Something Positive

Richard walked purposefully through the village, nodding in greeting to anyone he passed but barely noticing who he was talking to. To say he was a little distracted was an understatement. He was worried and a little out of sorts. For the past few hours, which was pretty much the whole morning, he had been looking forward to taking tea with Isobel. Even now when she was so busy with her new vocation she still found time for the hospital and him and their fortnightly meetings were something he cherished. Except today she had failed to turn up, nor had he received any communication as to her absence. A little disappointed, not to mention put out he had dropped by Crawley House, only to be told that the mistress had gone out. The mere fact that the staff had no idea where she had gone to, led to further consternation and he had decided that he had to see her, to know that everything was alright and to ensure that he had not done something improper to damage their relationship.

There were only so many places in Downton that a lady like Isobel would go so it was easy to find her. He watched from a distance as she stared at the water, her deep woollen navy coat wrapped tightly around her, her hat pulled down low over her face. She looked sad, he decided and thoughtful, but he often chastised her for thinking too much, of always worrying about others before herself. It was a point of contention between them. With a sad sigh he walked towards her, approaching quietly so not as to frighten her or disturb her thoughts. When he was almost behind her he called quietly, "Mrs Crawley."

Isobel turned slowly at the sound of her name, forcing a small smile when she saw who it was that had sought her out. "Dr Clarkson."

As she raised her head, her eyes met his and he caught sight of the tell tale tracks on her cheeks. "I thought I might find you here," he commented gently, when all he wanted to do was ask what was wrong and somehow make it better.

She didn't need to ask why he was looking for her, for some reason Richard Clarkson had made it his mission in life to be there whenever she needed him. It was both a comfort and nuisance, but one she was loathe to discourage. "I wanted to be alone."

"I'm sorry," he stammered, chiding himself for assuming he might be the person she needed to make it better. It was hard sometimes to accept that whatever it was between them was more implied than stated, may not even be permanent. "I'll leave you to it. If you need anything . . .," he trailed off as he turned to leave and she called after him.

"Dr Clarkson," Isobel called, shaking her head in acknowledgment that this wasn't the time for formality. "Richard, please, don't go."

Richard changed direction and crossed the small patch of long grass to stand beside her. This was her spot, although he couldn't understand why she would choose to seek refuge on this side of the lake when there was a folly and a small pontoon on the other, but she was nothing if not contrary. "Mrs Crawley, you've been crying." His fingers tensed by his side as he resisted the urge to brush the newly spilt tears from her cheeks.

"I think this is one of those occasions, my darling, when you may, and probably should, call me Isobel, please."

There was a sadness to her voice and it made his heart ache. "What an earth is wrong?" Are you ill? Is it Matthew?" He queried, grasping at what could bring her to tears.

She shook her head, fresh tears flowing at her sons name, about to dissolve in front of him.

"What can I do?" He asked, his hand lightly brushing her arm, hoping to install some strength in her.

"Please, Richard, will you hold me?"

There was no question of his refusing, only a momentarily survey of the vicinity to ensure they were truly alone. He opened his arms immediately, stiffening momentarily as she fell into them, afraid to allow himself to feel as she pressed her face into his shoulder and the tears fell anew. He hated to see her like this, to be able to offer her nothing but his warm embrace and soothing words, however hollow they might be. "Isobel, hush now," he whispered against her hair, his hands lightly stroking her back.

She pressed her hands to his back, pulling him against her, needing the contact as she sought safety in his arms.

"It's going to be alright." He couldn't promise that, not when he didn't know what was wrong, but he would try to protect her; he hoped she knew that. "Don't let go, my darling. Hold on tight."

She clung to him, her tears dampening his jacket, her fingers gripping the material so forcefully that she pinched his skin, her body shaking against him with each sob.

She knew she was beyond rational but one simple encounter had brought everything rushing back. Her thoughts were taking her to places she didn't want to go but his presence offered her reassurance and time to work through them. The lake was her place to be alone, to escape to when the house or the family became too oppressive. She hadn't realised that anyone knew, or cared that she ran, but as she stood wrapped up in him, she would, she mused with a tight smile, expect no less from him.

"Are you feeling a little better?" He asked finally when the sobs subsided.

She nodded as she righted herself and stepped back reluctantly, missing his contact almost immediately.

