Author's note: I've used a little bit of dialogue from the show in this chapter.

August 1914

Half a dozen chairs scraped along the floor as Lady Sybil entered the servants' hall and those present stood to attention.

'Mrs Hughes, may I speak with you?' Sybil said, homing in on the housekeeper.

'Of course, milady,' Mrs Hughes replied, already moving out into the corridor, away from prying ears.

'I'd like you to unlock the door to Lady Mary's bedroom, please,' Sybil said, calmly.

Mrs Hughes gave her an apologetic look. 'I'm afraid I can't do that. Her ladyship ordered her to be locked in. And Lady Rosamund said she was not to leave her room for a second.'

'She's not going to leave her room; I am going to enter it,' Sybil said, clamping down on the anger she felt towards her aunt and her high-handed behaviour in this matter. 'But I cannot do that with the door locked.'

'No, I suppose you can't,' Mrs Hughes replied, looking troubled. 'I didn't like doing it, Lady Sybil. I don't know why it's necessary, but I don't believe in locking people in against their will.'

Sybil's face softened at that admission from the housekeeper. She glanced down the corridor, checking they were alone.

'Mrs Hughes, I'm going to confide in you here in the hope that you'll help me. Lady Mary has been involved in a love affair that my family do not approve of. They've found out about it and she's up there alone and upset, and I can't bear the thought of that. I just want to go and comfort her. Is that so very awful of me?'

Mrs Hughes' eyes widened at that snippet of information about Lady Mary. She'd never thought of the earl's eldest daughter as being capable of loving anyone.

'No, milady, of course, it isn't. But her ladyship's orders… they were very clear.'

Sybil sighed. 'And you would not be disobeying her orders by letting me into the room. You can either lock us both in or stand guard outside if that would make you feel better, Mrs Hughes. And if my mother finds out and objects, I will take responsibility. I will tell her you were following my orders.'

The housekeeper nodded, making her decision. 'I'll unlock the door for you, milady.'

'Thank you, Mrs Hughes,' Sybil breathed in relief.

'Milady, it's me,' Anna called through the door. She waited, hearing a scrambling on the other side as her mistress ran towards the door.

'Anna! Have you seen him?' Mary asked urgently, dying for any news of Tom.

'Yes. His lordship has sent for him. He's downstairs with him now,' Anna said, reluctantly.

'Oh, God. Then Papa is dismissing him,' Mary whispered, resting her head against the door, all hope leaving her.

'Yes, I think so.'

'Did you manage to speak to Tom?'

'Yes, I gave him your message and he gave me one for you.'

'What did he say?' Mary asked, eagerly.

'He said to tell you that he'll be at The Grantham Arms for the next few days. He said he'll wait for you and if you don't come to him by Saturday morning, he'll have his answer.'

There was silence on the other side of the door.

'Milady? Did you hear me?'

'Yes.'

Anna waited, wondering what thoughts were going through her lady's mind.

'He's giving me another chance to go with him,' Mary said, finally.

'Yes.'

'Does he think I'm going to change my mind?'

Anna hesitated. 'I think he hopes you will.'

Silence again.

'Are you going to change your mind, milady?'

'I want to, but I… I don't think I can,' Mary said brokenly, her voice catching.

Anna closed her eyes, her heart breaking for the two of them. 'Why not?'

'I love him, I really, really do, but I just… I just don't think that's enough. I think I'd make us both as miserable as sin because…'

Anna stared at the door as Lady Mary trailed off, wishing she could be in the room with her. 'Because?' she prompted.

'Because I don't think I could adapt to living in his world and leaving everything in my world behind,' Mary confessed, a sob bookending her words.

'It might not be as bad as you think, milady,' Anna offered, tentatively.

'Oh, Anna, that is sweet of you to say so, but you know me as almost as well as I know myself. Do you think I could adapt to doing all the things you do? I can't cook. I can't clean. I don't even take care of myself – you do that for me. How do you think I would survive in a world where I have to do all the practical things necessary to keep me and another person clothed and fed and clean?'

Anna sighed. 'It would be… a challenge for you, milady, that's for sure.'

'And wherever we went, I wouldn't know anybody. There would be nobody to help me. And I would stick out like a sore thumb,' Mary said, leaning against the door, picturing the life she would have if she left Downton Abbey with Tom. 'And I know what I'm like. I'm snippy and sarcastic. I'm not warm and friendly like Sybil. Who would want to befriend me, especially when I am frightened and nervous and not at my best? And Tom, he would have to put up with a heartsick, miserable, useless wife. What kind of a life would that be for either of us?'

Anna remained silent, listening to her mistress talk through all the reasons she wouldn't leave Downton to be with Tom.

'It would be a disaster, Anna,' Mary whispered, covering her eyes with her hand, trying to hold back the tears. 'I would lose everything I have now and then I'd probably lose him too eventually. And then I'd have nothing.'

'Do you want me to tell him you won't be coming?' Anna asked, gently.

Mary thought about that. She desperately wanted to see Tom again, to say goodbye properly. This would be her only chance. She didn't know how she'd manage to get out to visit him, but she needed to keep that avenue open.

'No, don't. I will try to see him before he goes.'

'How are you going to do that if you're locked in?' Anna asked, her mind already beginning to turn possibilities over in her mind.

'I don't know. Will you help me find a way?'

'Yes, of course, I will,' Anna said without hesitation.

'Thank you. Thank you,' Mary said, gratefully.

'Anna?' Mrs Hughes' voice came from down the corridor.

Anna turned to see her coming towards her, Lady Sybil beside her.

'Mrs Hughes,' she said loudly, making sure Lady Mary would be able to hear her. 'I was just seeing if Lady Mary needed anything.'

'That's very kind of you, Anna,' Sybil said, smiling at the maid. 'Could you fetch up some tea for me and Lady Mary, please?'

Anna cut her eyes towards the housekeeper, who nodded. 'Yes, milady.'

Sybil stepped aside to let Anna pass and then nodded at Mrs Hughes, who lifted her chatelaine from where it fell in the folds of her skirt and selected a key. She unlocked the bedroom door and took a few steps back.

'Thank you, Mrs Hughes,' Sybil said gratefully, and walked inside the room, closing the door behind her.

She stopped, seeing her sister, pale-faced and red-eyed, standing forlornly in front of her. Sybil went to her, arms outstretched.

'Oh, Mary. I'm so, so sorry.'

'They caught us, Sybil,' Mary cried, breaking down at the sight of her sister. 'They caught us, and now he's… he's… they're sending him away.'

