✔️ shadows of desire | downton abbey

chapter 9

1913

The courtyard thrummed with tension, the air thick with the mingled scents of damp earth, sweat, and the acrid smoke of hastily rolled cigarettes. The wooden stage, a makeshift platform for democracy, creaked ominously under the weight of expectation. Voices echoed off the stone walls, a cacophony of hope and anger.

"Milady, I don't think it's safe to be here," I said, my voice barely audible over the din.

Lady Sybil stood beside me, her eyes bright with determination. "You can go to Branson if you want. I want to be here. I will be fine."

I sighed, knowing her well enough to understand there was no dissuading her. "I'm afraid that's not possible, milady. I can't leave you here all by yourself."

We stepped further into the courtyard, the crowd pressing in around us. Branson hurried over, his face a mask of concern. The speaker from the last election mounted the podium, his voice booming as he announced the results.

"The Honourable Joseph Gerald Antsy for the Conservative and Unionist Party: 6,363 votes."

A woman's voice pierced the air, "Vote for women! Vote for women!"

"Martin James Dillon, for the Socialist Party: 2,741 votes," the speaker continued, his words swallowed by the rising tide of noise.

Branson's anxiety was palpable. "Can we call it a day, milady?" he asked, his voice trembling.

"Don't be silly. This is the moment we've come for," Lady Sybil replied, her enthusiasm unwavering.

The crowd grew more restless, the air charged with a volatile energy. "Trevor Andrew Morgan, the Liberal Party..." the speaker's voice wavered, barely audible over the growing din.

Branson leaned in, his voice urgent. "This lot aren't interested in politics. They're spoiling for a fight."

But Lady Sybil remained resolute. "I want to stay."

"...5,894 votes! I hereby declare that the Honourable is duly elected to serve as Member of Parliament," the announcer proclaimed, his voice struggling against the roar.

"Sybil!" Mr. Crawley's voice cut through the chaos, filled with worry.

"...for the Ripon constituency," the announcer finished, but his words were lost.

Mr. Crawley pushed his way through the crowd, his face a mix of frustration and relief. "What on earth are you doing here?"

Lady Sybil sighed, her resolve unbroken. "I couldn't miss this."

"Couldn't you? I could," Mr. Crawley replied, exasperation evident.

Branson's anxiety was a palpable force. "I don't like the look of this, milady."

Then, a man's hat was knocked off, the tension snapping into violence. I instinctively pushed Lady Sybil behind me, my heart pounding in my chest.

"Look, look, I'm on your side. Don't cause any trouble; you have to believe me," Branson pleaded as he was shoved aside.

The aggressor turned his attention to Mr. Crawley. "What's your problem, Mr La-di-da?"

"My problem is you," Mr. Crawley retorted, his voice steady.

The man lunged, but Mr. Crawley was faster, his fist connecting with the man's jaw. Another man advanced on us, fury in his eyes. I braced myself, pushing Lady Sybil aside as he swung at me. His fist missed, but the momentum sent me crashing into a low table.

The impact was immediate and brutal, pain exploding in my skull as my head struck the ground. The world spun wildly, the sounds of the courtyard fading into a dull roar. The last thing I saw was Lady Sybil's terrified face before darkness claimed me, the pain receding into a cold numbness. At that moment, I wondered if this was the end.