- No copyright infringement intended, the characters belong only to Julian Fellowes, so seems to be very good in slowly killing all of our hopes. Thank you, Julian. -

- For Eugenia, The Woman Who Waited, and our embarrassing conversations about Certain People, the result of a long conversation on FB - Oh, my gooooooosh! -

"Gone. What does it mean, gone?"

"It means exactly what it means, Mrs Crawley," answered shortly the Dowager Countess, shooting the other woman a sharp glance, "Gone. He left. He abandoned this part of the country."

"But why?"

"Familiar business, it seems," the Dowager looked down at the small letter in her lap, a very kind and gentle courteous letter indeed, "At least it's what he wrote to me, and what he told me the day before he left."

"You talked to him?"

"Didn't you?" this time, the Dowager really seemed surprised, "I thought you were the first one to be informed about it."

"No, I... I..." she trailed off, wondering if she had missed some signals from him in the past weeks, "No, I didn't talk to him. Nor he did inform me about his idea of leaving Downton and the hospital."

"Well," the sharp tone was back in the Dowager's voice, "He was here some days ago. He told me he had already found a substitute for the hospital and that he needed to leave for some times, but had no idea about how much time. Things to arrange with his family, I suppose, since he said something about family business."

"Oh, yes..." she nodded weakly, distracted, turning and turning again the small envelope that he had sent her. Just few lines, telling her he needed to go away. Nothing more, just some cold informations. The letter to the Dowager was surely richer of details, and somehow it hurt her. She believed he could trust in her, that he actually trusted in her, but probably she was wrong. And now he was gone... without telling her. Not even a good-bye.

"Mrs Crawley?"

The voice of the Dowager claimed back her attention and she looked up at her, without truly seeing the older woman. Where things had gone so wrong between the two of them? She couldn't really understand it.

"Yes, sorry, I..." she imposed herself to regain some control on her behaviour, the last thing she needed now was the Dowager doing irony about her strange reaction at the news, "Thank you, Cousin Violet. Now I... I must go back to the hospital. To arrange things in order to properly greet the new doctor," she somehow managed a polite and quite bright smile to the Dowager, who just seemed not to believe a word about it, at least looking at the sceptical expression of pure doubt on her face.

"Very well, then. Good-bye, Mrs Crawley. Of course let me know when we'll have this small party for the new doctor. And... if you need anything else." the Dowager added with a small, compassionate smile, trying to break, at least for some second, the icy barrier between them.

"Yes..."

"Will you organise it? It can keep you busy. You're the Chairman of the Board, after all."

"Of course," she nodded again, feeling numb. Maybe having something else to think about will help her to ignore the sudden pain in her chest; now she must not only ignore the pain for what had happened months before, but also for this news, "I think the new doctor will arrive in one or two days. What about this week-end, after the function?"

"Three days to organise everything?" she didn't miss the sharp, short tone was back in the Dowager's voice, but ignored it, "It's up to you, Mrs Crawley."

She gently declined the car to go back home, insisting she would like to take a stroll to Crawley House. She needed to think, to think a lot about was had happened in the past months, to ignore, for a short time, the arrival of a new doctor, and everything, everything else.

How on earth had they managed to lost their doctor? How on earth she hadn't understood something was wrong?

A small voice inside her told her that she was mourning. And, for Heaven's sake, not even her was that good in doing a lot of things at the same time! And yet, she should had understood something was wrong. He was always there, visiting her every two or three days, worrying about her, making sure she was as much as fine as possible. He came for tea and talked to her, and sometimes she went to the hospital to help him, how she has missed his discomfort?

Another small voice remembered her that she had barely heeded him in the past months. Yes, he was there, but she never gave much attention to him. She had heard him, but never actually listened. She had politely smiled at him and answered his questions, but never cared about his presence there. He was something she gave for granted in her life, a support in her grief, a friend. And now, he was gone, maybe for good.