She crumpled to the floor as Sybil reached her, sinking down beside her and gathering her in her arms.

'I know, darling, I know.'

Mary sobbed, clinging onto her little sister, all of her pain and anguish overflowing as someone finally took her in their arms and was kind to her. Sybil held her, stroking and kissing her hair, rocking her gently, her own tears beginning to fall at Mary's distress.

Outside in the corridor, Mrs Hughes listened, wondering who on earth Lady Mary was so in love with to be this upset.

'Where are you going with that, Anna?' Mr Carson demanded as he saw the maid climbing the stairs from the servants' hall with a tray of tea things.

Anna stopped, hoping he wouldn't forbid her to go any further. 'Lady Sybil asked me to take it to Lady Mary's room.'

Mr Carson regarded her suspiciously. 'Lady Sybil did?'

'Yes, Mr Carson.'

'But as I understood it, her ladyship forbade Lady Mary to leave her room.'

'She hasn't left her room. Lady Sybil is in there with her,' Anna said, trying not to sound too defiant.

'I shall come with you,' Carson declared, deciding to see for himself what was going on up there.

Anna bit back a sigh and continued on her way, the butler lumbering behind her.

Mrs Hughes looked up as she heard people coming down the corridor, seeing Anna and Mr Carson coming towards her.

She opened the door as Anna approached with the tea tray, letting her slip inside.

Mr Carson looked distressed as he heard the sound of crying coming from inside the room. As Mrs Hughes shut the door, he tugged her aside, stepping away from the door.

'What's happening?' he hissed.

'Lady Sybil asked to go in there. When she said why, I hadn't the heart to say no,' Mrs Hughes whispered.

Carson eyed her, unsure of what she knew. 'What did she tell you about what's happened?'

'She said Lady Mary has been involved in a love affair, but the family have found out about it and they don't approve.'

Carson huffed out an indignant noise. 'I'd say that's understating it by a country mile.'

Mrs Hughes looked up at him, curious to know more. 'You know about it? Do you know who it is? Whoever he is, she appears to love him very much. She's been sobbing fit to break her heart since Lady Sybil went in there.'

Carson's lips thinned into an angry line, his eyebrows drawing together in disapproval. 'You won't believe it when I tell you.'

'Who? Who is it?' Mrs Hughes asked, desperate now to know.

'Branson. It's Mr Branson,' Mr Carson bit out.

Mrs Hughes stared at him in shock. 'Mr Branson? Tom Branson?'

'The very same,' Carson said in disgust. 'He's been… taking advantage of her.'

Mrs Hughes tilted her head, looking quizzically at him. 'No, I don't think he has.'

'Of course, he has!'

'That wee lassie is in there breaking her heart over him. If he'd been taking advantage of her, I don't think she'd be as upset as she is. I think she must have genuine feelings for him.'

Carson made an impatient noise. 'Are you really telling me that she would even look twice at the likes of Branson?'

'Well, contrary to what I once thought, she's not made of stone, Mr Carson, and he's a good-looking, amiable lad. She obviously did look twice, and she liked what she saw,' Mrs Hughes said as Carson gaped at her.

'You're not… you're not condoning his behaviour?' he hissed, incredulous at the very thought of it.

Mrs Hughes shrugged. 'As I don't know the ins and outs of what's gone on between them, I can't say as I either condone or condemn him. But I do remember being young, Charlie, and the heady feeling of being in love. Don't you?'

Carson harrumphed. 'But I did not attempt to seduce one of my betters!'

'All I'm saying is that by the sounds of things, this is not a one-sided affair. She cares for him very much, that much is obvious,' Mrs Hughes said, wishing the butler didn't always see things in completely black and white terms.

'Well, he's gone now. His lordship has just dismissed him without a reference. I saw him off the premises myself,' Carson said with satisfaction.

'You know, I warned him he'd end up with no job and a broken heart,' Mrs Hughes said with a sigh, thinking back to the garden party on the day the war was announced.

Carson stared at her, horrified. 'You knew?'

'No, of course, I didn't. I saw him gazing after Lady Mary and Lady Sybil with a great longing look on his face at the garden party, but I thought it was a wee fancy. And I thought it was Lady Sybil he'd set his cap at, not Lady Mary. But I certainly didn't know anything had happened with him and one of the daughters.'

'Maybe I should go in there and tell her he's been dismissed. Perhaps she's not pining for him at all. Perhaps she was just feeling pressured by him. She might feel relieved to know he's gone,' Carson mused.

Mrs Hughes shook her head impatiently, exasperated with his stubborn refusal to see the truth. 'I'd strongly advise against that, Charlie.'

'Why?'

'Because as much as you don't want to admit it, it seems to me that that young woman is in love with Mr Branson. And if she is, you barging in there telling her he's been dismissed is not going to heal her heart. It will break her heart and she won't thank you for it. And do you really want her to blame the messenger and take it all out on you?' she said, shrewdly targeting his Achilles heel.

Carson pursed his lips, seeing her point. He really did not want Lady Mary to blame him for any of this, no matter what the truth of it was.

He glanced at the bedroom door as it opened to let Anna out and he heard sobbing again.

'You really think she loves him?' he asked, still reluctant to believe a genteel, young woman like Lady Mary could fall for the dubious charms of Tom Branson.

'I do.'

He blew out a resigned breath. 'Then I won't say anything. His lordship can break the news.'

'I think she already knows, Charlie. Or at least suspects. That's why she's so upset,' Mrs Hughes said, her heart going out to Lady Mary for the first time in her entire tenure at Downton Abbey.

The servants' hall during teatime was alive with gossip and rumours and speculation about what was going on with the family and why Mr Branson had been so abruptly given his marching orders.

Thomas listened, smoking his cigarette and sipping his tea, keeping his own counsel. No point giving anyone else the goods so they could beat him to selling the story.

Miss O'Brien caught his eye and jerked her head slightly in the direction of the yard. He gave her a tiny nod and let her disappear outside before standing and making his own way to their usual smoking spot in the back yard.

'She never said a word about any of it,' Miss O'Brien said, not beating about the bush. 'The poor lamb was exhausted and heart sore by the look of things. It was all she could do just to thank me for helping her into bed.'

Thomas rolled his eyes, noting the pet name Miss O'Brien used for the countess. 'She'd never hack it as one of us, would she? Always taking to her bed, too delicate to even lift a teacup or sit on a chair for too long.'

