Chapter Text
“Sybil, Lieutenant Courtenay is asking for you,” Isobel calls out from across the infirmary, cutting out whatever Branson was saying. Sybil looks up from where she’s been finishing tucking clean sheets into a bed and looks to Lieutenant Courtenay’s bed. It’s a bit hard to make out facial expressions when he’s as bandaged up as he is, but Sybil can just make out an expectant look on his face. She finishes tucking in the cloth. “I have to go,” she tells Branson, cutting him off mid-sentence. She tries to give him an apologetic smile over her shoulder as she walks up to the Lieutenant’s bed.
“What is it this time?” she asks, half exasperated, half fond. The men she’s come across tend to be nice enough, but there’s something about the Lieutenant that keeps drawing her in. As much as she hates people delaying her, it’s not so bad when it’s him. Not when she can see how lonely he is. Not when his face half lights up when she talks to him.
“Could I have some water?” he asks, talking in his usual soft, low tone.
Sybil sighs through her nose and tilts her head at him. “Of course,” she says, filling his glass from the pitcher. “But really, anyone would’ve helped you with that,” she points out. She touches his hand with her own, waiting until he reacts to the touch to take him by the wrist and help him grab the glass.
“Not as well as you,” he counters, taking the glass, but not caring to drink.
Sybil smiles, exasperated. “Lieutenant, I’m glad you’re better, but I can assure you, every nurse here knows her job as well as I do,” she counters.
He shrugs. There’s a small smile on his lips. “Maybe, but none of the rest of them smell as sweet,” he says.
Sybil is not shy, but she is unused to flirtation, so it’s not really a surprise that his words do result in a small blush creep up on her cheeks as she blurts out a small laugh. It makes him smile a bit bigger, clearly proud of himself. “Drink your water,” she tells him, before walking away.
She turns to find Branson watching her from where she had left him. She cringes a bit and walks back to him, to gather the rest of the pile of sheets she left behind and get back to her tasks. “Tell Mama I really am busy,” she tells him, feeling compelled to say anything at all, before turning to the next bed.
She’s not surprised when Branson comes by later, telling her that her mother insists that she comes for dinner. She’s sorting out Courtenay’s pills, her worry for him in the forefront of her mind as her earlier conversation with Isobel keeps playing in her head: she understands that they need the beds for the men that are coming, but that means they’re going to send him away, and she knows he’s not ready. He might call out for her and act more flirtatiously than he should, but she also sees his despair, his fear. He only lets it shows when he doesn’t think anybody's looking, but Sybil looks often, and she sees it.
But that’s not what Branson came to ask her about.
“But what is the point of Mama’s soirees? What are they for?” she asks, exasperated.
“Well, I’m going up for dinner tonight and I’m glad. Is that wrong?” Isobel calls out. Sybil sighs, trying to accept that she’s been defeated. “Thomas, you can cover for Nurse Crawley, can’t you?” she asks, deciding for Sybil before she even has the time to do it herself.
“I can,” Thomas says from behind her. Sybil frowns, still not used to his voice. It feels so odd, to hear a voice that she thought she left in her childhood come back in such a way. She keeps sorting the pills, trying to finish the task before Isobel finishes hers and she’s pulled away.
“So, you’re back then, safe and sound,” she hears Branson say from behind her. She can’t quite make out Thomas’ answer, too busy informing one of the other nurses of what she’s got left to do. Afterwards, she turns to Thomas, “Can you give Lieutenant Courtenay his pills?” she asks, knowing that he’ll be less than pleased that it won’t be her, but maybe he won’t feel so bothered if it’s not one of the other nurses.
“’Course I can. I’d be glad to,” he says, taking the things from her.
“I’ve still got a few things left to do, but not much,” she tells him. “Just ask Nurse Prince, she’ll tell you.”
Thomas nods in recognition and walks away. She can’t help watch him go, watching the way Courtenay reacts to a new presence. “Are you finished?” Branson asks from where he’s come to stand by her side.
“Just let me wash my hands,” she says, walking to the far side of the Infirmary where there’s a small sink. It’s closer to Courtenay’s bed, too.
“Do you know her well?” Courtenay is asking. Sybil turns the water on.
“Who?” Thomas answers.
“You know who.”
