Sybbie of the Abbey: a fan fiction of Downton Abbey

The Search

Relieved after his baby had recovered; Branson slept soundly that whole night and well into the day. Both he and Lucy didn't get up until near lunchtime.

Branson did go upstairs to try and find Sybbie, but she wasn't about.

He soon became restless; uneasy about how he had acted the night before, so, in the late-afternoon, he asked the cook if she would like some rabbits for that evening.

She fairly leapt upon the idea, and the Irishman said he would get her some for the servants as well, if he was able; knowing that she was partial to a tender young rabbit.

He set off after teatime; going deep into the grounds and reveling in the cool, fresh air after having been cooped up in a stuffy room for so long.

He strolled along at a leisurely pace for several unlucky hours, his gun resting naturally in the crook of his arm.

He tried to concentrate upon the task at hand; but his conscience was gnawing away at him. He mentally berated himself for speaking the way he had done to his daughter, and at last resolved that he would go up and apologise to her that night.

The sun was hanging low on the horizon, and he had begun to despair of ever finding game, when, all of a sudden, a flash of grey caught his eye from about fifty yards off.

He deftly snapped his gun into place and took aim; firing at his target.

All these actions took less than three seconds, and he grunted in satisfaction as he perceived that he had hit his mark.

He picked up the rabbit by its back feet and put in his bag; glad to see how plump it was.

"Must have been feedin' by the river," he mused as he broke his gun and reloaded it; continuing on his way, "there'll be more close by."

When he had at last felled two more rabbits, both quite large; he made his way back to the Abbey.

He was walking across the lawn, when his wife came hurrying out to meet him.

He beamed at her; then his smile faded and his brow contracted as he saw the distressed look on her face.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

She looked up at him, tears beginning to stand out in her hazel eyes.

"Oh Tom! It's Sybbie! She's gone! We can't find her anywhere!"

The cold weight of fear dropped into the pit of Branson's stomach.

"What!" He exclaimed, "are you certain?"

"Yes, we've searched everywhere! Nanny said that Sybbie was tired so she let her rest in her room. That was several hours ago!" She paused for a moment, biting her lip. "I-I think," she resumed, "I think she may have run away."

His eyes widened in horror and a lump of panic rose in his throat.

"This is all my fault!" He cried, his face pale, "I spoke harshly to her! She was hurt and I never set it right!"

Lucy touched his arm consolingly.

"It wasn't your fault; you were tired..."

He cut her off; shaking his head.

"No, it was. We need t' fiond her."

"Tom, we've called the police."

He drew in his breath sharply; then nodded rather dazedly.