Enough of a reason
Isobel rose from her chair, smoothing down the fabric of her skirt as she waited for the housekeeper to show in her guest. It was late on a rainy afternoon and she had been catching up on correspondence when there had been a knock at the door. She had been surprised, although not unpleasantly so, when Ethel had announced that the doctor had come calling, which had quickly turned to nervousness as she heard his familiar footsteps making their way down the hallway. It was always like that when she saw him again for the first time after time apart, although it had only been a few weeks on this occasion, she still wondered if the feelings she had harboured over the years would subside or grow stronger during his absence from her life.
"Good afternoon, Dr Clarkson," Isobel said with a smile as he stepped through the door, his suit slightly damp from the rain. "This is a surprise."
"Good afternoon, Mrs Crawley. I'm sorry for calling on you at home but we never seem to get a chance to talk at the hospital." He had put off coming to see her for a week, reluctant he supposed to see her reaction to his news although he wasn't entirely sure whether he would be happier to see her saddened or troubled if she didn't care at all. Either way he needed to tell her and start thinking about what he was going to do next. He hovered in the doorway, allowing himself a moment to surreptitiously study her. She was, he mused, as always impeccably dressed, her hair perfectly styled, her hands nervously moving through the air even when her lips were barely moving, her smile beautiful. Even in his dreams this was how he imagined her, always smiling, because he hated to see her sad.
"Please, come in, and take a seat." She indicated the chair beside the fire. "You should dry off in no time at all. I'm sorry that we haven't had the chance to talk. Maybe if I had known it was important . . ." she trailed off, not really sure if it would have made a difference. At a time in her life when she should have been slowing down she seemed to be more involved than ever. The hospital, she had to admit, had taken a back seat as she spent more time in York, and now she was concentrating on helping Ethel adjust. As much as she missed working side by side with him, after the war things had never really returned to normal, and he no longer seemed to need her and it had been harder to justify being there just to be near him. "Ethel has gone to fetch us some tea and we have as long as you need."
Hesitantly he settled himself on the edge of the small armchair as she settled herself on the settee. "I'm not keeping you from dinner at the Abbey?"
Isobel shook her head a little wistfully. "Not tonight." There were times she missed the big family dinners and lively discussion, although recently there was a constant air of sadness around the table, but still dinner on a tray in her study held little appeal. "Please. You said there was something you needed to discuss."
"It really isn't that important but as Chairman of the hospital I thought it only proper that I told you in person." His voice sounded cold and clinical even to his own ears and he wondered if he had lost the ability to be anything but a doctor. He forced a smile as he confided, "I have to my chagrin written a short note to the Dowager Countess."
"I often find dropping a note to cousin Violet immensely more rewarding than a visit," Isobel admitted with a grin, knowing that he would appreciate the comment for what it was, a subtle encouragement. "So this is hospital business?"
He nodded, clasping his hands firmly together and resting them on his knees. "Although now that I am here I find myself struggling with the decision."
She furrowed her brow, suddenly concerned for him, leaning forward in the hope of imparting some comfort. "Well why don't you tell me what is on your mind and maybe we can discuss it and I can be of some help."
Richard took a deep breath, wishing it could be that easy. Once he told her, once she had interrogated him about the why, she could quite easily change his mind and that was what frightened him. He had already tossed aside his principles, and now she could easily make him completely disregard his scruples. "After almost twenty five years," he began, his eyes focusing on anything but her face.
The words hit her with such a force that she momentarily forgot to breath, a heaviness pressing down on her chest as the rest of the sentence formed unwillingly in her head. Instantly she knew what was coming, and what had been up until that point a pleasant Thursday afternoon was now tinged with sadness.
". . . here at Downton, at the hospital, I have decided that it is time I retire." His face lifted and he met her eyes, trying to read something in the dark chocolate pools. He hoped that he would see pain reflected back at him, some indication that his departure would sadden her but whatever he saw fleetingly was quickly masked.
"You want to leave the hospital?" she asked, the surprise in her tone masking the extent of the horror she felt. "I can't say I ever imagined you retiring." She rarely thought about getting old, had little time for worrying about what she couldn't change, but she supposed his presence had always been something she took for granted.
"In truth nor did I, Mrs Crawley, but it's time to face up to the reality. There are younger, more progressive doctors who would, I imagine, bring much more to the hospital than I ever could."
