Thank you all so very much for your comments after the first chapter!

I hope you will enjoy the next installment. If it helps your imagination, pretend the stranger looks like Michael Kitchen!

I'm also sending cyber hugs to my great beta Gemenied.

Chapter 2

The past is never dead. It's not even past. ~ William Faulkner

Downton Hospital, one week later

Doctor Richard Clarkson was tired. He rubbed his sore eyes and when he looked at the clock on his desk, he realized it was already after 10 o'clock. He had been in the hospital since 6 in the morning, and he really needed to call it a night now.

If he had left only a few minutes earlier or later he probably would have missed the lonely figure that stumbled through the village and ended right in front of his feet.

"For heaven's sake, man!" Clarkson yelled, when the contents of the man's stomach ended up on his new shoes.

The man groaned. Clarkson strongly suspected that he was nothing but a useless drunkard who had come straight out of the Grantham Arms and so he cursed him again.

"I'm sorry," the man said unsteadily, as he tried to get up. The light of the lantern behind Clarkson illuminated the man's face as he stood and Clarkson noticed the man was bleeding from his temple and from a cut right underneath his eye. Annoyed, because he knew he couldn't send the man to hell now, Clarkson sighed. "What happened to you?"

"Nothing," the man answered unsteadily and weaved.

"This is your lucky night then. Someone has to see to your face." Without waiting for an answer he took the man's arm. "Follow me."


One hour later the man was stitched up and after several cups of hot coffee he was able to articulate himself somewhat properly. From the way he was dressed and spoke, it was obvious the man wasn't neither a tenant farmer nor from the local area. His suit was stained and torn, yet the fabric was quite expensive and modern, as were his shoes. He was about Clarkson's age, perhaps a little younger.

"So, what brings you to Downton?" Clarkson asked his patient as he dried his hands.

"I'm searching for someone," the man answered. He checked his bruised face in a mirror and ran his finger tip over the stitched wound underneath his eye. "You did a good job. I know a thing or two about stitching up people."

"How's that?" Clarkson asked curiously.

"Long story. I don't want to bore you."

"Hm... the village is quite small. Maybe I can help you, if you're searching for someone."

"As a matter of fact, I think you can. Unless there's another doctor working around here."

"Well, I can assure you, there isn't."

"I'm searching for Mrs Isobel Crawley. She's a nurse and the mother of..."

"Matthew Crawley," Clarkson finished in astonishment. His freshly developed sympathy for the man melted like snow in the sun. He couldn't imagine Mrs Crawley... Lady Merton, he reminded himself, to be acquainted with the man. Certainly, she always had a weakness for hopeless cases, but this man didn't quite fit the description. He was no Charles Grigg or some girl fallen from grace. The man had a problem with alcohol and dignity, but he certainly wasn't a poor soul who had lost everything. Perhaps he was a doctor... someone she knew as a nurse or a former colleague of her first husband.

"Yes," the man nodded. "What a shame to die so young."

"What was your name again?" Clarkson asked cautiously.

The man hesitated, "Just call me Edward. You see, Doctor, I really need to talk to Mrs Crawley. Do you know where she lives?"

"I'm afraid you're in for a disappointment. She isn't here. Not anymore."

"What do you mean?" he asked alarmed.

"Mrs Crawley has married again, a few weeks ago. She's moved... away."

"Married?" the man swallowed hard.

"Yes. I thought everybody knew that. It was all over the papers."

"I see..." The man nodded, but Clarkson could see that the news had come as shock. Edward's pale complexion turned white and he looked as if he was going to be sick again.

"Do you have a place to stay overnight?" the doctor asked, hoping he didn't have to offer him shelter.

"Yes," the man answered flatly.

"Good, I'm going now. I'll tell the night nurse to see you out."

"What do I owe you?" the man asked.

Clarkson gave him a long look. "Nothing. But if I were you I would forget about Mrs Crawley."


