A group had gathered to assess the damage. Edith hadn't wanted to go yet her parents had insisted. When she had gestured to Mary they sighed and mentioned George. Edith was furious, Matthew had named Mary his heir it made sense that she should go and inspect the damage on what might be her home one day. Edith thought of her daughter in the village. She too had a child! Thinking back to last night Edith thought of the letters she had burned. For a fleeting moment she wondered if that somehow had started the fire. Instinctively she knew that it hadn't yet the idea that her actions had somehow damaged the Abbey brought a smile to her face. She clamped her lips together so her father wouldn't see.
The stone had contained the flames, some of the windows had been broken for ventilation leaving a ring of black soot around the edges. Stepping inside gingerly Edith found the rug beneath her feet sodden. The soft wool carpet from India was soaked and filthy. Soot and puddles of water were everywhere. Painting on the wall were damaged. Furniture had been turned over from the fire brigade bringing in hoses. What the fire didn't touch had been destroyed by the water. The grand chandelier had fallen, the crystal glass beads seemed to twinkle like embers. Again the feeling of wanting to smile, to laugh was overpowering Edith. Somehow this was fitting! She remembered how the carpet had been rolled away for her wedding only to be rolled back. Now it would have to be replaced. A giggle was threatening to break through so she excused herself to go outside blaming the smell.
Minutes later her father came out looking forlorn, for a fleeting moment she thought that he would come to her that he would comfort her. Instead he began wailing about the portraits which had been damaged by the water. Edith could take it no longer, "Oh do grow up Papa! You could have lost your family and you're more concerned with a painting?"
"That painting was of the second Earl of Grantham! It was family" He rasped.
Edith was sure the weight on her foot was her jaw. She closed her mouth and turned to leave.
Phyllis Baxter was with Joseph Molesley and a handful of other servants getting a look at the damage. Phyllis too had thought about the diary she had burned. However, common sense prevailed. The servants quarters were on the other side of where the fire had started. The question remained, how did the Abbey catch fire? Normally Barrow would be beside her scowling and scheming. Today he stood apart from everyone and she felt relief.
Molesley was quiet beside Baxter and she felt comforted by his presence. Joseph had seen the distress Carson had been in during the night. While the butler hadn't been born a Crawley that house meant more to him than others who had the Crawley blood. A horn sounded beside them, it was the Dowager Countess in a car no doubt she had come to see the damage for herself.
When the first rays of dawn streamed through the window Isobel shifted in her bed. When she awoke at first she was disoriented. Her eyes were fixed a large wall hanging depicted the anatomy of the arm. The Abbey had no such hangings and neither did Crawley House! Memories came back, of the dinner party and then fire. Looking down at herself she saw that she was in her slip. On the top of the cot lay a familiar white coat. She put it on and padded out into the ward the hardwood floors were cold beneath her feet.
Charles Carson was still sleeping, no doubt the sedative still in effect. Mrs. Hughes was sitting next to Beryl Patmore both of the deep in discussion. As Isobel moved she noted that the servants had segregated themselves from the Crawley's. Footfalls made her look up, a rumpled Dr. Clarkson was making rounds. His suit jacket had gone, his waistcoast had been opened and sleeves had been rolled up. It was strange to see him without his white coat however, she wasn't about to surrender it and traipse around in her slip. Her cheeks burned with the memory of how his eyes had raked over her before he had given her the coat.
With this memory still fresh she padded towards him and said his name, "Richard" was her whisper.
He turned and saw her, once again his eyes took in her form.
"Is something the matter?" He asked softly, his accent thick from a sleepless night.
"I wanted to go home and change...may I borrow your coat for a little while longer?" She asked.
He answered her with a nod while a smile pulled at his lips. The surrealness from last night didn't seem to be fading. The servants at Crawley House had heard about the fire, Isobel answered their questions to the best of her ability. It was strange in the span of 10 hours the theories were wild. Ranging from Barrow with a cigarette to a group of arsonists. Isobel mentally scoffed before running herself a bath, her skin smelt faintly of woodsmoke. When she was dressed she returned the hospital and handed back Richard his coat. Without a word he slipped it on over his rumpled suit at least now he looked more like a doctor. Carson had woken and was insistent on seeing the damage as did the rest of the servants who had remained at the hospital. Clarkson was worried about what might befall the man upon seeing carnage. He packed his bag and joined the servants on their way to the Abbey. Isobel walked with them.
By noon everyone was back at the Abbey. The servants had opened all of the windows to encourage the smell of ash and soot to vacate. The damaged furniture and paintings were removed and placed on the front lawn. When Carsons eyes gazed upon the pile of chairs alongside the heap of the rug he stood stock still. Clarkson was by side and seized his wrist to gauge his pulse.
"I'm all right doctor, just a little taken aback" The butler whispered.
Isobel was able to motion for Mrs. Hughes, she came over and placed a hand in the middle of Carson's back offering support. She knew that the two had a deep mutual respect bordering on something more. It had been plain to see at the train station with Mr. Grigg. She remembered that day, how she had been coaxed out of grieving to care for another. She also remembered that he had been there too. Were they any different from Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes? The relationship they had was the same wasn't it? Isobel then felt shiver of shame, Thirsk.
The relationship wasn't the same and Isobel began to move closer to the damaged items. Isobel turned her thoughts back towards the Abbey. There was a time when she had wished for this. Herself had cousin Violet had had an argument. Isobel had said suggested the destruction of the Abbey to prove a point. For a fleeting moment she wondered if this mess was somehow her fault? She stiffened at the thought and gazed at the soot stained walls. This building had intimidated her when she first came to it morphing into the symbol of what she found repulsive of the upper crust of society. When Matthew had married the building represented hope and when he died it represented loss. Seeing it torn from fire she didn't know what to think.
The soft grass had allowed Richard to come close to Isobel without her hearing him. He could see the tenseness in her shoulders. When her head turned to regard him he saw that her eyes were bloodshot and glistening with unshed tears.
"What is it?" He asked.
She inclined her chin towards the destruction, "You ever wish for something and get it?"
Not caring if it was inappropriate he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him.