The months after Matthew's death had been a living hell, but somehow she knew he was always there. He was present at the funeral, in the back rows, but he was there, and he had come to extend his condolence to all the family, but, she knew, specially to her.

He was present at the christening of baby George Matthew Crawley, whose smile was the spitting copy of his deceased father's one, and again he came to her, this time to congratulate for her beautiful grandson.

And he was always at the hospital, working and managing things to cover the gap of her absence; and he was twice or trice a week at her home, merely talking to her for half an hour, an hour, sometimes more, a polite distance between the two of them, Molesley always somewhere near.

He had been, she realised, something like a guardian angel. If she turned, she remembered now with painful clarity, he had always been there, at the back of her eyes, ready to catch her if she fell. But she never fall, and he never had to catch her, and now he was gone. Gone with what, she understood suddenly, had been the best part of her days since Matthew's death, apart for her frequent visits to baby George.

Something caught in her throat and she felt again the blinding darkness in the back of her mind trying to engulf her. He had gone, he had left her alone. She was alone, her only company gone, and she realised just at the moment how much she had cherished his presence, and how cold she must had seemed to him. He, with his warm yet compassionate smiles, he, and his small bouquets of flowers which she always and promptly forgot on the table in the hall, he and his kind words... gone, all gone, without a word.

Her eyes fall on the envelope still in her hands and she noticed her sight was quite blurred; she wasn't able to read the few words on the paper.

Wiping angrily her eyes, with the same force she opened the small envelope, sticking out the short letter, reading it again.

Mrs Crawley, it began, I'm writing to you to inform you I'm leaving. I've already informed the hospital in Ripon, so do not worry about that; a new doctor will arrive in a few days. Then, somehow, it became a little more personal, and it hurt her, I hope for you the best in this world, for there's still some good here for you. Sincerely yours, Dr. R. Clarkson.

She read it twice again. She had received it that very morning, a bolt from the blue in her life. She was stupefied, hurt, angry with that man, and felt incredibly lonely. She was right, the letter for the Dowager was longer and more complete, and he even went to talk to here... he must had left two days before, she mused, her thoughts following no rational paths, for having her receiving the letter this morning, he must had sent it the very same day he left Downton. He must had posted it at the train station. The pain in her chest returned as strong as before.

It wasn't a mere communication about his momentary absence.

It was a farewell.

Sitting alone in her small study, everything seemed darker than before. Glancing out of the window, every flowers remembered her of his bouquets, small and disorderly as they were. She would gave up everything she had in that room only to received one of that bouquets right now, she thought.

With an irritated sigh, Isobel pushed away the thought, bringing her attention back to the list of tasks she had to accomplish in order to greet the new doctor. He would arrived tomorrow - too soon, too soon, as the phone call for Ripon hospital has informed her some hours before, and in a few days they will held that stupid party. Groaning, she drop the pen on the papers, staining them with dark ink, and looked again out of the window. How was she supposed to work with the new doctor? It had took her years to get along well with Clarkson, and now it seemed she never truly managed to know him...

"Is everything alright, Ma'am? I've heard - "

"Oh, yes, I'm sorry Molesley, everything it's fine." she smiled at his, but his expression told her he was even more worried than before, "I'm just a little bit tired..."

"Do you want me to call the doctor?"

"No!" only the mention of the fact gave her a sharp pain in the chest, "No, the doctor is not in Downton now. A substitute will arrive tomorrow. Family business, it seems. You may go, thank you," she turned her pack to him, partly to avoid him to see the hurt expression she was wearing, "I'll dine at seven. Please, inform the cook."

"Ma'am."

Isobel waited with her back straight for the door to close with a small click, and for Molesley's footsteps to die away, before slumping in exhaustion against her chair.

If the simple mention of the doctor coming to visit her was causing so much pain to her, how was she supposed to go on with this new situation? How was she supposed to go on without him?

- I promise I'll try to update quickly! R/R, please -