Miss O'Brien narrowed her eyes at him. 'She's not been well, don't forget.'

'Yes, and whose fault was that?' Thomas shot back.

She glared at him and then sucked angrily on her cigarette.

'Anyway, I don't need your help anymore,' he said, unable to stop the smile spreading across his face.

'Why not?' she asked, suspiciously. 'What do you know?'

'I know what's been going on between Lady Mary and the chauffeur and let's just say she's not as choosy or as lily-white as she'd like everyone to think she is.'

'How do you know? It's not like either of them are going to tell you anything.'

'No, but nevertheless I overheard a conversation between Branson and Carson that told me everything I needed to know. Well, I say conversation; it was more like a slanging match. I thought Carson was going to lynch him at one point,' Thomas said, satisfaction all over his face.

'But you're not actually going to do anything with that information, are you?' Miss O'Brien asked, her cigarette held motionless a few inches from her lips as she stared at Thomas, worried about what mischief he was going to cause.

He huffed out an incredulous laugh. 'Of course, I am! This is dynamite, this is! Why would I sit on it? This is what I've been waiting for! I reckon they'll be chucking money at me for this story.'

'You can't!'

'I can. And I'm going to. What's got into you, Sarah? You were all over this with me until recently.'

'I don't want to see her hurt. Not anymore than she has been.'

'Lady Mary?' Thomas said, with a confused frown. 'You've never had a good word to say about her. Lady Hoity-Toity, you call her.'

'Not Lady Mary,' she snapped. 'I don't give a stuff about her. It's my lady I don't want hurt.'

Thomas shrugged. 'Well, tough. You have to crack a few eggs to make an omelette as they say. I'm not passing up the chance to make some decent brass because a rich woman living every day in the lap of luxury might have a few hurt feelings about it.'

Miss O'Brien glared at him. 'You've got a stone where your heart should be, you have. Think what she's been through. She's just lost her baby.'

'Ah, give over, Sarah. If you weren't feeling guilty about what you did, you'd be rubbing your hands with glee over this.'

'Thomas! We're needed,' William called across the yard.

Thomas straightened his waistcoat and gave her a cold, hard smile. 'Well, duty calls. For now, anyway. But at least I'll be out of here soon with some cold, hard cash in my pocket and an easy time of it in a hospital somewhere while some other poor bugger fights this war.'

He sauntered off back to the servants' hall, cockiness radiating off him.

'We'll see about that,' Miss O'Brien muttered, taking another drag on her cigarette, turning over her possible next move in her mind.

The Dowager descended stiffly from the carriage, out of sorts after the unexpectedly uncomfortable, jolting ride from the Dower House. As strange as motor cars had once seemed, she had become used to the smooth ride and comfortable leather seats, not to mention the quicker journey between where she was and where she wanted to be.

'I do not like that contraption,' she said to Carson as he waited for her in the Great Hall. 'I think I might suggest to Lord Grantham that he either hires a second chauffeur or stops Branson's half days.'

'Mr Branson no longer works here,' Carson said, stiffly.

'Oh? Don't tell me he's run off to war,' the Dowager said, surprised by that possibility. Although she was sure Robert or one of the girls had instructed Branson not to talk to her about his political views, one would have had to have been both deaf and blind not to be cognizant of his Irish republican sympathies.

'No, he most certainly has not,' Carson replied, the disapproving tone to his voice unmistakable.

The Dowager cocked her head, examining the butler. 'Is there a story to be had here, Carson?'

To her great surprise, Carson turned an unsightly red colour. 'You had better ask his lordship about that, your ladyship.'

She regarded him carefully, misgivings surfacing. 'Don't worry, I will. Where is my son?'

'His lordship is in the small library.'

The Dowager nodded and set off in that direction, her cane tapping on the stone floor.

'Mama, what are you doing here?' Robert said in surprise, shooting a wary glance at his sister as their mother sailed through the door into the small library.

'I was invited for dinner. Or had you forgotten?' the Dowager replied, crisply.

'Oh, right, well, yes, I had forgotten as it goes,' he mumbled, wondering how he was going to keep the distressing news of Mary's misdemeanour from the sharpest woman he knew.

'And would your forgetfulness have anything to do with whatever drama appears to be happening here this evening?' Violet asked, pinning her son with a look.

Robert exchanged another look with Rosamund, one that didn't escape their mother's sharp eyes.

She settled herself on the sofa and fixed them both with a look. 'I think it's time you told me what has happened, don't you?'

'Um, it's… it's… well, it's rather a delicate matter, Mama. And it's all in hand, so it's probably best that you don't concern yourself with it,' Robert said, vainly hoping his mother would accept that and change the subject to something far less sensitive.

The Dowager's eyebrows rose at her son's attempts to dismiss her interest in the matter apparently consuming all at Downton Abbey.

'Oh, really? You consider yourself better equipped to handle a delicate situation than me, do you, Robert? Well, I have to say, that would be a first.'

The earl flushed, feeling like a schoolboy being reprimanded. 'I've handled the situation, Mama.'

'And what precisely is the situation? Is it something to do with why Branson no longer works here?'

Robert shot another look at Rosamund, who returned the look with a slight shrug. 'How do you know about Branson being dismissed?'

'Carson told me he no longer works here. But he did not tell me you had dismissed him. What has he done?'

Robert coloured up again, the thought of having to describe Branson's transgression to his mother making his toes curl with embarrassment.

Violet regarded him, becoming both more intrigued and more apprehensive the redder her son's face became.

'He's… he's… let's just say he has formed an inappropriate attachment,' Robert eventually managed to say, describing the situation in as delicate terms as possible.

'An inappropriate attachment? To whom?' Violet enquired, observing her offspring once more exchange a significant look.

Robert chewed his lip, suddenly finding the carpet fascinating.

'To one of the girls?' Violet asked, her uneasiness growing.

Robert glanced up at her but said nothing.

'Which one?'

Still, Robert did not answer.

'Which one, Robert?' Violet said, sharply.

'Mary,' he finally revealed.

Violet gazed at him, sensing she did not yet know the full story. 'But surely it is not reciprocated. Is it?'

Silence met her question as Robert studiously avoided her eyes, his colour heightening again.

'I see,' Violet said, shocked to learn that the most sensible of her granddaughters had seemingly become involved in a cross-class entanglement of some kind. 'And how… deep is this attachment?'

Robert's face turned scarlet. 'It's… um… er… well, er…'

Violet waited as Robert mumbled and stumbled his way through a series of meaningless mutterings.

