Author's Note: This is by no means an exhaustive account, just a little taste.

Disclaimer: I'm not even a custodian, my dears, let alone an owner. These characters and their settings are the work of others. I hope I do not offend with my homage.

"I'm ready to travel," she had said, "and you're my ticket."

It was perfect, utterly perfect. Even in his sunniest, most optimistic imaginings, he had never dared hope for so unambiguous a sign, the portent rendered all the more valid and potent because there was no possible way she could have known. Tom's heart swelled, and his lips curved as they always did when he thought about that magical night, and the amazing words that had fallen from the lips of his beloved.

"I'm ready to travel—"

"Two, please," he said.

"—and you're my ticket."

Tom Branson needed two tickets because Lady Sybil Crawley had pledged herself to make the journey with him.

Early Wednesday morning, Tom went to the Downton train station as he and his fiancée had arranged. He watched the Renault Landaulette pull up, Lady Edith behind the wheel, and Lady Mary and Lady Sybil her passengers. When Edith saw him, she called, "Take care of the luggage, Branson, and I'll park the motor."

Branson nodded, then assisted Lady Mary and Lady Sybil to alight before moving to the rear of the car to unstrap Sybil's cases with the quick economical movements of a professional.

"I'll see you up there," Lady Edith called out. It was impossible to tell whom she addressed, but it was her two sisters who waved their acknowledgement. Branson had already gone into the station with the luggage. When he emerged, sans cases, he automatically began to walk to where he knew the car would be parked. He was halfway to the carpark before he realized what he was doing. He shook his head, laughing softly at himself, and headed back to the station platform.

At such an early hour, the platform wasn't crowded, so Branson saw the ladies immediately.

"You'll write as soon as you know?" Lady Mary was asking her youngest sister as Branson came up to them.

"Of course, darling, you know I will," Lady Sybil replied.

"And we'll keep working on Papa and Granny for you," Lady Edith chimed in.

"Good luck with that," was the youngest's rejoinder.

"Good luck to you," Lady Mary corrected.

"I don't need luck," Lady Sybil assured her.

Branson almost crossed himself. "We all need luck," he said.

All three young ladies stared at him in surprise.

Since he had called her attention to him by speaking, Lady Mary addressed her former chauffeur, future brother-in-law. "Goodbye, Branson. Take good care of her." She spoke as impersonally as if he were taking her sister in the capacity of chauffeur to another training course in York, not 'across the water' to a new life as his wife. He shook off the impression.

"I will, milady. Goodbye." Branson felt as if he ought to be saying something else, something profound, acknowledging Lady Mary somehow. He didn't really know what to say to her, except, "Thank you, milady. For everything."

Lady Mary nodded, her expression softened somewhat.

"Why are you thanking her?" The forgotten middle sister's voice was sharp with hurt feelings. She was his 'sister,' not Mary.

"Oh , Edith, really," Lady Mary said in disgust. "Can't you keep your jealousy under control?"

Tom was already answering her though. "You know she kept quiet about Sybil and me, when she didn't have to, and there were… other things as well." He shot a quick up-from-under glance at Lady Mary, and saw that she knew to what he referred.

Edith, however, did not know. "What is that to be thanked for?" she said petulantly. "I didn't tell on you, either, but you haven't thanked me."

Her truculence made Sybil and Mary laugh.

Branson smiled at Lady Edith. "Thank you, milady," he said gravely.

"For what?" she asked, eagerly.

"For… everything."

"Such as?"

"For not telling on us." He smiled at her.

"And what else?" She probed.

"And for stopping us from eloping."

"And?"

"And helping us to get ready to leave."

Lady Mary and Lady Sybil were laughing, but Edith was frowning. "Is that all?"

"What do you want him to say?" Lady Mary asked, exasperated.

Surprisingly, Branson pulled Lady Edith into his arms for a quick embrace right there in front of everyone on the station platform. When his mouth was right next to her ear, he whispered, "A dheirfiúr, thank you for teaching me my place." He released her, and stood back a little, smiling at her astonishment.

"Still jealous?" Lady Mary asked her sister.