Thomas pauses before answering. Sybil frowns, wondering what he’ll say.
“Yes and no. I was a footman at her home, the Abbey, before I joined the Medical Corps. Lady Sybil must have been about… fifteen, when I arrived,” he settles on, almost nailing it. She’s pretty sure she was still fourteen back then.
“Lady Sybil?” Courtenay wonders aloud. Sybil cringes. She hates when people know; it makes them look at her differently. She’s already more inexperienced than most of the nurses at the hospital, and she’s had to work hard to catch up. She doesn’t like the way it makes people look at her when they find out. “She’s very grand, then?”
“No, not in herself,” Thomas refutes quickly. It makes her a bit proud, that someone thinks that. She turns off the water and reaches for some paper.
“Is she as pretty as she sounds?” Courtenay wonders, making her blush even though she knows he’s not trying to woo her this time.
Thomas shrugs. “I suppose so. Quite pretty, yes,” he says as she turns to walk back to the door.
“Don’t worry. I know that’s all over for me now,” she still has time to hear Courtenay say. She falters in her step, and for a moment, she wishes she hadn’t heard anything at all.
It turns out to be a good thing that she goes home for dinner. This way, she’s there when Carson falls ill and is able to help him whilst they wait for Major Clarkson to arrive, even though Carson complains and tries to send her away the whole time.
“It gave me quite a fright,” Matthew admits as they make their away downstairs after Major Clarkson dispenses us.
“He’s been worrying too much,” she says compassionately. From the little she hears when she’s at the house, she knows that Carson’s concern comes from worrying about all the wrong things, but still. It mustn’t be easy for him, and it has clearly left him in quite a state. “How have you been getting on?” she asks, turning her thoughts to Matthew.
“I can’t complain. I’m not saying it’s not hard, but I’ve come back with barely a scratch on me. With all I imagine you have been seeing, I think you’ll agree that I’m getting it easy,” Matthew says, smiling at her.
Sybil smiles back, her heart warm. She’s always liked Matthew, his calm air and grounded words, so different from her father’s theatrics or her sisters’ dramas. “I shouldn’t say this, but of all the men I’ve seen, I’m so glad none of them have been you,” she admits. She remembers, when the war started, crying about how all the men she had ever danced with are now dead. What she hadn’t told anyone, though, was that one of them was someone she treated and saw die just a couple of months ago. It had broken her then, and she had only known him because she spent some hours with him at a ball. She can’t imagine how broken she would feel if it ever is Matthew.
They make their way to the front door to find Granny and Isobel already in the car, taking up all the back space. Lavinia smiles when she notices them and waves Matthew over.
“You two go, and Branson can come back for Matthew and Miss Swire,” Papa is saying.
“No, we’ll walk. We’d like to,” Lavinia says, looking to Matthew to check for his response.
“Right, it’s no trouble,” Matthew agrees promptly, letting Anna help him with his coat and coming to interlace his arm with Lavinia’s. “We’ll see you all tomorrow,” he says, waving goodbye.
Her shift starts early the next day. As it’s become a habit, Daisy is the one to bring her breakfast since it’s too early even for the maids to be up, but Branson is always up and willing to drive her to work. She’s tried insisting that she’ll walk so he can sleep a bit more, but he won’t hear of it.
Surprisingly, Courtenay is in good spirits when she comes by to give him his breakfast, not seeming too bothered by having been looked after by someone else. “Seems like you found someone else to come pour you water,” she teases as she sets the tray in his lap and accepts the cup she gives her.
“I suppose. Corporal Barrow was very nice,” Edward agrees amicably, “but he doesn’t smell as nice as you do.”
She rolls her eyes at him. “Shush,” she says. “Eat your breakfast and I’ll come by in a bit. We’re going to take out your bandages to see if everything is alright,” she warns him.
Edward’s mood immediately turns sour. “Is there such a thing?” he mumbles. At loss for what to do, Sybil smiles compassionately. Remembering he can’t see her, she reaches for him and swipes her thumb across the back of his hand, letting go just as quickly, before anyone sees.
After she’s done her morning round, she comes by to take Courtenay up to one of the private rooms, so Major Clarkson can carry out his examination. Edwards hisses as she takes the bandages away. “Is it hurting?” she asks, stilling her motions.