Eventually, Rosamund gave an impatient sigh and rolled her eyes, taking it upon herself to put her brother out of his misery. 'It's inappropriately deep, Mama. To the extent that it is dangerous.'

'Dangerous?'

'Yes.'

'Are you trying to tell me they are - or that they believe they are - in love?' Violet asked in astonishment.

'That is what they believe, yes. But it is worse than that, even,' Rosamund said, grimly.

'Worse? They are not… they are not lovers, are they?' Violet asked, her gaze going to her son, seeing him close his eyes and clench his jaw, his face still as red as a tomato.

'Yes, Mama, I regret to say they are,' Rosamund confirmed.

'You're sure?'

'Very sure. Cora, Edith and I caught them in the act.'

Violet's hand went to her chest as she took in that shocking piece of information.

'And where is Mary now?'

'Locked in her room.'

'You think she's going to leave with him?' Violet asked, worry colouring her voice.

Rosamund shrugged. 'She refused his proposal this afternoon, but it's better to be safe than sorry.'

The Dowager narrowed her eyes. 'He proposed marriage to her?'

'Yes.'

'Goodness. Then this… entanglement is not just a moment of madness?'

'If by that you mean is it a single incident, then no, it's not. They have been being intimate since Christmas according to Mary, and emotionally involved for longer,' Rosamund said, outlining the timeline as she understood it for her mother.

'But she refused him when he asked for her hand in marriage?' Violet asked, her mind whirring, already going over how to handle this unexpected and distressing situation.

'Yes.'

'And have any of you spoken to her about it since you uncovered her secret?'

'Absolutely not!' Robert cried, finally rejoining the conversation instead of letting his sister supply all the information.

The Dowager sighed, leaning on her stick as she rose to her feet. 'Then I suppose I will have to do it.'

Sybil and Mary looked up at the sound of the key turning in the lock and the bedroom door opening.

'Granny,' Mary said, her heart sinking.

'Sybil, dear, could you give me a few moments alone with Mary?' the Dowager said, gliding regally into the room, walking towards the easy chair near Mary's dressing table.

Sybil glanced at her sister. Mary nodded, knowing this was a reckoning she had to face alone. Sybil squeezed her hand offering silent courage.

'I'll come back later,' she said, dropping a swift kiss on the top of Mary's head as she rose from her seat next to her on the chaise longue.

The Dowager settled herself in the chair, her back as ramrod straight as ever, and waited until Sybil had left and closed the door behind her.

'Oh, Mary,' she said quietly, regarding her granddaughter with sad eyes.

'I know I've shocked you, Granny, and disappointed you. I've shocked and disappointed everyone, I'm well aware of that,' Mary said, struggling to keep her voice from cracking. 'I suppose everyone knows by now.'

'If by everyone, you mean your father, yes, he does know.'

Mary bit her lip, dropping her eyes to the floor, mortified that her closest family members knew that she'd been discovered in the throes of passion.

'My dear girl, what were you thinking?' the Dowager asked, her tone softer than Mary had expected.

'I love him, Granny. That's all I was thinking. That I love him. So very much,' Mary confessed, her voice catching on a sob.

Violet remained silent, observing her granddaughter and the depths of her distress, realising that Mary did indeed believe herself to be in love with the chauffeur. If Rosamund thought this was merely a passing fancy, she was clearly wrong.

'And yet you declined his proposal of marriage,' she pointed out.

Mary nodded miserably.

'May I ask why? If you love him as you say you do.'

Mary closed her eyes, forcing back the tears once more threatening to fall. Once she felt she'd composed herself, she gave her answer.

'Because I'm not stupid, Granny. I know I can't live in his world. I'm about as capable of living that kind of a life as an elephant is of flying. If I left with him, if I married him, I would end up making us both miserable. And then I would have given up everything for nothing.'

The Dowager pursed her lips, considering Mary carefully. 'So, you do not intend to leave with him?'

'No.'

'And have you said this to your mama or papa? Or indeed your Aunt Rosamund?'

'No. None of them have come near me since… since… well, since we got back,' Mary said, unable to say since her mother, aunt and sister saw her in such an intimate state with Tom. 'They just locked me in here. Sybil is the only one I've seen.'

Violet nodded, rueing the fact that she had not been here when all of this started. Rosamund had been heavy-handed in her handling of it all, and Robert had simply followed her example. Cora, it seemed, was in no fit state to intervene.

'Your father has dismissed Branson.'

Mary bit her lip, fighting back a wave of emotion as her grandmother confirmed her suspicions. 'I expected as much.'

'You must learn to live without him, my dear.'

Mary looked skywards, desperately trying to blink back the tears brimming in her eyes. 'I'm not sure I can, Granny,' she whispered.

'You must, my darling, otherwise it will drive you mad,' the Dowager said gently, showing unexpected compassion.

A tear slid down Mary's cheek as she looked at her grandmother in surprise. 'Are you not cross with me?'

'Oh, Mary, I am old enough and wise enough to know that love is not neat and tidy. It can be messy and complicated. And it can break your heart when you fall in love with someone not meant for you,' the Dowager said, surprising Mary even more.

'What if he is meant for me?' Mary whispered, brokenly. 'I can't imagine ever loving another man like I love him.'

'If he was meant for you, he would have been born a gentleman,' Violet replied, her voice firm but kind. 'You must put him out of your mind, my dear. As you have said yourself, it is quite impossible.'

'It's so unfair,' Mary mumbled, her heart breaking.

'Life is not fair. That is a lesson we must all learn one way or another.' Violet regarded her granddaughter, solemnly. 'Are you being honest with me when you say you do not intend to leave with him?'

'Yes.'

'You give me your word?'

'Yes.'

'Then I will instruct Mrs Hughes that your door is not to be locked again, and Anna may attend you.'

Mary said nothing, a great lethargy settling upon her.

Violet levered herself from the chair, leaning heavily on her stick. 'I recommend you get some rest, my dear. Things may look less bleak in the morning. Now, come and kiss me.'

Mary stood and walked forward. She brushed a kiss onto her grandmother's cheek, watching as she took her leave.

'No, Granny,' she whispered to the empty room. 'They won't.'

When Sybil awoke the next morning, Mary was lying in bed next to her staring at the ceiling.

'Oh, darling. Did you sleep at all?'

Mary shook her head, a tiny, barely there movement. 'Not really.'

'What are you thinking?' Sybil asked, softly.