"I wouldn't use that argument when you inform cousin Robert. Progressive is not a word he likes to hear. That and reform, and change, and frankly anything that would mean usurping the status quo," she laughed. "And I'm not sure anyone could bring more to the patients than you have," she added sincerely, worried that she was dismissing his thoughts as easily as the family disregarded hers. He was well liked in the village and she knew from her own experience that there were many who were alive because of him.
He blushed slightly. "Unfortunately that's not true, but I thank you all the same for saying it."
Isobel fell silent, suddenly aware of the significance of his words. "I don't mean to pry but may I ask what are your plans? When would you be looking to leave?"
In truth he hadn't really thought that far ahead. The decision had been hard enough to make but he hoped he had time to figure out what exactly came next. "I will of course stay as long as I am needed, until a suitable replacement is found." He shifted in his chair, fully aware that she was completely focused on him, her eyes practically boring a path to his soul, her hands fidgeting in her lap as they frequently did when she wanted to say something but thought better of it.
That, Isobel mused, would not be long enough. It would take a month, probably two at most to hire another doctor and while the board could procrastinate, that would only buy her a little time. There were often weeks when they would go without seeing each other, but she knew that he was near by, that she could at any time call on him. His leaving would in effect bring a finality to something which had never really started in the first place and she wasn't sure if that was a good thing. "The board will appreciate that."
"As for what I'm going to do? I really don't know," Richard sighed happily. "Which should I suppose worry me considerably but leaves me filled with nervous anticipation."
Ethel knocked on the door and appeared with a tea tray, bobbing briefly as she placed the tray on the low table between them.
"Thank you, Ethel."
"Would you like me to pour, ma'am?" she asked, trying but not quite managing to blend into the background.
"I think we can manage just this once," Isobel said with a reassuring smile. "I'm sure you have other things that require your attention." Once the maid had left she began to pour the brown murky liquid into two cups. "I apologise for the tea. We're still working on perfecting it. If you don't mind me saying this does seem somewhat of a sudden decision."
Richard glanced down at the carpet, suddenly fascinated by the soft swirls in fabric. It may seem like a sudden decision but something he had considered on and off for years. Recent events had persuaded him it was now or never. She, he had decided in a moment of weakness, could convince him to make it never.
"Doctor Clarkson? Richard?" she asked softly, drifting into a familiarity that they had almost shared over the years. "Please, you can tell me anything. The board does not have to know of your reasoning but I, as someone who has worked with you, as hopefully someone you count as a friend, would like to know what has prompted this now."
"I'm glad you consider me a friend," he said interrupting her flow, relieved that she didn't appear angry merely concerned.
"I do, very much." She stirred the pot as she tried to work out what it was that was bothering him. "I know you love your work and I know how committed you are to our little hospital. So it isn't that you are bored. Clearly something happened . . . Please tell me this isn't because of Sybil?" Isobel pleaded, realisation suddenly dawning, the spoon clattering onto the tray.
He continued to stare at the floor, avoiding her scrutiny as he felt the first wave of grief. Sybil had been a baby when he had arrived in Downton and he had watched her grow into a bright, spirited young woman, not unlike the woman sat opposite him. His inability to argue his ground, to persuade others that he was right had frustrated him, but it was nothing compared to the sadness he had felt when he had watched her die. The tears had fallen later while he was alone, work a sustaining force while he dealt with the myriad of emotions. He nodded. "Her death does have a bearing on my decision."
"But it wasn't your fault? My understanding is that there was nothing you could do." She wanted to reach over the table and clasp his hands, to remove his guilt, and the defeat that was evident in his posture. "Something tragic happened to a beautiful young woman. You couldn't have anticipated eclampsia and when the symptoms started to present themselves you spoke up for her. No one was to blame. My cousins I'm sure do not hold you responsible."
"That may be the case but I feel it's time to move on." How could he continue to work for a man that could so easily disregard his opinion, for a family that would always associate him with the death of their child.
"You won't be staying in the village!" It came out as more than a statement than a question and she couldn't help the way she let out a high pitched squeak. She was starting to adjust to the idea of him no longer being the village doctor, to the end of their working together but if he was to leave . . . The thought wasn't something she could dwell on.
"That is one thing I am certain of, yes," he admitted, although that particular decision had nothing to do with the young woman's death or the emotional blackmail that followed. "I may stay in Yorkshire, but I'm not entirely certain that would be for the best."