“No. It just… Feels odd,” Courtenay explains.
“You let me know if it hurts, alright?” she checks in, before carrying on. When she’s done, she looks at his scars and tilts his face in the light, one hand on his chin, and Courtenay sits still and lets her do so. “Everything seems fine. The skin is healing nicely.”
Courtenay nods and reaches up, his fingers carefully touching the area around his eyes. Sybil wonders what it is doing to him, feeling the scared skin. His face stays blank, though, and soon after he puts his hands down.
“I’ll call Major Clarkson now. If everything is alright, we can do your first training today, what do you say?” she says, trying to cheer him up.
But Courtenay only nods, seeming so lost in his own mind, she’s not even sure he’s heard a word she said.
Major Clarkson gives Courtenay an all clear and Sybil watches, with a weird feeling in her chest, as Nurse Tyler goes off to help get him in his uniform. She’s sure he’ll hate her and has to consciously stop herself from going after her and saying she’ll do it herself.
A few hours later, when she makes her way outside to guide Courtenay through his training, Thomas is already there, helping him learn how to properly grab and move the stick.
“Nurse Crawley is approaching,” she hears Thomas inform Courtenay quietly. He immediately looks up, his face somehow moving exactly in her direction.
“I see you’ve gotten a head start,” she says, keeping her voice lighter than she feels. “How are you doing, Lieutenant?”
Courtenay shrugs and says, “Corporal Barrow is being very helpful. And very patient,” he says, somewhat deprecating, completely evading her question. She sees an odd expression overcome Barrow’s face and wonders what that’s about.
“I’m sure you’re a stellar student,” she says, coming to stand by his other side.
“It does feel weird to be up and walking,” Courtenay admits after a few moments of quietness, as he moves his stick from side to side. Sybil doesn’t think he’s trying to sense the area around him, but simply trying to distract himself.
Thomas and her exchange a glance and Sybil takes it upon herself to answer. “I can’t say I understand how it feels, but I’m sure it’s perfectly normal. It’ll stop feeling so weird with time.” Thomas is still looking at her when she glances back at him. “Now, let’s actually do some exercises,” she says.
They have moved to the obstacles and are all focused on what they’re doing, Sybil on one side and Thomas on the other, making sure Courtenay won’t hit the ground should he accidentally fall, when Major Clarkson comes to see them.
“Lieutenant Courtenay, well done. You’re making good progress,” Major Clarkson notes.
“Thanks to my saviors, Sir,” he says, and Sybil pretends not to feel a flutter in her belly at the compliment.
“So, you’ll be pleased to hear that we’re all agreed that it’s time for you to continue your treatment elsewhere.”
Sybil is not that close to Courtenay, but she can still feel his whole spine going rigid.
“What?”
Major Clarkson continues, “At Farley Hall. You’re not ill anymore. All you need is time to adjust to your condition, and the staff at Farley can help with that.”
Courtenay’s hand is closed so tight on his stick that Sybil can almost picture him breaking it. “But Sir, these two are helping me here,” he tries.
But Sybil can see Major Clarkson’s face, and she knows he’ll hear none of it. “Nurse Crawley and Corporal Barrow are not trained in specialist care-”
“Please, don’t send me away. Not yet,” Courtenay pleads, not caring that he’s talking over Major Clarkson.
She’s not expecting to hear Thomas’ voice. “Sir, surely we-” he tries, but promptly falls silent at the look Major Clarkson gives him.
“Lieutenant, you must know that every one of our beds is needed for the injured and the dying from Arras,” he says, so sternly that Courtenay doesn’t dare to try again. The hand grabbing the stick has fallen limp.
Satisfied, Major Clarkson turns to Thomas. “Corporal, I’ll see you in my office.”
Sybil is feeling all sorts of things when she and Thomas are shooed off Major Clarkson’s office, including some mild humiliation. Mostly, though, she feels so angry she might burst. She’s not sure she’s ever felt like that before.
“Son of a bitch,” Thomas says under his breath the moment the door closes. He immediately looks up, remembering that she’s there. “Sorry, Nurse Crawley.”
Sybil laughs dryly. “Don’t be. I understand the sentiment, I’m sharing it right now. I’m sorry if it’s not proper of me to say it,” she adds sardonically.