Dower House

The Dowager Countess of Grantham sat in her favourite chair by the fireplace and stared at the letter in her hand. It had arrived with the evening post and her heart had tightened in her chest when she had recognized the handwriting on the envelope. To her own shame she had been too nervous – or perhaps too much of a coward – to open it before dinner. Now she was on her own and the brandy next to her offered some kind of comfort, while she was rereading the letter for the third time.

She knew it was too late, but she really wanted to call at Cavenham Park. Perhaps Isobel was free for luncheon or tea with her the next day. She certainly needed someone to talk the news over with.


Cavenham Park

"Who was it?" Dickie asked, when Isobel returned to their bedroom.

"It was Cousin Violet," she replied, still a little perplexed by the late call.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, a little worried when he noticed Isobel's puzzlement.

"I'm not sure," she answered, while she slipped into bed. "She sounded a little strange. She asked me for luncheon tomorrow."

"Will you go?"

"I think I should, don't you? I haven't seen her in a while. I've quite abandoned her since we got married."

"Yes, of course, I was just wondering, if...," he paused, but then he shook his head. "Nothing."

Isobel watched him with growing curiosity. "What nothing?"

"Nothing. It was a stupid thought. Ignore me." He opened his book again, but Isobel wouldn't allow him to avoid her question. "Are you hiding something from me?"

Dickie chuckled, "Of course not. I'm not good at keeping secrets. On the contrary."

"So, you would never keep anything from me? Even if you thought it best?" She asked, teasing him.

"Of course not. I would never hide anything concerning you or us. That means..." He broke off, awaiting her reaction.

"Yes?" She pushed herself onto her elbows, anticipating his answer.

"As long as I know everything about you."

Isobel laughed out in relief, "I'm an open book. No secrets." She took his book and put it aside before she crawled right next to him and ran her fingers through his hair.

"Unless you feel the need to convince yourself of it...," she whispered and teased his lower lip with the tip of her tongue. "Feel free to do so."

"I might take you up on it," he whispered hoarsely. He placed his hand on the back of her head and kissed her hungrily.


Downton Hospital

The next day, Isobel headed to Downton early, because she wanted to say hello at the hospital, before she went over to the Dower House for luncheon. She found Dr Clarkson in his office and he was visibly surprised to see her.

"Lady Merton!" he circled his desk and quickly offered her a seat at his desk.

"I just came in to say hello. I hope everything's running fine around here."

"It certainly is," he said and secretly mustered her elegant and doubtlessly expensive appearance. She looked vibrantly beautiful, so incredibly well and happy that his heart began to ache at the mere sight of her. Her marriage to this kind Lord certainly agreed with her.

"As a matter of fact I think it would be good if we could have a board meeting soon – perhaps next week," he suggested with all the professionalism he could muster in her presence.

Isobel agreed with a smile, "Yes, why not. I'm on my way to Lady Grantham. I'll ask her right away."

"Good." He fell silent for a moment, contemplating how to tell her what happened the night before in the very same room they were sitting in. He had barely slept, because the stranger had left him a bit worried. He had thought about going to the Grantham Arms to ask questions among the locals, but then he had decided to give it a rest. The last thing he wanted was people starting to gossip.

"Are you well?" Isobel asked a bit concerned. "You look tired."

"You know me too well," he said, but avoided her questioning eyes. "As a matter of fact, last night I had a strange patient in here."

"What do you mean?" she asked, interested.

"He... he had a few minor injuries in his face. I gathered he was in fight in the pub after he had a few drinks too many. Anyway, he seemed a nice man. He told me, he was searching for someone."

"Golly, how mysterious."

"Indeed," he paused and added, now dead serious. "He was searching for you."

Isobel blushed instantly. "Surely not!"

"I'm afraid he meant you. He mentioned Matthew. He seemed to know him."

As always when someone mentioned her son's name, a shadow crossed Isobel's face. "But who was he?"

"He just told me his name was Edward. I told him you had moved away."

Isobel swallowed. Clarkson knew the name had struck a chord, but she did her best to hide it.

"Well, I have no idea who he is," she lied and rose. "But in any case, I would be grateful if you wouldn't mention this to anyone."

"I won't." And silently he added, "You know I never would."

~~~tbc~~~