Sybil laughed, "Now it's me who's jealous."

Tom was still looking at Edith. She was satisfied now with his gratitude, but her expression was quizzical. "As it turns out, brother, your place wasn't quite what we thought it was, was it?" Her lips finally curved up a bit.

"No," Tom agreed. "It wasn't at all what we thought."

"Goodbye, Tom."

"Goodbye, Edith."

It was time. The train had arrived, and the young couple got in.

Sybil had never ridden third class before. In her excitement, she kissed Tom as they sat down.

The middle aged woman seated across from the young couple harrumphed. "In my day, you didn't kiss a boy like that until you were engaged to him."

"We are engaged, ma'am. We're on our way to be married now." Sybil assured the woman.

In that case, all was forgiven.

The advantage of leaving Downton so early in the day was that they were able to transfer to the steam packet in Liverpool while it was still morning, and arrive in Dublin only shortly after noon.

They exited the boat onto a bustling quay on the river Liffey, which bisects the city. Sybil, drinking in all the new and exciting sights and sounds, found her eyes drawn to a female newspaper vendor, who appeared to be making a beeline for Sybil's future husband.

While Tom's interest in the news was certainly legendary at Downton, it amused her greatly to see that the signs were upon him like the mark of Cain for total strangers to read and respond to at the very moment of his arrival in the city. They were still on the dock, for goodness sake! The newspaper business must be lucrative. The vendor was a handsome woman, reasonably well-dressed in a respectable, middle-class way, bright-eyed and happy looking, a little sheaf of newspapers under her arm.

It was not Sybil's imagination that the woman had been making directly for them: when she reached Tom, she stopped abruptly right in front of him to show off her wares, one of the papers open to the middle and folded over in her hands, while the others remained tucked under her arm.

"Here," the woman told him, pointing.

Unfazed by her boldness, Tom looked where he was bid, read over the thing she had pointed to, then smiled at the woman broadly. "How many do you have?"

"Five," she told him. "If you think we need more, we can get them tomorrow." The woman turned to Sybil, smiling. "It'll be in some several days."

'This city is crazy,' Sybil thought. The newspaper vendor's smile was infectious though, even familiar. 'Why is she—'

"Here," Tom said. "Read it."

Sybil took the newspaper, and looked where he was indicating. It was their wedding announcement. Almost automatically, she began to say, "It's very n—" then stopped as it dawned on her what the announcement said. But it said… it said…Sybil looked up at her betrothed in confusion.

"What's wrong?" The newspaper vendor asked. "Didn't I spell everyone's name right?"

This was Tom's mother! Sybil could only nod.

"And you're the third daughter?"

We haven't even been introduced!

"I am, but—"

"So what's the problem?" Brenna looked at her son's intended as thought she had known her from birth, but had not previously suspected her to be mentally deficient.

Sybil was looking at her fiancé in consternation. "You're the seventh son?"

"Well," Tom temporized, "technically—"

"Oh, hush," Brenna interrupted. "You're my seventh son. And I'm the one who paid for the announcement, not your Da."

"Well, Da's hardly in a condition to pay for anything—"

Sybil was still stuck on the number. "You had seven sons?" 'Papa would be so jealous.'

"Eight." It was a correction, not a boast.

"Eight? And you had all boys?"

The strange accusation took her aback. "I didn't have all boys. I had five girls, wasn't that enough?"

Sybil's eyes were round with wonder what time Tom was objecting, "Mam, all the sons were boys."

His mother glared at him, mock-angry. "I didn't come all the way down to the docks to listen to your cheek," she huffed. "You're not too old for me to switch, you know."

"Yes, I am." Tom showed her the tip of his tongue between his teeth to prove it.

Brenna laughed, and finally pulled him into a hug. "You're a scamp. I've missed you, boy."

"I've missed you," he admitted. Sybil caught a glimpse of his eyes over his mother's shoulder, and seeing the love and delight that filled them, it occurred to her that when he left Ireland to work at Downton, he hadn't really believed he'd ever see this woman again.

Would Sybil ever see her parents again?