There’s almost a smile on Thomas’ lips. “I won’t tell,” he says.
Thomas starts walking away, his pace slow and inviting her to follow along. She breaths deep as she walks, trying to get the anger under control, but she can’t shake it. Her heart is beating so fast it almost hurts. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this mad before,” she admits.
Thomas looks at her, then glances behind him, and almost shrugs. “It doesn’t surprise me.”
“How can someone be so heartless?” she wonders.
Thomas looks at her for a few long seconds and Sybil shuffles on her feet, uncomfortable. He finally nods, as if settling on something. “I don’t mean to speak out of turn,” he starts and Sybil opens her mouth to tell him to ignore all that, but he continues before she can. “I’m sure you’ve never had your voice be very challenged, but I feel that you’ll soon learn that, when you’re voice is not the most important one in the room, it’ll happen fairly often, and nobody will care,” Thomas says, his voice low so no one will overhear them . After he speaks, his face shifts, as if he regrets saying anything at all.
“Thank you for saying that,” Sybil says, trying to reassure him as best as she can that she doesn’t mind him speaking, not at all.
Courtenay hasn’t touched any of the food on his tray when Sybil comes to collect it after dinner. He barely even looks up in her direction, and there’s no smile. She’s gotten so used to it over the weeks she’s taken care of him.
“Was the chicken not to your taste?” she tries teasing.
“’m not hungry,” he says, so low she almost doesn’t hear, and immediately sinks down into the bed.
“Do you need anything else?” she asks, holding the tray in her hands. But all Courtenay does is turn to the other side, and as he does so, Sybil feels a sinking feeling in her chest. She doesn’t know why or how, but it’s clear to her in that moment, that something’s not gonna end well.
She goes to find Thomas immediately after, ignoring all the tasks she still has to get done. Thomas is taking his smoking break outside, and she comes to stand next to him, probably closer than it’s proper , making him startle.
“We can’t let Major Clarkson send the Lieutenant away,” she tells him immediately.
T homas looks at her, baffled, and then he turns back into the night and his cigarette. “Good luck with that,” he says dryly.
For a moment, Sybil can see what the maids meant when she sometimes overheard them talking about how nasty Thomas was.
“I mean that. I feel like something really bad is going to happen if we don’t do something,” she tells him, trying to make him understand.
Thomas turns to her with a frown as he lets out smoke. She breaths in some of it and has to keep her cough down. “What do you mean?”
“He’s not himself,” she says. “I know I haven’t known the Lieutenant for long, but something is very wrong,” she says, knowing how silly she sounds. But feeling silly doesn’t make the heavy weight in her chest and the tightness in her heart, go away.
Thomas nods, his expression sobering up. “I understand. But there’s nothing we can do about that. He’s going to have to suck it up and go to Farley Hall.”
But, surely, that can’t be true. There must be something they could do. She’s never met a problem she couldn’t resolve.
As if hearing her thoughts, Thomas says, “You’re voice isn’t the one that counts here,” he reminds her. “M’lady,” he adds with a pointed look. Sybil feels a blush creeping up on her cheeks. Maybe the problem’s her and not Courtenay. Maybe she’s just mad she didn’t get her way and is justifying her feelings on him.
Except- Except, then, Courtenay wouldn’t be acting so odd. It’s the thought of him, the desperate look as he lied in his bed and wouldn’t even answer her, that propels her forward. “If you saw him-” she tries.
At least when Thomas looks at her, he has a sympathetic smile on his face.
“Accept the defeat, Nurse Crawley,” he says. Sybil is sure he’d never talk to her like that if they were back at the Abbey, or even if this had been a normal day, but clearly, they’re both weary and tired from worrying and from fighting.
That’s when it comes to her.
There’s no way Major Clarkson will allow Courtenay to stay, but maybe… Maybe that doesn’t mean he has to go either. Maybe thereis something she can do — something that they can do. After all, she’s also heard of the maids talking about Thomas plotting his evil plans, heard Papa and Carson discuss it behind closed doors.
“I know he can’t stay, but what if he didn’t go?” she asks, feeling a bit breathless as the idea plots itself in her head.
Thomas looks at her skeptically. “What do you mean?”