"Do you want to tell me what's wrong?" He asked, ducking his head to look at her face. Her eyes were red and watery as she gazed up at him. The sadness in those eyes almost broke him, made him want to sweep her back into his arms and never let her go.

"She gave him up," she said simply.

Richard furrowed his brow as he tried to work out who and what. They talked about everything in the few hours they stole together, their conversations sweeping from one topic to another as they tried to fill every second as though it could be their last. The days and weeks they hardly saw each other he barely spoke to anyone, saving everything for those moments, never sure if and when they would be together again.

"Ethel chose to give up her little boy. To let Charlie have, what she thought would be, a better life. You see she couldn't afford to take care of him, and she made choices that she couldn't live with, and his grand parents could offer him so much more, so she gave up." She knew she was rambling but if she stopped now her thoughts would drift to Matthew, the boy that Charlie was now, the man she almost lost on the battlefield and she knew she would be consumed once against by loss.

There were times they were so attuned to each other that they finished each other sentences but sometimes she spoke as if they knew everything about each other, and he was at a loss. "Ethel?"

"She was a maid, she had a relationship," she said, carefully measuring her words. "With one of the officers. Charlie was the result."

Recognition sprang to mind. "She gave up her little boy." It was only natural that she would, he assumed, connect with the mother and son, her own life dedicated to raising her son almost single handedly. As strong as she was, she was also sensitive and caring, her heart as big as he had ever known.

Isobel nodded. "She will never see him again. In the middle of the street she kissed him, pushed a teddy bear into his arms and said goodbye. Of course they promised to write, and maybe the mother will try, but probably it won't last. Ethel will never know the fine gentleman that her son will become," she explained, a hint of bitterness to her tone. "And Ethel will struggle to take care of herself. Without character references she will struggle to find work, and in time she will probably give up."

He wasn't naive enough to protest that maybe it wouldn't go that way, because he knew enough to know that's how things would go. "Are you going to keep an eye on her?"

A small, rather beautiful, smile crossed her lips as she said confidently, "I think I'm going to try."

"Then maybe things won't be so bad. Isobel Crawley is nothing if not determined."

She laughed a hollow laugh. "I tried to convince her to keep him, to accept my help and continue to raise her child but she she implied I was living in a flight of fancy; That her son was better off with a private education, and horses and high society, and she's right of course. Who knows what would have happened to Matthew and I after Reginald died, without the money."

Richard shuddered at the thought. What little he knew of Reginald he had garnered from off hand comments she made. He knew he was a loving husband, a good physician and frugal. His insistence on saving rather than spending had provided Isobel and Matthew with a secure future. "Did you never consider marrying again?" He asked quietly, a small hint of the green eyed monster raising its head.

Isobel shook her head firmly. "No, never. There were suitors but I had Matthew, and Reginald's work, and really no one ever came close." Until now she wanted to add, because the man standing before her was the one man she could consider spending her life with.

"That's sad," he offered quietly, ignoring the twisting in his stomach. "Everyone deserves a second chance at happiness."

Isobel reached out and circled his wrist with her hand, offering him the comfort she thought he needed. Richard rarely spoke about his life before Downton and it had taken nearly two years for him to break down and tell her about the son who died at birth and the wife he had lost a few years later. Inconsolable in his grief, he had devoted himself to work, which in turn had brought him to the small cottage hospital, and a new start. "Maybe she will be lucky, meet someone and start over."

"Possibly."

"She'll never get over losing Charlie," Isobel said with a sigh, once more imagining her life without Matthew.

"No," he agreed, covering her hand with his own, his finger tips trailing over her knuckles. "But each day will hurt a little less, each year she will find something positive in the life she is building." Slowly his lips curled up into a small smile as his eyes met hers. "Until maybe one day she'll learn to punish herself a little less and learn to love again."

Isobel's smile was as warm as his. "As you did?" She asked hopefully.

"As we did?" He replied a little hesitantly.

"As we did," she agreed with a slight nod. It should, she knew, bother her more that they didn't make sweeping declarations of love and promises for the future, but it was enough that they had felt the way they did, and had emerged from their grief to find each other. Their relationship, while ill-defined, and unorthodox was more than enough. "I promised you tea this morning."

"I'm quite sure there was some discussion of cake too," he said with a grin.

"And I am a woman who keeps her promise," she acknowledged. "Have you a little time?"

He nodded, removing her hand gently from his arm and linking it though his arm before leading her through the grass. "For you, always."