1. A Fair Shake

It doesn't really sink in that she's really left her old life behind and started afresh until she's settled into her new position. Her new job. The word makes her pause and smile at the strangest times. Especially now, when she's elbows deep in laundry from the extended care patients' rooms on the third floor. Bridget, the other new girl, laughs at her when she notices.

"You'd think that you've gone and changed the world instead of Mr. Kerry's soiled sheets!"

Sybil grins back at her. "Perhaps I am simply pleased by a job well done."

Bridget splashes some water in Sybil's direction, giving her apron a good soaking. Sybil sticks her tongue out at her friend, and they continue to chat as they go about their tasks. As they work, Sybil's mind begins to wander.

Sybil hasn't told anyone where she's from; it's nice to be known simply as Mrs. Branson rather than Lady Sybil. She'd had enough of that in her lifetime, thank you very much. It's rather liberating to be treated like the rest of the nurses at the hospital. If she's being totally honest, it's rather nice having a secret, even if it's not so much a secret as a slight oversight. Tom knows, of course. His mother and his two sisters also know, but none of them would ever let on that the newest addition to their family was anything other than young English miss from the countryside.

When she was first learning nursing back in England, the constant haze of her social status hung over her head, coloring every moment. She was judged just because of who she was – an Earl's daughter. If it wasn't some remark from another student, it was one of the training nurses doubting her ability to put a kettle on. She would always be grateful for Mrs. Patmore and her lessons! Even when she proved herself competent (if not good) at her work, there was an unnerving way that a room would suddenly go deathly silent whenever she entered it. The way that eyes followed her around, as if waiting for her to make a mistake . . .

Now, ensconced in the mask of her semi-anonymity, people perk up and include her in all manner of their conversation. She has friends here, and not at all the kind she had back in England. The women she'd known since girlhood had never been more than acquaintances, not really. She'd once broached the subject of women's rights to Elizabeth and Jane, the two to whom she'd felt the closest, and they'd acted as if she'd suggested they put on trousers and join the army! Fair weather friends of the highest degree, she and Tom had run into Elizabeth and Jane in Ripon, only a day before sailing for Ireland. Sybil had been delighted, and asked her dear friends to tea one last time before she left. The young women had made quick excuses to extricate themselves from the awkward situation of talking to a girl who was marrying a chauffeur, of all things.

The women here, though, are different. She feels free to speak her mind, and she revels in the camaraderie they share. It's so very, very different, but it's wonderful.

If she really thought about it, the situation might bother her. Small secrets aside, Sybil hates hiding things, she hates lying, even if it's only by omission. After all, why shouldn't she be able to tell people who she really is? Why shouldn't she be proud to come from such a noble family? Because of them, she learned how to be a nurse in the first place. Because of them, she discovered her passion for politics. Because of them, she met her husband in the first place. How can she not be grateful for these things?

If she's being fair, however, which she always strives to be, she could never reveal her precise origins to anyone here. There's far too great a divide between the two countries, one that she as an English woman can barely overcome as it is. And so, though it makes her feel terribly guilty in the dead of the night, she glosses over the more important details of her girlhood. She's from a small town with a beautiful estate (where she was born and raised). She has two older sisters back in England (one of whom is engaged to a very wealthy newspaperman). Her parents doted on her, the youngest (but barely to speak to her now that she's run off with the chauffeur).

She detests lying. It's why she forced herself to ignore Tom for so long – if she had admitted it to herself, it would have felt like lying every time her mother introduced her to a new suitable gentleman. It would have still felt like lying when she left nursing right after the war. It would have felt like lying when she let go of his hand every time he had helped her from the car . . .

Sometimes she worries that everyone can see right through her, that they all know where she comes from, despite her precautions. Tom has told her a number of times that the people she's around day in an out wouldn't be able to tell the difference between a Londoner and a Mancunian, but she's never sure. Is her accent just a bit too noticeably posh? Does she avoid talking about her childhood home a bit too thoroughly? Is that frown the doctor turns in her direction performance related or is he puzzling over something she said?

Sybil shakes herself and changes the direction of her thoughts. She'll take things as they come – one moment at a time. She loves everything about this wondrous new land she's found herself in, right down to her raw hands at night. It's so very good to lay down in bed with her husband at the end of the day, weary in the best possible way. She loves being able to work, to do something she knows she's good at. It's so very glorious to dress herself in the morning, make herself breakfast, make sure that her husband has something to eat for lunch. She never dared to hope or dream that she could feel so free. The sheer ordinary feeling she had of her new life just so very . . . perfect. Nothing anybody ever did or said could ever spoil it for her.

Many thanks go out to MrsBates93 for her beta of this fic! If you enjoy, please take a moment to review!