Twelve leaves from a budding love-tree – Third letter


TWELVE LEAVES FROM A BUDDING LOVE-TREESybil/Tom Secret Valentine Exchange : my present to obessivewritingdisorder after her prompt: “a series of love letters between Tom and Sybil”.Click to read Part 1 and Part 2Part 3: Third letterAugust 1917, morning.A knock on his door.Tom Branson was sure it was Mr Carson. The butler would have come to tell him that he was sacked, for having attempted and very nearly succeeded in humiliating and ridiculing Downton’s guest of honour, General Strutt.But no. Behind the door was only a young hall boy who handed him a folded note. Even in his already disheartened state, Tom was then a bit more disappointed: he had always deemed Mr Carson as a man of honour, in his own way. The kind of man who would tell an employee face to face that he was dismissed; never would have he thought Mr Carson would do it through a simple note delivered by a kid.Holding out his hand to take the paper, Branson briefly wondered how long it would be before the boy was old enough to be draughted and taken away by the British army to be sent abroad and transformed into either a bloody pulp like the poor men he’s seen in the hospital, or a murderer like those who killed his cousin. And maybe even both.He looked at the folded sheet in his hand, and his heart sped up as he recognised the handwriting, even though only one word was written on the external side of it: “Branson”He hastily thanked the boy and immediately closed the door, eager to read whatever she had to tell him but dreading it at the same time. “She knows”, he thought. Well of course she knew, he had left her a note; she would have found it before going to bed and would have asked Mr Carson or Anna about what it meant first thing in the morning.And she would be both upset and highly disappointed in him, now. That latter thought was the worst, to him.That’s why he had to read the note twice to understand that in fact she didn’t know what he had done – or intended to do. Branson,Papa just informed us that you had been taken ill yesterday at dinner. But Carson did not elaborate so he couldn’t tell us what it is exactly you are suffering from. I hope it is nothing serious.Is it about your heart murmur? I thought it was nothing dangerous, though… As we are now living in a house full of medics, I’ll ask one of the doctors to go and have a look at you. It would be stupid not to have you examined while the whole castle has somehow become an annexe to the hospital. And that way I’ we will be all reassured.Please, let me us know how you are and if you need anything. I hope you are not feeling too unwell. But if it is serious, tell me: Mama, Edith and I would arrange for you to have a bed in the house so that you can be properly looked after.Rest and take good care of your murmuring heart… Nurse’s order!Lady SybilFandom: Downton Abbey
Genre : Romance, Humour, Fluff, Angst
Characters: Sybil Crawley, Tom Branson
Synopsis: Sybil/Tom Secret Valentine Exchange : my present to obessivewritingdisorder after her prompt: “a series of love letters between Tom and Sybil” (during the time they kept their courting / relationship secret). Will be a 12-part fic.

August 1917, morning.

A knock on his door.

Tom Branson was sure it was Mr Carson. The butler would have come to tell him that he was sacked, for having attempted and very nearly succeeded in humiliating and ridiculing Downton’s guest of honour, General Strutt.

But no. Behind the door was only a young hall boy who handed him a folded note. Even in his already disheartened state, Tom was then a bit more disappointed: he had always deemed Mr Carson as a man of honour, in his own way. The kind of man who would tell an employee face to face that he was dismissed; never would have he thought Mr Carson would do it through a simple note delivered by a kid.

Holding out his hand to take the paper, Branson briefly wondered how long it would be before the boy was old enough to be draughted and taken away by the British army to be sent abroad and transformed into either a bloody pulp like the poor men he’s seen in the hospital, or a murderer like those who killed his cousin. And maybe even both.

He looked at the folded sheet in his hand, and his heart sped up as he recognised the handwriting, even though only one word was written on the external side of it: “Branson”

He hastily thanked the boy and immediately closed the door, eager to read whatever she had to tell him but dreading it at the same time. “She knows”, he thought. Well of course she knew, he had left her a note; she would have found it before going to bed and would have asked Carson or Anna about what it meant first thing in the morning.

And she would be both upset and highly disappointed in him, now. That last thought was the worst, to him.

That’s why he had to read the note twice to understand that in fact she didn’t know what he had done – or intended to do.

Branson,

Papa just informed us that you had been taken ill yesterday at dinner. But Carson did not elaborate so he couldn’t tell us what it is exactly you are suffering from. I hope it is nothing serious.

Is it about your heart murmur? I thought it was nothing dangerous, though…

As we are now living in a house full of medics, I’ll ask one of the doctors to go and have a look at you. It would be stupid not to have you examined while the whole castle has somehow become an annexe to the hospital. And that way I’ we will be all reassured.

Please, let me us know how you are and if you need anything. I hope you are not feeling too unwell. But if it is serious, tell me: Mama, Edith and I would arrange for you to have a bed in the house so that you can be properly looked after.

Rest and take good care of your murmuring heart… Nurse’s order!

Lady Sybil

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