'That this is the first day of my life without Tom in it,' Mary mumbled, a tear slipping out of the corner of her eye, trickling down into her hair.

Sybil reached for her sister's hand, squeezing it, wishing there was something more she could do to ease her heartbreak.

'Honestly, I thought Robert was going to die of embarrassment when he tried to tell Mama what had happened,' Rosamund confided in her sister-in-law. 'You know how he gets, and how he hates having to discuss anything more personal than wine preferences with women in general, but with Mama in particular.'

Cora grimaced, feeling decidedly sorry for her husband for having to explain about Mary and Branson to his mother. 'Poor Robert,' she murmured.

'Sometimes I wonder how he ever managed to survive the Boer Wars, his sensibilities are so delicate,' Rosamund sniffed, feeling less sorry for her brother.

There was a discreet knock on the door and then O'Brien's voice came from the corridor. 'May I come in, milady?'

'Of course, O'Brien,' Cora said, exchanging a puzzled look with her sister-in-law. It was unlike her maid to attend her when she had not called for her.

The lady's maid entered the bedroom, her face solemn and even more pinched than usual.

'Is everything all right?' Cora asked, beginning to feel uneasy.

'No, milady, I don't believe it is,' O'Brien said, shooting a glance at Lady Rosamund. 'There's something I think you should know. May I speak freely?'

'You may,' Cora said, immediately on guard, bracing herself for yet more unwanted news.

'It's… it's Thomas. I'm afraid he, um, he's discovered the nature of the relationship between, um, Lady Mary and the, er, the chauffeur,' Miss O'Brien mumbled, her cheeks flushing with colour.

Cora felt her stomach drop at the thought that Mary's indiscretion was now apparently gossip among the servants.

'He, er, he intends to take the information to the newspapers,' O'Brien continued, dropping her bombshell. 'He's going to sell the story.'

'What?' Cora cried, shock racing through her.

'I thought… I thought you should know, milady. I didn't want you to find out by reading about it in the papers,' O'Brien said, looking anxiously at her mistress.

'No. No, he can't! He can't!' Cora said, staring in horror at her maid. 'When? When does he intend to do this?'

'It's his half-day tomorrow, milady. I think he's intending to go into Leeds and try his luck at The Yorkshire Post then.'

Cora turned to her sister-in-law, panic welling up in her chest. 'We can't let him do this, we can't! It will ruin Mary for good!'

'I know,' Rosamund said, her mind racing with ways to stop the footman selling the story.

'But what can we do? What can we do? He's leaving to join the Army, so it's not like we can threaten to sack him!'

Rosamund pursed her lips, a memory of Carson telling her brother that Thomas was leaving slipping into her mind. 'Hmmm, yes, he is, isn't he? That's right, isn't it, O'Brien?'

The lady's maid nodded. 'Yes, milady. He's to join the RAMC in a few weeks' time.'

'That's right. The RAMC,' Rosamund said, thoughtfully. 'How fortuitous.'

'What? What's fortuitous about this? He's going to ruin my daughter!' Cora cried.

'No, he's not,' Rosamund said, firmly. 'Thank you for sharing this information with us, O'Brien. Your loyalty to this family does you credit. You can leave this with me, now.'

Carson regarded the hall boy solemnly. 'And you're absolutely sure?'

'Yes, Mr Carson, sir. That's what me mum said. Said she'd seen him with her own eyes, she did. He went in this morning and asked for a room for a few nights,' the boy answered, eager to please.

'Right, thank you, Pip. You may carry on with your duties.'

The boy bobbed his head and disappeared out of the door of Carson's pantry. The butler sighed and levered himself to his feet to go in search of his lordship.

'Milord, may I speak to you?'

Robert sighed, looking up from the newspaper he had been trying and failing to read, distracted as he was by unwelcome thoughts of Mary's disgrace.

'What is it, Carson? Please don't tell me you have discovered a shocking secret about another of my daughters. I'm not sure I could stand it.'

'No, milord, but I do have news of… of Mr Branson,' Carson said, reluctant even to say that scoundrel's name.

'Branson?' Robert said, sharply. 'What about him?'

'Well, Pip, one of the hall boys, his mother works at The Grantham Arms, and he's just told me that Mr Branson is staying there.'

'Branson is still in Downton?' Robert said, his eyes narrowing.

'Yes, milord. According to Pip's mother, he's booked in for at least a couple of nights.'

Robert scrunched the paper in annoyance. 'Damn the man. Why is he still here?'

'I rather fear that he is hoping Lady Mary might yet decide to… um… to, er, go with him,' Carson said, his voice brimming with disapproval at the mere idea.

'Well, he is very much mistaken if that is what he is thinking,' Robert said, firmly. 'Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Carson. I will take it from here.'

'What will you do, milord?'

'I will persuade Branson to leave. For good,' Robert replied, his face grim.

'Mr Carson said you wished to see me, milady,' Thomas said, wondering why the earl's sister had sent for him specifically when she'd barely ever said two words to him before outside giving him orders.

'Ah, yes, Thomas. I understand you're leaving Lord Grantham's employ shortly,' Rosamund said, keeping her voice and her countenance pleasant, unthreatening.

'Yes. I'm joining the Army. I am to report for duty in a few weeks,' Thomas replied, even more perplexed. He could not for the life of him think why Lady Rosamund would even know about his plans, never mind concern herself with them.

'That's very commendable. Noble, even, to go and serve your country at a time of war.'

'Thank you, milady.'

'And yet, as I understand it, you are also intending to do something that is far from noble,' Rosamund said, her voice turning icy.

Thomas felt sweat prickle his armpits. 'Milady?'

'I hear you have a story you are going to try to sell to The Yorkshire Post. A story that would adversely affect the reputation of this family.'

Thomas said nothing, struggling to keep his servant's blank in place as his mind raced, wondering how Lady Rosamund knew about his intentions.

'You could, of course, do that. You are leaving Lord Grantham's employ, so the threat of losing your position is an empty one. Although, naturally, you would not have a reference to fall back on after the war ends.'

'The Army does not require a reference,' Thomas dared to say.

'No, maybe not but, unfortunately for you, I am very well acquainted with the colonel-in-chief of the Royal Army Medical Corps. His wife is a dear friend of mine. She places a great deal of trust in my ability to judge a person's character,' Rosamund said, eyeing the footman much as a cat eyes a mouse before pouncing on it.

Thomas fought not to squirm under her gaze as his heart began to race.

