Tom Branson (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
irish_radical) wrote2012-09-03 04:35 pm
irish_radical) wrote2012-09-03 04:35 pm
[Milliways]: Women's rights
It’s his second day, and while Branson has mostly found his feet, he’s still getting to know what the family is like. He’s taken the women of the house into town, all but Lady Mary, and he amuses himself listening to their conversation, attempting to sketch their characters.
“Why is Sybil having a new dress and not me?” That’ll be Edith, the middle girl. Branson gets the feeling she’s left out of it often, and he supposes it’s likely because she’s not as, well, pretty as the other two.
“Because it’s Sybil’s turn,” her ladyship answers. American. Branson wonders if she’s some of the reason Lord Grantham is the way he is. If her independent ideas have rubbed off on him. He hasn’t decided on that yet.
“Can it be my choice this time?” Lady Sybil that time. Youngest and quite pretty, though Branson’s sure he isn’t mean to notice.
“Of course, darling,” her mother answers. “As long as you choose what I choose. Branson,” she adds as they reach the car where he’s holding the door open for them, “you’ll be taking Lady Sybil to Ripon tomorrow. She’ll be leaving after lunch.”
“Certainly, your ladyship,” he answers, wondering if they even realize that he hears everything they say, or if he’s just that invisible to them.
“Poor old Madame Swan,” Sybil says as she settles into the seat. “I don’t know why we bother with fittings. She always makes the same frock.”
“What do you want her to make?” Edith asks, and Branson shuts the door after them.
“Something new and exciting,” Sybil answers, her voice as pleasing as her face. Branson moves to the front of the car to crank the car to life.
He misses the next few bits of the conversation in the hum of the engine.
“Granny’s invited herself to dinner,” Lady Grantham is saying as he gets in to the driver’s seat.
“Then she can jolly well wait,” comes Sybil’s reply.
“So women’s rights begin at home, I see,” says her ladyship as Branson shifts into gear. “Well, I’m all for that.”
Branson’s smiling as he starts off down the road.
“Why is Sybil having a new dress and not me?” That’ll be Edith, the middle girl. Branson gets the feeling she’s left out of it often, and he supposes it’s likely because she’s not as, well, pretty as the other two.
“Because it’s Sybil’s turn,” her ladyship answers. American. Branson wonders if she’s some of the reason Lord Grantham is the way he is. If her independent ideas have rubbed off on him. He hasn’t decided on that yet.
“Can it be my choice this time?” Lady Sybil that time. Youngest and quite pretty, though Branson’s sure he isn’t mean to notice.
“Of course, darling,” her mother answers. “As long as you choose what I choose. Branson,” she adds as they reach the car where he’s holding the door open for them, “you’ll be taking Lady Sybil to Ripon tomorrow. She’ll be leaving after lunch.”
“Certainly, your ladyship,” he answers, wondering if they even realize that he hears everything they say, or if he’s just that invisible to them.
“Poor old Madame Swan,” Sybil says as she settles into the seat. “I don’t know why we bother with fittings. She always makes the same frock.”
“What do you want her to make?” Edith asks, and Branson shuts the door after them.
“Something new and exciting,” Sybil answers, her voice as pleasing as her face. Branson moves to the front of the car to crank the car to life.
He misses the next few bits of the conversation in the hum of the engine.
“Granny’s invited herself to dinner,” Lady Grantham is saying as he gets in to the driver’s seat.
“Then she can jolly well wait,” comes Sybil’s reply.
“So women’s rights begin at home, I see,” says her ladyship as Branson shifts into gear. “Well, I’m all for that.”
Branson’s smiling as he starts off down the road.