't betray her true feelings for Tom if she said as little as possible.

Cora studied her carefully, looking for the lie. Eventually, she nodded, satisfied that the relationship between Mary and Branson – as shockingly unorthodox and undesirable as it was – was wholly innocent.

'Very well. Then we shall speak no more about it. Obviously, you will cease your visits to his cottage immediately. Promise me you will do that,' Cora said, pronouncing judgement on the whole affair.

'What?' Edith squawked before Mary could answer, simply unable to believe what she was hearing. 'That's it? You're just going to let her get away with it?'

'She is not getting away with anything, Edith,' Cora said, calmly. 'Mary has explained the situation and now I know about it, I have acted to stop any repeat of it.'

'She's been sleeping in the chauffeur's bed!' Edith cried, jabbing her finger towards her sister. 'She's been getting up to God knows what with him, and you're just… what? Letting her?'

'No, I am not! Mary's visits to Branson's cottage will end forthwith. Do you understand that, Mary?'

'Yes, Mama,' Mary said, dutifully.

'Unbelievable! This is unbelievable! If I didn't know she was the favoured child before, I do now!' Edith shouted, furious at this turn of events. 'It seems she can do whatever she wants! Including sleeping with a servant!'

'I hardly think you're in a position to fling accusations about, Edith. Not after what you've done,' Cora said, icily. 'Don't think I've forgotten that you wrote a poison pen letter declaiming your own sister. How could you? That is unforgivable.'

'Unforgivable? You're saying what I did was unforgivable but what she did isn't?' Edith cried, round-eyed, astonished at her mother's words.

'Where is your loyalty, young lady?'

'To her? To the sister that constantly belittles me?' Edith bit out, incensed by her mother's focus on her misdemeanours instead of what Mary had done.

'To this family. What you did could have had serious implications for all of us. It has damaged not just Mary's reputation and prospects but your marital prospects too and the reputation of our family as a whole,' Cora said, outlining what she saw as the ramifications of Edith's letter. 'And if you implied that Mary was implicated in Mr Pamuk's death, there could have been serious legal consequences.'

Edith stared at her mother, her mouth falling open, but no words coming out.

'Cat got your tongue?' Mary taunted.

'Be quiet, Mary,' Cora ordered, flicking a glance at her eldest daughter. 'I am not happy with you either. Neither of you is coming out of all of this with any glory.'

Mary bit her lip, retreating into silence, not willing to risk antagonising her mother any further.

'Edith, you will not leave this house for the foreseeable future. There will be no new dresses, no social occasions, no treats until you have absorbed the lesson of how ill-advised your actions have been.'

'But, Mama, I – ' Edith began, stopping abruptly as Cora held up her hand.

'I would stop there if I were you. I consider that letting you off lightly after all the trouble you've caused.'

Edith pressed her lips together, looking like she wanted to argue but she was holding the words back.

Cora turned her attention to Mary, standing silently nearer the door. 'And as for you, Mary, your poor judgement has disappointed me. I am willing to give you some leeway because I know that you had suffered through a traumatic incident, but going to the chauffeur's cottage to sleep? That is both foolish and reckless at the very least.'

'I'm sorry, Mama. It just… it felt like a sanctuary,' Mary said, telling the truth but also hoping it would play on her mother's guilt for not believing her about Pamuk for so long.

'Nevertheless, you will cease those visits immediately.'

Mary nodded, crossing her fingers behind her back.

'Right. Right,' Cora said, sinking back down onto her stool, feeling immeasurably tired after all this unpleasantness.

Edith gawked at her in disbelief. 'Is that it?'

'Yes, I believe so,' Cora said, calmly.

'What about Branson? Aren't you going to dismiss him?'

Mary felt panic shoot through her. 'What? No, you can't, Mama!'

Cora shot her a look, a seed of doubt worming into her mind that perhaps Mary was not telling the truth about her relationship with Branson. 'Do not presume to tell me what I can and can't do, Mary. I can do as I wish.'

'No, I meant that it wouldn't be at all fair to dismiss Branson,' Mary said, trying to keep the desperation out of her voice. 'None of this is his fault.'

'He said you could use his cottage, didn't he?' Edith piped up, spite making her want to see Mary lose her new-found friend.

'Yes, but he could hardly refuse! I'm his employer's daughter! What's he going to do? Turn around and say, "No, milady, you can't come to my cottage"? I don't think so.'

Cora lifted her hands, closing her eyes and rubbing tiredly at her face, longing to lie down in peace and quiet instead of dealing with all of this drama.

'Surely, you are going to sack him, aren't you?' Edith pressed.

Cora opened her eyes to see both of her daughters staring at her, Edith expectantly, Mary apprehensively. She let out a sigh, ready for this to end and be left alone.

'I will not sack Branson.'

'What?' Edith squawked, incredulously.

'Mary's right. It would not be fair. The poor man was between a rock and a hard place. He could not say no to a request from his employer's daughter. You put him in a shockingly unfair position, Mary,' Cora admonished. 'So, I will not dismiss him.'

'Thank you, Mama,' Mary breathed, relief rushing through her.

'But if I find out that you are continuing to visit his cottage, I will dismiss him without a second thought. Do you understand?'

'Yes, I understand,' Mary said, making a mental note to think about how she could make sure future visits to Tom's cottage could go unnoticed.

'You will also go to see Sir Anthony Strallan, confess to your behaviour today and apologise to him,' Cora instructed.

Mary pulled a face, but nodded, willing to bite the bullet if it meant keeping her mother happy and therefore keeping Tom at Downton.

Edith sat up a little straighter at that but still had a face like thunder.

'Now, I will hear no more of this. I wish to rest. You may both leave me,' Cora said, rising and walking towards her bed.

Mary nodded and turned to open the door as Edith rose from the chaise longue.

'And no more fighting with each other,' Cora said as she perched on the edge of her bed. She didn't for one minute believe that was going to happen, but she felt the need to say it.

Shooting a look at her sister, Mary walked out into the corridor, turning in the direction of her own room, her mind racing with everything that had just happened.

'I suppose you think you've won,' Edith hissed, scuttling up behind her.

'Hardly. I have to go and apologise to that old booby of yours,' Mary said, tartly. 'I shan't enjoy that in the slightest.'

'I know there's something more going on with you and Branson,' Edith accused, her eyes boring into Mary.

'You know nothing of the sort,' Mary scoffed.

'I do. And I'll prove it. I'll get him sacked, so you won't see him again, and I'll show you to be the liar you are,' Edith said, viciously. 'You see if I don't.'

Mary pushed down the panic unfurling inside her and forced her face to remain neutral. 'Won't you be too busy getting Sir Anthony to propose to you?' she said as sweetly as she could manage. 'I'd suggest that is a better use of your time than trying to prove something you can't prove.'

'I can do both,' Edith said, backing away. 'And I will.'

Mary watched, uneasiness churning inside her, as her sister turned on her heel and strode off.

She needed to be careful with Edith, she could see that now. She'd dismissed her as unimaginative and unimportant, but she could see now that she would have to adjust her way of thinking and see Edith as a much more formidable opponent. It went against a lifetime of experience, but she needed to take her seriously.

She also needed to see Tom as soon as possible and tell him her mother knew about her visits to his cottage and had forbidden her to continue going. They would have to come up with another way to continue seeing each other because she couldn't risk him being dismissed if she were caught at his cottage. No, that simply didn't bear thinking about.