Strike a match, wait for the flame to blossom over the matchstick. With this small flare a candle can be lit for light. Perhaps a lamp for reading or a stove so that food could be cooked. Electricity had slowly taken over more and more items. Oil lamps have given way to corded lamps, in higher end restaurants the candles on tables had given way to the electric lights. However, the flame still had quite a hold the electric stove had been cannibalized during the Great War and many were reluctant to return to it. Matches and flame were still a comfort to many.
Downton Abbey was becoming an oddity. Many of the large estates were no longer the ideal that people aspired for. The Great War had not only cannibalized the electric stove, the class system was was slowly starving to death. The grand pile of bricks was modernizing, a refrigerator as well as various new kitchen implements...electric.
While the some of the arteries of the building were being replaced with electricity the heart of it remained with the flame. The great fireplace, indeed all of the fireplaces were lit each night. The flicker of orange and red giving warmth and light to those cloistered within. Tonight there had been a party, a dinner party. Isobel had been invited personally by Mary with the suggestion that she come early to play with George. The grandeur of the Abbey still had the ability to move Isobel. She had seen some happy times within its walls as well as some unhappy ones. Since the party was still a good three quarters of an hour away she watched as a footman began relighting a some candles which had gone out. She watched transfixed as match was struck before being placed next to the wick. The moment the wick caught was noticeable for the flame had doubled. The next wick was was relit and soon the polished silver candelabra was back to its full glory.
Lady Edith had found dinner wearisome yet she had plastered on her smile and got through it. All she wanted to do was sleep but now that she was in bed she found sleep elusive. Besides an electric lamp her bedroom had a fire as well. The words of her book swam before her eyes and in a fit of frustration she threw the book against the wall. Hidden away in her nightstand were the letters that Michael had written her. Before Germany, before Switzerland. Aunt Rosamund had taken the other papers, the ones about her daughter for safe keeping. Edith knew every word of the letters Michael had written her she knew every crease of the paper. Why she still kept them she didn't know. Making a decision she got out of bed and retrieved the book she had thrown. Instead of getting back into bed she reached into her nightstand gathering the letters before looking longingly at the fireplace.
Phyllis Baxter was trying to be brave, courage was not her strong suit. She was not going to be a marionette for Thomas Barrow. She had a small diary in which she had logged her "reports" she would no longer be needing it. Her quarters were quite small but she had the luxury of being in a single room and there was a small fireplace.
Flames consumed secrets, flames consumed memories, flames consumed everything. Two women burned their past watching the paper curl and shrink from the heat. They watched as the paper became ash and fell to the bottom of the fireplace. Both knelt before the fire long after the offering had been sacrificed. The fires eventually died down and they went back to bed.
In her room Daisy Mason read by the light of an oil lamp. She prefered the soft glow instead of the harsh glare from an electric light. She had had a letter from Alfred, inviting her to the Ritz. He would cook a meal for her if she came. The date had been set with Mrs. Patmore and she had penned her reply earlier that morning. Tonight she reread his letter along with the letters that William had written her during the War. Instead of fire consuming paper it seemed to be caressing it. Igniting hope and the possibility of many things.
A guest room had been made for Isobel, she had been noticeably tired during dinner. Mary had discretely summoned Mrs. Hughes and asked for a room to be made up for her. The fire in her room had long since burned down, the embers twinkling red in a sea of grey. Isobel Crawley slept.
Matches and flame were also still used in the hospital. The main ward was bracketed with rows of windows. The natural light was pleasing and didn't require the use of oil lamps which could actually be a danger to patients. In the rear of the hospital Dr. Clarkson struck a match to light a small spirit lamp. A sample needed to be heated. It was late and while the nurses were capable of performing the task he wanted to perform it. The sample was negative for the protein he was testing for. He wrote the result down on a notepad before rolling his head on his shoulders to relieve the ache.
A noise began to permeate through the hospital, a warbling roar. Moving to the side exit Dr. Clarkson saw people of the village streaming out in various states of undress. Men in nothing more than trousers and women in nightgowns with coats thrown on over top.
"What is it?" He shouted.
A farmer turned to him, "Fire! Fire at the Abbey!"