'If I were to tell her that I do not believe a recruit – even one as low down the ranks as you – is trustworthy but instead is liable to bring the regiment into disrepute, she would most certainly take me seriously and inform her husband. And I'm quite sure he would be concerned enough to intervene and reject your application to join the regiment.'

Thomas ground his teeth together, his jaw clenching tight, as he saw his ticket out of Downton being threatened.

'I know you could join other regiments, but given you have no medical experience, I believe the attraction of the Royal Army Medical Corps is that it would not require you to see action, is it not?' Rosamund continued, shrewdly. 'No doubt your hope is to remain safely in a hospital away from the battlefields.'

Thomas said nothing, swallowing down the anger swelling in his chest at the injustice of it all.

'So, the choice is yours, Thomas. You could take your so-called story to the newspapers and get what little remuneration you could for it, but you will lose both your position here and your call-up to the RAMC,' Rosamund said, coolly, raising an eyebrow. 'Or you could rethink your chosen course of action regarding what you believe you know about Lady Mary.'

Thomas felt his jaw begin to ache with how tightly he was clenching it.

'Do we understand each other?' Rosamund asked, requiring an answer.

'We do, milady,' Thomas ground out, hating her with every fibre of his being.

'And?'

'And there is no story to sell. I know nothing about Lady Mary and I will be departing for my training camp in a few weeks,' Thomas confirmed, tightly, choosing the lesser of two evils. An uncertain amount of ready cash in hand did not trump a guaranteed position and the excellent chance of not becoming cannon fodder in this blasted new war.

Rosamund nodded. 'A very wise decision. I wish you well with your Army career. But I will warn you that should I see any hint of this story in the newspapers, I will speak to my friend and your military career will be over before it's begun.'

Thomas pressed his lips together, wishing he could rain down all the curse words on this woman's head that he dearly wanted to, propriety be damned.

'That will be all, Thomas,' Rosamund said calmly, dismissing the sly footman, satisfied she had outmanoeuvred him and her threat had landed on target.

Thomas nodded and withdrew, seething with anger.

'Mary must see Branson,' Violet said bluntly as soon as Spratt had left the room.

Cora stopped pouring milk into her tea and stared at her mother-in-law, caught completely by surprise. 'What?'

'She must see him before he goes,' the Dowager repeated, firmly.

'But… but Robert and Rosamund are firmly against it,' Cora said, gathering herself a little and continuing to pour the milk.

The Dowager sniffed. 'So I understand, and that is why I did not invite them to this little tête à tête. You should not listen to either of them, Cora. Tell me, what do you think?'

Cora put the milk jug down and handed a cup and saucer to her mother-in-law, thinking through her answer before giving it. 'I think Mary will never forgive us if we do not let her say goodbye to him.'

Violet nodded, pleased that Cora was thinking clearly about this matter. 'Precisely. We must not drive a wedge between her and the family. We need to keep her close, not push her away.'

'I agree,' Cora said, thinking of how stubborn Mary could be when it suited her.

'There is also another reason why I believe she should see him,' Violet said, casting an appraising look at her daughter-in-law, wondering if she had perhaps had the same thought she was about to voice.

'And what is that, Mama?'

'If she does not say goodbye to him, she may not be able to let go of him or the thought of him. He will become her lost love, and we cannot allow that to happen if we are to hope she will marry in the near future,' the Dowager said, shrewdly.

Cora bit her lip, thinking that over. 'Are you not concerned that he will talk her into going with him? I confess that is my greatest fear. Well, apart from her being with child.'

Violet shook her head. 'I have spoken to her. She will not go with him. Thankfully, she does not believe she could live in his world – and I agree with her on that. She recognises her own limitations in that respect. I do not believe there is anything he can say to her that will change her mind on that front.'

'You're sure?'

'I am. But I also know that when one is wrenched away from the man you believe you are in love with, he lingers in the mind. And Mary believes herself to be in love with this young man,' Violet said, laying out the truth as she saw it.

Cora's eyebrows rose at her mother-in-law's words. 'You sound like you are speaking from experience.'

Violet levelled a cool gaze at Cora, choosing not to remark on that statement. 'We cannot afford to let Branson linger in Mary's mind. She must forget about him and move on to a more suitable match as soon as possible.'

Cora pursed her lips, thinking about that. 'Yes, I agree with you on that.'

'Then she must see him.'

'But hasn't he already gone? Robert dismissed him yesterday.'

'I believe he is staying at The Grantham Arms.'

'How do you know that?'

'Let's just say that Francis Walsingham has nothing on Spratt when it comes to establishing an intelligence network,' Violet said, a slight smile on her face.

'Who is Francis Walsingham?' Cora asked, puzzled, scanning her memory for anyone of their acquaintance by that name.

The Dowager sighed. 'Sometimes I forget you are American. Francis Walsingham was spymaster to Elizabeth I.'

Cora smiled for the first time since finding out about Mary's entanglement with the chauffeur. 'I shall take that as a compliment, Mama, that you forget I am American.'

'You may take it however you wish, my dear. Now, we must make plans to make sure Mary says goodbye to her… to Branson. But we must do it in secret. Robert and Rosamund must not learn of our intentions.'

'You're worried they'd put a stop to it?'

'Oh, no, certainly not. I can handle them. I just don't wish to expend the energy required to do so,' Violet said, lifting her teacup to her lips.

At the sound of a knock on the door to his room, Tom's heart leapt into his mouth. He ran to it, hoping with everything inside him it would be Mary, ready to leave this place with him.

Just as quickly, his heart sank as he pulled open the door to see a stony-faced Lord Grantham on the other side.

'So, it's true then. You're still here,' the earl said, striding into the room, brushing past Tom as if he were nothing.

'I am,' Tom said, reluctantly shutting the door and turning to face his former employer.

'Why?'

'Because I haven't given up on her.'

Lord Grantham glared at him. 'You're wasting your time. She won't come to you.'

'Why? Because you still have her under lock and key like some medieval princess?'

'No, she has been free to leave her room since before dinner last night,' Robert said, noting the surprise on Branson's face with some satisfaction. 'And yet she has not been to see you, has she?'

Tom remained silent, thrown by that revelation.

'How much will it take for you to leave us in peace?' Robert asked, taking a seat at the small table in the room, removing his chequebook from his jacket pocket. 'I'll be generous and give you enough to start a new life in Ireland and stop all this nonsense.'

'What?' Tom managed to choke out, thoroughly taken aback by this turn of events.

'How much, Branson?' Robert repeated, uncapping his fountain pen, convinced the man would take his money and go. 'I will pay you for your silence and your absence.'