The best for who, she wondered, as he continued to stare at the floor. "Sugar?" She asked, concentrating on making tea rather than the sudden wave of nausea she was experiencing.
"No, thank you."
She slid a saucer towards him. "Please don't let that poor girls death rush you into making life altering decisions. She wouldn't have wanted you to give up because of what happened. I know Robert was hard on you but I know he respects you as a doctor. It's just when it's your child. . ."
"Do you know what I do of an evening?" He asked, raising his head abruptly.
Isobel cocked her head on one side and considered her answer. She knew he sometimes dined at the house, and she often wondered what he did on those other evenings, maybe worked late, maybe he had a girlfriend, maybe that was why he was leaving, but she had never really asked. Of course she wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer. "I assumed that there was a woman, that you were courting discretely." How she managed to keep her tone light she wasn't sure.
"If only," he sighed, catching himself before he focused on her a little too intently. There hadn't been a woman in a long time. In truth he didn't want a woman, well not just any woman and the only woman he could imagine spending the rest of his days with was a class above him and probably wouldn't entertain the idea anyhow. "Excuse me. I am, I'm afraid, a little bit too committed to my work. My evenings are frequently spent the same way as my days, at the hospital. There is, I'm sorry to disappoint you, no woman."
It didn't disappoint her in the least, in fact it came as a huge relief, not that it mattered as he was moving away and their relationship had never quite ventured into that ground. "Maybe, instead of retiring you could work less, maybe take up some sport, learn to relax? I'm sure the board could be persuaded to hire someone to cover your days off."
"Anyone would think you didn't want me to leave, Mrs Crawley," Richard commented, a small smile teasing at his lips, hope fluttering in the pit of his stomach.
"I don't," she replied, her own tone flat, revealing little of the conviction behind those words.
Richard swallowed hard, lifting his head to finally look at her properly. "I . . ." he faltered, not really sure what he was going to say.
Isobel bit her lip. "Maybe you could take some time to consider it further. Give it a few weeks and you may change your mind."
"Allow you a few weeks to change my mind, more like," he retorted, giving her a weak smile. In truth his conviction was already starting to wane at her words.
"If I can change your mind that quickly and that easily then maybe you aren't so sure of your decision yourself," she challenged, her eyes crinkling in amusement at his sudden guilty expression "Although I may be willing to have you over for dinner, for afternoon tea and lively debate as often as it takes."
"Isobel?" In the fading light of the afternoon their relationship had changed, and he briefly wondered if had always been like this and they had been to blind to notice, or whether his decision was forcing them both to re-evaluate.
"I really don't want you to leave," she said, leaving him under no allusions as to her feelings on the subject. Slowly she sipped her tea, watching him over the top of her cup.
Richard lifted the cup to his lips then changed his mind. "Would it be impolite of me to suggest then that I join you for dinner this evening, give us an opportunity to discuss it further?" he asked with a confidence he didn't feel.
"I was about to invite you myself." She rose to her feet and began to make her way towards the door. "I'll just let Ethel know to set an extra place at the table." Gently she rested a hand on his shoulder, "I don't know what has transpired, who has made you feel unworthy, what has been said to make you feel your services are no longer exceptional but you should know that you are valued, that I value you."
His fingers lightly covered hers. "Thank you."
"You should also know that if you decide you must leave that it's entirely possible that I may call on you and correspond with you at every available opportunity," she stated, the words said with certainty, her hand still resting on his shoulder, his fingers lightly massaging her knuckles.
"And you and your letters would be most welcome," he said, turning his head to look up at her, knowing as he did so that there would be no letters, that he couldn't bring himself to leave Downton if what he saw in her eyes was really true.
She nodded, a thin smile forming on her lips. "Of course I haven't given up on convincing you that your future lies here with . . . In Downton." She had been about to say with me which with forethought was completely inappropriate.
"And I look forward to your arguments."
"You never have before," she retorted, finally and reluctantly slipping her hand from his. "But maybe there is a first time for everything."
His fingers lingered on his shoulder, lightly brushing the fabric where her hand had been. He felt the absence as keenly as if it had been there forever. A smile formed on his lips, the grin widening as he considered her parting words. A first time for everything. He could hope. There would undoubtedly be lively discussion, she would knock his points down like dominos and he would probably end up staying in some capacity but he had hope of something more. That was enough of a reason to stay.