Clarkson grabbed his medical bag before yanking his bicycle free. Soon he was pedaling towards the Abbey. The sight that greeted him was almost out a dream. Flames hissed from the east end of the Abbey, even in the dark of the night the black smoke could be seen for it blocked out the stars. Some of the villagers were merely standing around. No doubt the brigade would be here soon. Lord Robert's father had invested in the fire service for Grantham. No silly business with firemarks! A group of people were standing near the Abbey. Clarkson drew close to them. Tom Branson was holding his daughter to his chest. He was clad only in pajama bottoms while Sybbie was bundled in a blanket. Mary and George were bracketed by Edith and Lord Robert and Lady Cora. Lord Robert was shouting, "Are they all out?"
Clarkson let his bicycle clatter to the gravel and went over, "M'Lord?"
"Doctor! Are they all out? Is everyone out?" Robert babbled.
"Let's move everyone to the lawn where I can get a look at all of you and we can start a headcount." Clarkson said authoritatively.
Everyone obeyed him, as Lord Robert moved he was still talking, "Hall boys...maids...Isobel!"
Clarkson's head whipped towards the Abbey, "Isobel, was inside?"
He desperately wanted to go into the building to look for her but he couldn't. More bodies were moving towards the group on the lawn and some were in need of medical attention. Smoke inhalation would probably be the bulk of his patients. They would need supplemental oxygen therapy at the hospital. A footman had a burn on the leg, a pinched yelp caught his attention. As he turned he saw a maid grimacing being supported by Isobel. Instantly he moved towards them. In the mad scramble to evacuate the building the maid had fallen. Glancing at her wrist he knew it was broken, "Colles' fracture." he murmured. The night was cold, many who had fled the abbey did so with blankets draped around their shoulders. Isobel shivered in the night air and without a thought Dr. Clarkson shrugged out of his long white coat and handed it over.
Another voice was calling for him, his eyes met Isobels and she nodded. She directed the maid to sit down and she went about finding something to splint the arm with.
Carson was hunched over a hand on his chest. Fearing a heart attack he had the man sit before listening to his chest. Tom Branson appeared, he had gathered some lanterns from the garage along with some blankets and was distributing them. Sybbie was helping to carry the lanterns, mindful to stay next to her father's side. The brigade had arrived and was beginning to pump water onto the fire. How long it would take no one knew. How much the Abbey had burned no one knew. Mrs. Hughes performed the headcount twice making sure no one was missed and no one was. Everyone who was inside Downton Abbey had made it out. The patients with smoke inhalation were taken to the hospital as as everyone else. There were enough beds for everyone to sleep. While Isobel could have gone to Crawley House she decided to stay at the hospital. She was able to help tend burns and administer sedatives to those who needed them. Charles Carson was one such patient, seeing the Abbey in flames had nearly destroyed him.
Isobel blended in with the staff, most ignored the fact that she was clad only in a slip and Dr. Clarkson's white coat. A little after three in the morning the ward was quiet. Most were sleeping and the smoke inhalation patients were responding well to treatment. Dr. Clarkson retreated to his office, he raised his arms above his head in attempt to stretch out his muscles. It had been a long day, which he thought would end being hunched over a urine sample! He laughed at the thought before his arms came down.
A door opened behind him and he turned to see Isobel, his coat clutched tightly about her. The moments they had spent together over the past months had been sporadic. Ever since her trip to London he hadn't been pestering her to work at the hospital. He wanted her to enjoy her life as much as she could even with Matthew gone. However, seeing her now like this he realized how much he missed her. In the fraction of a second it took for the emotion to cross his face Isobel saw it.
"Are you alright?" He asked wanting to get her attention off of him.
Isobel scoffed, "Everything is a bit surreal."
Richard regarded her and saw she had soot on her forehead and along one cheek. Turning he moved to his washing basin and filled it before retrieving a clean towel. He called for her and she came to his side where his right hand gently cupped her chin and he tenderly began washing her face. Their faces were mere inches apart and she fought the urge to squirm under his gaze. His touch was soft as he gently used the towel to remove the offending dirt.
Isobel hummed quietly, it had been a long time since she had been cared for. It was so soothing that she found her eyes closing. This fact was not lost on Richard and instead of leading her to the main ward where everyone else was sleeping he led her to his own cot. He used his left hand to swipe down the blankets while his right hand liberated her from his white coat. Once she was supine he covered her with the blankets. He left the door to his office open and sat down at his desk. His electric lamp was off, he could have switched it to review the charts but he didn't. He didn't want illumination from fire or electricity just yet.