“Maybe he could just… Disappear,” she says, her heart racing. It sounds outlandish, but maybe they could make it work. “We’ll take him away from the hospital and put him somewhere safe, away from Major Clarkson, but where we could still help him.”
Thomas is looking at her, eyes wide, cigarette forgotten and burning away between his gloves fingers. “Forgive me for saying this, I really mean no disrespect,” he starts, “but you’re mad. Even if we managed to do it, we could lose our jobs for it,” he points out.
“That’s why we won’t get caught,” she dismisses. This is too important to think of such things.
The skeptical look returns to Thomas’ face. “Even if we managed to get him out of the hospital without anyone seeing it, where would we put him?”
Sybil hasn’t had time to consider that yet, but she stops and thinks. It would have to be somewhere close, within walking distance. Somewhere where no one would notice, which means the Abbey is out of the question. No way Courtenay feels ready for that kind of challenge. Somewhere in the village, then. They could go to the Dower House, but Granny would throw a fit the moment she heard of them. That left…
“Crawley House,” she decides. “It’s close by, and it’s safe.”
“Mrs Crawley would rattle us off to Major Clarkson the moment she heard of it. She’s even nuttier about rules than him.” Sybil would never have put it in those terms, but as dear as Cousin Isobel is to her, she can’t help agree.
“But Cousin Matthew wouldn’t, and he happens to be here,” she says. Cousin Matthew is righteous and doesn’t like to do things that don’t seem right, but he’s also one to think outside of the box. And she knows, from personal experience, that his heart is in the right place; after all, he was the one to rescue her from that riot all those years ago, the one who cared first about making sure she was safe and fine and only second about telling her family. He likes rules, too, but he also knows that, sometimes, they can’t be followed.
“He would help?” Thomas checks, one eyebrow slightly lifted.
“I’m absolutely positive he would,” she says confidently.
“This is absolutely mad,” Thomas says again, throwing the butt of his cigarette in the ground and stepping on it to extinguish the tip. “But if you’re absolutely sure of it, then I know how to do it.”
She waits until the nurses from the day shift leave to go to the Lieutenant’s bed. The shift exchange is always a time when everyone is more distracted, with the day nurses catching up the ones that are about to come in and everyone more focused on having their tea than checking the beds.
“Are you leaving too, Nurse Crawley?” Nurse Baker asks. She’s one of Sybil’s favorites: older than her, has been doing the job for longer, but has always answered Sybil’s questions with patience and, at the beginning, after a long day when Sybil saw more than she was ready, she’d always fetch her a cup of tea.
“In a moment, yes,” she agrees, trying to keep her tone light. The adrenaline for what they’re about to do is already rushing through her. “Just need to put some things away.”
“Better go soon so you can still get some sleep. We have a big day tomorrow and it’s going to be all hands on deck,” Nurse Baker reminds her kindly. “I’ll say goodnight.”
“Thank you. Goodnight,” Sybil returns. She watches until she’s left and then she makes her away between the beds, keeping silent because of the soldiers that have already fallen asleep, until she reaches the Lieutenant’s. His shoulders are tight and his breathing fast, clearly not one of the sleeping ones.
“Have you already been to the bathroom, Lieutenant?” she asks, keeping her voice low.
“Don’t need to,” Courtenay murmurs into the pillow.
“I was not asking,” Sybil says, trying for a more forceful tone without raising her voice. “Come with me now,” she says. Courtenay faces blankly in her direction. “Now,” she says again. She’s never been one for such assertiveness, but she can’t deny that she likes how it feels.
Courtenay takes a moment, but then he shifts on the bed and sits up. Sybil reaches for his dressing gown and helps him put it on, then guides his slippers to his feet so he knows where they are. Courtenay takes her arm as he’s done many times before, and Sybil guides him to the door and then she turns right. She guides them to the bathroom at the end of the corridor. It’s not as used as the others given its distance from the i nfirmary, so it was the safest bet. She shifts the light on to find Thomas already inside, his fingers fidgeting on loose thread of his clothes.
“Corporal Barrow is here,” she tells Courtenay softly, keeping her voice low. As expected, Courtenay looks confused. His face turns left and right, lost.
“I’m here,” Thomas says, waiting until Courtenay is turned in his direction. “We have a proposition for you.”
