She looked out of her bedroom window when she heard the knock on the door, wondering who it could possibly at this time of night. She only seemed to be able to sleep very lightly at the moment and the sound was clearly audible. In the light of the door being opened by Ethel downstairs she saw, to her surprise and to her delight that it was Dr. Clarkson. Quickly, remembering suddenly everything that was happening that night, she crossed to the chair where she left her dressing gown and put it on, hurrying out of her bedroom and down the corridor towards the stairs; a faint light from the hall below her only source of light. She didn't mind, she was able to find her way without any problems, and any caution that she naturally possess was discarded by how much she wanted to see Richard, how much she wanted new of Sybil and her baby.
"Richard, Richard," she called, making her way down the last of the stairs, to the hall which was lit by the oil lamp Ethel was carrying, "What's been happening? Is it a little boy or a little girl?"
Both of them had had their backs turned to her, about to go through into the sitting room, but at the sound of her footsteps, to different degrees, they had both made to turn around. Richard largely kept his back to her, but Ethel turned to face Isobel; the light of the lamp falling on her face.
Something wasn't right, Isobel could tell that straight away from what little she could make out of Ethel's expression.
"What is it?" she asked, "What's wrong?"
By now, Richard had turned around to face her. His posture was slumped, dejected and exhausted. His head was only half-raised, and, though Isobel could scarcely believe what she was seeing for a moment, there were tears on his cheeks.
"Richard?" she whispered, tentatively.
There was no reply, except a hearty sniff. For a moment Isobel had absolutely no idea what she could do, she felt utterly helpless- seeing him like this and not knowing why.
She was sure it must have shown in her face. Ethel's eyes flitted awkwardly between the pair of them; standing a respectable distance apart, but only just.
"I'll leave you, ma'am, if that's alright," she announced nervously, "Unless you want anything?"
"No, Ethel, my dear, I don't think we will. I think you'd better go to bed," Isobel told her gratefully.
"I'll leave you the lamp."
"Will you be able to find your way?"
"Yes, thank you, ma'am."
She waited until the sound of Ethel's footsteps had faded before she spoke. By that time, Richard had wiped his eyes and blown his nose on his handkerchief. So taken aback was she by the whole situation, first of him being here, and then finding that he was crying, that it did not occur to her to suggest that they go through into the sitting room together now.
"What is it, Richard?" she asked, "Please tell me."
For the first time, he looked her directly in the face, his eyes still shining.
"Mrs Branson, Lady Sybil. She's dead."
The lantern almost slipped from Isobel's hand. She covered her gaping mouth with her other hand, unable to believe it. She almost fell back a few steps, sinking clumsily to sit at the foot of the stairs.
"What? How?" she asked, stupidly, re-discovering her voice, then, "What about the baby?"
"The baby is alright," he told her, crossing to sit beside her, "She had a little girl."
"Oh," she could not think of anything else to say. She could not even cry. The shock was too deep.
"It was eclampsia," he told her.
"Really?" she asked, surprised, "But surely... there are signs, aren't there?"
"I saw them," he told her, "I'm sure we both, Tapsell and I, saw them. But he ignored them, he insisted that everything was alright. They wouldn't... only Lady Grantham would listen to me."
"Oh, God, Richard," she whispered, drawing her arm around his quivering shoulder.
It seemed to be the last straw for him, and he dissolved into tears.
"Oh God, I'm sorry, Isobel," he sobbed into her collarbone, "I tried to save her. I tried everything to make them see but they wouldn't let me, they would hardly let me near her. I thought of her as a little girl and I fought, I thought of you fighting for whatever you think is right, but it was hopeless."
She was crying now too, though more quietly than him. Her tears slid down her face and into his hair.
"I don't blame you," she told him, "It wasn't your fault, Richard. You tried."
It was a long time before his frame stopped shaking, before his body was no longer racked with sobs.
"I had to tell you myself," he told her finally, more quietly, "I don't know why. Matthew wanted to telephone you, but somehow it felt like you should be told in person. And he had to stay with Mary."
"Of course," she nodded, "Of course, and it's only right that he should have done. I'm glad you came to me."
They stayed there at the foot of the stairs, half-holding each other; still somehow feeling too close for it to be awkward, though they really should have been.
"Do you want to stay here?" she asked him, finally, "I don't like the thought of you having to go home by yourself now. And I don't want to be alone."
"Thank you," he replied, his frame noticeably relaxing, "I don't think I want to go home by myself either. Not tonight. If I could trouble you for a blanket, I'll sleep on the settee."
"No, you won't, you'll have my bed."
"Where will you sleep?"
She looked up at him guiltily. The implications of what she was about to say ran through her head, and she discarded them. Then she said again, as clearly as she could, her cheeks colouring in the warm light of the oil lamp:
"I don't want to be alone."
"Oh, Isobel."
His hand raised gently up to her face, cupping her cheek as he gently kissed the other side of her face. Their heads lingered together, inhaling the scent of each other. His arms drifted around her body, holding her tightly. The feelings that ran through both of them, between both of them had transmuted- they had been full of need, then shock and comfort and now, suddenly, they were feeling unquestionably romantic. But he had to know what she was asking of him.
"Isobel," he whispered, "At the moment, there's no one I'd rather be with than you. I think if I had to leave you now I should very much want to fall deeply asleep and never wake up. Upon closer examination, I think you might find that the way I've acted tonight, the way all I could think of was finding you, and telling you and holding you, it may well mean that I love you. But when you ask me to share your bed with you what do you want from me now, at the moment? Just tell me," She was quiet for a moment. "I don't want you to feel like I'm taking advantage of you," he told her, "You're in shock."
Her eyes were closed, in exhaustion and in an effort not to allow more tears to fall at his words.
"Richard, just hold me," she told him, "Come to my bed and hold me."
So he did just that; offering her his hand so that she could lead him up the stairs, the lamp trembling a little in her hand.
He shed his coat, his jacket and waistcoat, his shoes and his bow tie, before getting into the side of the bed that had not been slept in. She let her dressing gown fall to the ground, before slipping back under the sheets with him.
His arms reached out so very easily and encircled her, holding her close to his chest. In their sadness, they were both breathing heavily.
"That poor girl," Isobel whispered, "Poor Sybil. She was twenty four. I can hardly think of it. It's so wrong, she was so... young. And so good."
"I know," he replied, kissing her forehead, "I know."
"You're not to blame, Richard," she repeated, "I wasn't your fault."
"That poor wee baby," he continued to himself, "Without a mother."
Her hands rested flat against his chest, her head tucked in such a way as she could plant a chaste kiss on his neck.
"Richard, I love you," she told him, "I don't even have to examine my feelings to tell you that, I know I do. I've known for a long time now. You are the very best of men. And you aren't to blame."
He looked down at her, in that instant all of the sadness he felt turning into raw love for the woman he held in his arms and who held him so bravely in return.
"I love you too," he told her, "You're so strong Isobel, you're so brave."
"I'm not," she replied, "I just feel a lot braver when you're here."
"From now on, I'll always be here," he told her, "I promise you, I'll always be here from now on."
She kissed him again.
"Goodnight, sweetheart."
They sank back into one another's hold, and began to drift uneasily to sleep.
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