Tom gripped the bedstead, his knuckles whitening as he fought to contain his anger.

'You know your trouble, milord?' he ground out, the scorn apparent in his voice. 'You're like all of your kind. You think you have the monopoly on honour. Doesn't it occur to you that I might think the best guarantee of Mary's happiness lies with me?'

Robert gawped up at him and then furiously recapped his pen, stuffing it and his chequebook back into her pocket. 'Well, if you're not prepared to listen to reason – '

'I'm not prepared to listen to insults!' Tom snapped, his temper dangerously close to boiling over. 'Is it beyond your wit to believe that I love your daughter? I will never do anything to hurt her! Never! Even if I never see her again, I will do nothing to harm her or her reputation. She… she's the love of my life! Whether she decides she wants me or not.'

Robert paused, his anger momentarily stayed as he heard the passion in this young man's voice, but then he remembered what was at stake.

'You have already harmed her. Do you think her reputation will ever recover if it gets out that she has… has… with you!' he hissed, the thought of it turning his stomach.

'No-one will hear it from me. And not because you have paid for my silence, but because I love and respect her too much to cause her any kind of harm,' Tom repeated, his voice like flint. 'If you were any kind of father, you'd be more interested in her happiness than some stupid, outdated social constructs.'

Robert glared at him, his anger returning in full force. 'You are not fit to lick her boots, Branson! You are not good enough for my daughter, even if you were a prince of the realm. Not after the way you've carried on.'

Tom huffed out a bitter laugh. 'Well, we both know that's not true. If I were a prince of the realm, you'd be falling over yourself to offer me her hand in marriage. But because I am a working man, you'd rather see her miserable.'

'She will not come to you,' Robert reiterated, forcing that point home.

'Then there's no point you being here, is there, milord?' Tom said, his head held high.

'Then I will bid you a good day. And I want you to leave the village,' Robert snapped.

'I will leave. But not yet,' Tom replied, standing firm. 'I will give her the time I said I would. If she doesn't come to me by then, I will have my answer.'

Robert shook his head, his jaw clenched as he wrenched open the door. 'Just go, Branson. If you do indeed love her, just go.'

With that he stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

Tom closed his eyes, more shaken by his run-in with Mary's father than he was willing to admit.

When a second knock came on his door, Tom was more circumspect in answering it. In truth, he did not think Lord Grantham would return, but neither did he hold out much hope that it would be Mary. He was right on both counts.

Mrs Garvey, Pip's mother and the washerwoman at the pub, stood at the door. She held out an envelope to Tom.

'Message for you, Mr Branson.'

'Thank you,' he said, taking the envelope, noting the quality of the stationery. 'Who brought it?'

'One of the village lads,' she said, watching his face. 'It didn't come from the Abbey. It wasn't one of their hall boys.'

'Right. Thank you, Mrs Garvey,' he said, nodding at her.

With the door firmly closed, Tom looked at the envelope in his hand and then took his penknife from his pocket to slit it open. Inside was a note from the last person he would ever have guessed would correspond with him.

Thursday, 13th August, 1914

Mr Branson,

I would be grateful if you could attend an appointment at the Dower House at five o'clock this afternoon.

Yours, etc,

Violet, Dowager Countess of Grantham

Tom stared at the note, wondering what to make of it. He could not, in all seriousness, believe that the Dowager was in favour of his relationship with Mary, but would she really summon him to her residence to give him a dressing down over it when he had already been sacked?

Could it be that Mary had found a way to escape Downton Abbey and she would be there at her grandmother's waiting for him? He couldn't really believe that would be the case either.

It seemed there was only one way to find out.

At five minutes to five, Tom pulled the bell at the front door of the Dower House. He had debated whether he should go to the back entrance where servants were meant to enter the house, but he reasoned that, one, he was no longer a servant, and two, he had been invited there by the lady of the house.

The Dowager's butler opened the door and looked him up and down, a snooty look on his face, but for all his obvious disapproval, he did not send him scuttling around to the back door with a flea in his ear. Instead, he opened the main door wider, silently inviting Tom to cross the threshold.

'If you'll follow me,' Spratt said, not quite able to bring himself to add 'sir' to the end of the sentence.

He led Tom through to a formal reception room, currently empty, with no sign of any other person.

'Wait here,' Spratt said and then left, closing the door behind him.

Tom waited, glancing around the room at the portraits and landscapes on the wall, the tasteful but discreet opulence that reeked of money. Nervous about what the Dowager was going to say to him, he walked over to the bookcase in the corner of the room, trying to distract himself by reading the titles of the books.

After a few minutes, the door opened again. Tom turned, ready to face the Dowager Countess, and felt his heart leap into his throat.

Mary stood by the door, her face pale but still looking as beautiful as he'd ever found her.

'Hello, Tom,' she whispered.

He took a few steps towards her, and it seemed to unlock something in her as she flew across the room into his arms, flinging her arms around his neck.

'Mary,' he murmured into her ear, holding her tightly, hardly believing she was there. 'Mary. Oh, my darling.'

Mary held onto him, trying desperately to imprint this moment on her memory: the feel of his arms around her, his body pressed against hers, the sound of his voice.

She pulled her head back a little, her lips finding his, the desperate kiss of two lovers who had been suddenly and forcefully parted and now found each other again.

When the kiss ended, Tom lifted one hand, cupping her face, gazing into her eyes.

'Oh, mo chuisle, I didn't think I would see you again. I asked your father if I could and he refused,' he said softly, punctuating his words with kisses dropped on her face.

Mary nodded. 'I know. Papa doesn't know about this. Granny arranged it.'

'She's on our side?' Tom asked, astonished to hear that the Dowager might support their unconventional love affair.

Mary shook her head, pressing her lips tightly together. 'No. We have ten minutes.'

'To do what?' Tom asked, getting a bad feeling about this.

'To… to say goodbye,' Mary said, her voice shaking.

Tom took half a step back, staring at her, his heart racing. 'No. No.'

'I'm sorry, Tom,' Mary whispered, her heart breaking all over again.

'No. Come with me. That's all you have to do. Just come with me,' he begged, taking her hands in his.

'I can't. I can't.'

'You can!' he insisted, lifting her hands up between them, kissing her knuckles. 'You can, mo chuisle. I know you're scared, but I will move heaven and earth to make you happy, I promise you I will.'

Mary shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. 'I know you'd try, but – '

'No,' he interrupted, shaking his head. 'There are no buts. I can make you happy. I will make you happy. I give you my word.'