Courtenay keeps on looking confused. “A proposition? What do you mean?”
“I saw you,” Sybil says, and she can’t keep the heartbreak from her voice. “You’re terrified to go, I get that.” For a moment, Courtenay looks embarrassed. “It’s alright, there’s no shame in that,” she reassures him. “I know Major Clarkson is doing what he thinks is right, but he’s not seeing how sending you away would wound you. Maybe not in the physical away, but wound you nonetheless. But we can help you.”
Courtenay’s voice breaks a little when he speaks. “H-how?”
“You disappear,” Thomas says. “Everyone will think you chickened out and you’ll probably get dishonorably discharged or something, but we’ll keep you safe. We’ll try our best, at least,” Thomas promises. “If you want.”
“I don’t care about that,” Edward says. Sybil notices his hand is in a fist on his dressing gown. “Please, don’t make me go to Farley Hall. I can’t bear it. I want to stay with you. Please.”
“Alright,” Thomas says, his voice gentler than Sybil has ever heard it. “Than here’s what we’ll do.”
As Sybil says goodnight to the nurses and walks out, she hopes her expression is not giving anything away. She tries to keep her pace normal, but she starts running the moment she’s out of the hospital’s fence, hoping the darkness of the night will keep anyone from noticing her too closely.
She knocks hard on the front door when she reaches Crawley House. She was ready to see Molesley open it , but by some miracle of God, it is Matthew on the other side .
“Cousin Sybil!” he says, astonished, looking over her shoulder to see if there’s something out there that might explain why she’s breathless on his doorstep. “Are you- Is everyone alright?”
“I need your help,” she blurts out. “Can we talk? Just the two of us, please.”
Matthew nods and ushers her in. He takes her to his study.
“What’s the matter?” he asks, offering her his desk chair and leaning against the desk so they can talk.
“It’s complicated,” she starts. “And I wouldn’t ask you this if it wasn’t absolutely essential, but it was the only thing I could do and you’re the only person I could ask for help.”
“Golly,” Matthew says. “Tell me, then.”
“One of the soldiers at the hospital, Lieutenant Courtenay. He’s been blinded by mustard gas and his wounds have healed, so Major Clarkson wants to send him to Farley Hall. But he doesn’t want to-” She stops. That’s not right. “He can’t go,” she corrects herself. “He’s depressed. He’s not ready for such a journey. He’s not ready to be among strangers. But Major Clarkson doesn’t get that-”
“Sybil,” Matthew says, calm and somewhat patronizing. “I’m sure Major Clarkson knows what he’s doing.”
“You haven’t seen him, Matthew,” she says, desperate. “He’s in panic at the mere thought of going. He’s not ready.” She pauses. “And I can’t shake the feeling that if we do nothing, something terrible will happen. I don’t know what, but I know it will.”
Matthew stares at her, heavy in thought.
She keeps pleading, “I wouldn’t ask for your help if I didn’t absolutely need it, Matthew,” she tells him. “Please. Please.”
Matthew shuts his eyes tightly and nods. “Alright. I’ll trust your judgment. But how can I help you with anything?”
Suddenly, it feels like the weight of the world lifts from her shoulders. “We’re helping him run away from the hospital. He’s aware of what that might mean, and he’s willing to do it,” she explains. “We need a place to stay. The Abbey is too crowded and has too many people, and Granny would never allow it. That leaves… here.”
Matthew nods, thinking. “That’s not a good solution either. Mama will notice, and it’s impossible to keep anything from Molesley. For this to work, Clarkson can’t hear about it.”
Sybil deflates. “We need it to be here,” she says. Hesitantly, she adds, “They’re already on the way.”
Matthew looks at her in disbelief. After a moment of a exasperated look on his face, he sighs. “You Crawley girls are impossible,” he sighs, with something of a smile on his face. He’s not too mad, then. “He can walk, right?” Matthew checks. Sybil nods eagerly. “Then we’ll do this: there’s some cottages, not far from here, that nobody is using. They’re all empty, so no neighbors. I think Robert was planning on recuperating them, but honestly, with all this going on, they’re the last things on anyone’s mind. He can stay in one of them. They’re not in the greatest shape, but some still have a good roof, so it’s livable. It’s not good, but at least-”
Sybil quiets him. “It’s perfect. It’s enough.”
“Alright. Let me go to Mother and Lavinia and tell them I’ll be going out, and I’ll meet you outside,” Matthew says.
Sybil puts the chair in its place as she rises and she can’t help reach for Matthew’s hand as he reaches for the door. They both startle at the unexpected touch. “Thank you,” she says, with as much sincerity and gratefulness as she can.
Matthew shrugs and smiles. “I can’t say I get it, but I trust you,” he says. It feels like the greatest gift anyone has ever given her.
Thomas and Courtenay are waiting in the shadows of Crawley House when she and Matthew come out. Thomas looks relieved at seeing her and whispers something to Courtenay, who visibly relaxes. As she gets closer, she notices that Thomas has a bag on his shoulder and has put Courtenay in his soldier boots and jacket over his pyjamas, making for a rather odd sight.
Matthew nods at Thomas as he approaches, who nods back, and turns towards Courtenay. “Lieutenant Courtenay, I assume. I’m Matthew,” he says, presenting his hand for a hand shake before remembering himself. His fingers curl in the air uselessly before he puts his hand down.
“Captain Crawley,” Courtenay says. “Nurse Crawley told me you’d come. I want to thank you for your help,” Courtenay says. From up close, Sybil can see he’s shivering slightly. She’s sure its more from nerves than from cold.
“I trust Sybil’s judgment,” Matthew repeats. “I know of a place you can stay, where you’ll be safe. But it’s a bit of a walk from here. Are you up for it?”
Courtenay looks absolutely exhausted, somehow worse than he did when he first arrived to the hospital, skin still blistering and burning, but he nods.
They keep to the shadows, at least until they’re out of the village. Sybil starts by walking up front with Matthew, until she realizes Thomas and Courtenay are having trouble walking in the dark, so she goes to take his other arm. Without a word, Matthew slows his pace to help them keep up.
The trees get heavier and the walk gets muddier the further they walk, but Matthew doesn’t hesitate in his stride. Eventually, the trees give way to a few farm houses , each in worst state than the last . Sybil grimaces at the sight until she reminds herself, but they just pass by them and keep walking by the road, turning here and there until they finally reach a row of cottages.
“They were old school cottages,” Matthew explains. There’s a few broken windows, a bit of moss up the walls, and a few caved roofs, but Matthew walks to one of the nicer looking ones. The door is unlocked when he turns the nob.
It’s cold and damp and dark inside, the air heavy with dust. There’s a few forgotten candles by the window sill and Thomas reaches for one of them, lighting it up. In the faint candlelight, Sybil can see some of the furniture that was left behind: a coffee table, a small kitchen table, kitchen cabinets. In the bedroom, there’s a fragile-looking bed with a mattress and a small wardrobe.
“Thank you, Matthew, really,” she says, turning to him.
“I should go now, before Mother starts worrying,” Matthew says with a fond smile. “I’ll try to come by tomorrow if I have the time, just to make sure everything’s alright.”
Sybil smiles, touched by his concern. “Thank you.”
Matthew smiles back and nods in the men’s direction before leaving.
As soon as the door closes, Thomas and Sybil immediately get to work. She finally gets to find out what Thomas has in that bag of his: the rest of Courtenay’s uniform, two sets of clean sheets, a couple towels, some clean pyjamas and underclothes. She and Thomas turn the mattress and slap it a few times to try to get rid of the dust, and then Sybil makes the bed whilst Thomas takes Courtenay around so he has some sense of the space.
“You should go home. Everyone we’ll be wondering where you are,” Thomas says after they’ve put Courtenay in bed.
“What about you?” she asks.
Thomas just shrugs. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to leave him alone here tonight. I’ll stay.”
“Won’t Major Clarkson wonder where you’ve gone?”
“I’ll be back before anyone notices anything,” Thomas assures her.
She makes her way back to the hospital quietly, where she finds Branson waiting for her. He must’ve been waiting for some time, if his worried frown is anything to go by. She makes some excuse and climbs in, letting the rumble of the motorcar soothe her nerves. The rush of the day is starting to settle. Her feet hurt and her head throbs, and for the first time in a long while, she finds herself wanting to cry.
There’s a comforting thought, though: Courtenay is safe where no one can find him. That’s all that really matters.