'But I would make us both unhappy! Can't you see that?' Mary cried, a tear falling. 'I would be miserable! When I feel stupid and useless, I am miserable and I am churlish and I am unpleasant! And I would feel stupid and useless all the time if I went with you, Tom! Can't you see that?'

'No, no, no, no, no. Listen to me, mo chuisle. I know you think that, and you might feel like that at first, but it would soon change, I know it would,' Tom countered, desperately trying to convince her.

'No, it wouldn't! I don't know how to do all the things I'd need to do if I left with you! I don't know how to cook. I don't know how to clean. I certainly don't know how to do laundry! I would be a stupid, useless wife to you, Tom!'

'You know how to cook scrambled eggs. Anna told me you learned how to do that.'

'Once! I made scrambled eggs once! And they were disgusting! Even Isis turned her nose up at them! And anyway, we can't live on nothing but scrambled eggs!' Mary cried. 'Don't you see? I can't live in your world, Tom! I can't do it!'

'But you haven't even tried!' he flung back at her, his frustration boiling over.

'Because if I try, I have to give up everything I know and love! And there might not be any going back if I do that!'

'So, what? So, instead, you give up on us? You give up on me?' he cried, desperation making him angry. 'You said you loved me!'

Mary pressed her lips together, trying to hold back her sobs. She stepped forward, laying her hand on his cheek, locking eyes with him.

'I do love you,' she said, quietly. 'I love you with all my heart. And I certainly love you too much to make you miserable, but that's what I'd end up doing, Tom.'

'No. No. You could never make me miserable,' he said resolutely, laying his hand over hers. 'Never.'

'But I would, my darling. I would make us both miserable. I wouldn't mean to, and I'd try not to, but that's what would happen in the end. I'd become bitter and resentful because I can't do even the simplest things that someone like Anna could do blindfolded. I'd blame myself and then I might start to blame you, too. And then we'd both end up unhappy.'

'But you've decided all that before we've even tried!' he argued, shaking his head. 'That might not happen! I'll do everything I can to make sure it doesn't!'

'But it's not you that would be the problem, is it, my love?' Mary said softly, trying to get him to see sense, to see it from her point of view. 'You're not the one stepping into a different world, are you? It would be me. And I know myself, Tom. I know I can't do it. I wish I could, but I can't. You must believe me when I tell you that.'

He bit his lip, gazing at her, seeing in her eyes how deeply she believed everything she was saying. 'So, that's it, is it? Are you saying we're over?'

Mary choked back a sob. 'We have to be. Now they know about us, we don't have a choice.'

'I don't want that.'

'Neither do I.'

Tom stared at her, desperately trying to think of another argument he could put forward to make her change her mind but coming up with nothing.

'Please, Mary. Please,' he begged, his voice breaking.

'I won't change my mind, Tom. It's breaking my heart to say it, but I won't. I can't. I'm sorry,' Mary said, quietly, knowing she was putting a dagger through both their hearts.

Tom closed his eyes, fighting back the tears clogging his throat.

'Please don't hate me,' Mary begged, suddenly. 'I couldn't bear it if we parted with you hating me.'

He opened his eyes, wiping his fingers underneath them, sniffing back the tears. 'I could never hate you.'

'Even though I'm breaking both our hearts?' she sobbed, her hand flying to her mouth.

Tom took two strides and gathered her in his arms, hugging her tightly.

'You are who you are, mo chuisle. That's why I fell in love with you in the first place. I can hardly hate you for being you, can I?' he murmured in her ear, feeling her body shake in his arms. 'Didn't I always say this would never have a happy ending? I just wish I could have been wrong.'

Mary tightened her arms around his neck, unable to hold back the tears now. 'I'll never forget you.'

'Nor I you,' he said, his own tears falling as he hugged her close.

'I love you,' Mary sobbed.

'I love you too.'

They stood, holding each other tightly, each of them knowing this would be the last time they would be in each other's arms.

The door opened behind them.

'Mary, it's time,' the Dowager said, quietly but firmly.

Mary hugged Tom tighter, desperately wanting to hold on to him, to never have to let him go.

'Mary,' the Dowager repeated, a warning note in her voice.

Reluctantly, Mary released him, taking a step back, gazing at his dear, familiar face, trying to memorise every line and plane of it. She leaned forward and pressed one last soft kiss to his lips.

He kissed her back and then watched mutely as she stepped back again, putting distance between them.

'I'm sorry,' she whispered, her face crumpling as she tried desperately to hold back a fresh flood of tears. 'I'm so, so sorry.'

'I know,' he said, his eyes locked onto hers.

Mary turned and walked over to her grandmother, waiting for her at the door. Tom's voice stopped her in her tracks.

'Mo chuisle.'

She turned and looked back at him, her kind, loyal, beautiful man, saw him gazing at her, his love for her written all over his face.

'Tá grá agam duit.'

Mary bit back a sob.

'Tá grá agam duit. Always,' she said, her voice cracking.

He nodded and smiled at her, tears shining in his eyes, and she broke, unable to bear it a moment longer, pushing past her grandmother and running up the stairs before she collapsed with sorrow right there in the drawing room.

Tom watched her go, feeling his heart break.

'You've seen her now. I think, for both your sakes, you need to leave Downton this evening,' the Dowager said, not unkindly.

Tom nodded, unable to find the energy to reply to her.

The Dowager hesitated as she turned to leave, knowing in her soul that she'd witnessed the end of a love affair that had affected both of these young people very deeply.

'I wish you well, Branson,' she said, slightly surprised to find that she meant that.

Tom looked across at her, all the fight in him gone, and nodded once more.

Mary watched from an upper bedroom window as Tom walked up the drive away from the Dower House, his heartbreak and devastation apparent in every line of his posture.

Tears rolled down her face as she began to realise that she would never be able to forgive herself for hurting him so much.

'It's for the best, my darling,' Cora said, walking from the back of the room to stand beside her daughter, watching her carefully, her heart going out to her at the desolation on her face.

'I know, Mama. But it hurts so very much,' Mary answered, brokenly.

'It does now, but it won't hurt forever,' Cora said, trying to bolster Mary's spirits.

'No, you're wrong,' Mary replied, her heart cleaving in two as she watched Tom disappear from sight behind the high hedge at the end of the drive. 'This will hurt forever.'

With that, she turned away, going to lie on the bed, wondering how she was ever going to learn to live with this pain.