I'm so pleased that you liked the last chapter, it was a great relief. Thank you for the reviews! And tonight, I seem to have exploded with dialogue...
"Richard?" she asked, sitting in an armchair in his sitting room, the evening light still pouring in through the thin curtains,"Is Mary still in hospital?"
"She is," he replied, "I thought it was best, all things considered. Anyway, the baby was too little to go home yet and she won't leave the baby."
"Hasn't she called him anything yet?" she wanted to know, a little startled.
He shook his head grimly.
"She won't," he told her, "She keeps saying "not yet". That's all she says if anyone asks her."
Isobel sighed.
"Will she see anyone?" she asked.
"Only her mother," he replied, "And Mr Branson. I suppose it's quite natural that she should want to see him of all people. They're sad in the same way. But she won't let anyone else hold the baby. She only lets me or the nurses take him off her because she has to."
There was a pause.
"She asked for you," he told her, "This morning. She asked to see you."
"Why didn't you tell me straight away?" she asked.
"I didn't know if you were well enough," he replied.
"I've been better," she insisted.
"I know you have," he replied calmly, "You've done ever so well. But still, I didn't know if you were absolutely ready and I didn't want you to feel like you had to see her if you weren't ready."
She had been better. Over the three days that she'd been living with him, she had got up at a normal time, got herself ready and dressed and, as far as he could tell, kept herself busy. She said she liked how the garden at the back of his house was in want of a bit of a tidy; it gave her something to do. He was glad; even if this was just a show she was putting on to impress him it was helping her to set up a normal routine, and if she felt the need to let the charade drop then he was here to pick up the pieces.
She seemed to accept his explanation.
"Will you take me to see them?" she asked, "Tomorrow? I feel guilty that I've been so self-absorbed since the funeral. I haven't seen them at all since."
"You mustn't feel guilty," he told her, "Nothing at all is your fault. But, yes, I will take you to see them. I think it would be good for you."
She almost gave him a smile.
"Thank you," she told him, sounding sincerely grateful, then realising, "Oh, but Richard! It's supposed to be your day off tomorrow."
"It doesn't matter," he assured her.
"But you don't want to have to go in to the hospital on your day off," she pressed.
"I don't mind it," he replied, "If anything, it will be a comfort just to make sure Lady Mary's alright. I learned my lesson with you," he told her pointedly, "It's the last time I leave someone in my care who's grief-stricken alone without checking up on them."
"I wasn't under your care then," she reminded him gently, "It wasn't your fault. You did everything you thought you could."
Inwardly he was still reeling at the fact that he should have known so much better, but he said nothing more on that note.
"Anyway, I want to go with you," he told her, "It won't be easy for you to see her. I want to be there with you."
"You don't have to," she told him, nevertheless, she was smiling as she said it.
"I want to," he repeated.
They were quiet for a few moments.
"Shall I make us supper this evening?" she asked, "You've done it every night so far, and I feel like it's my turn."
"I don't mind," he told her, "But if you want to. Your cooking is much better than mine is."
"Hardly," she replied, getting up and walking towards the kitchen.
It was certainly a good sign; however slightly, he had seen her smile three times during their conversation.
"Isobel," he spoke just as she reached the door. She turned around, framed a little by the light pouring in from the kitchen, "You look very pretty today."
He caught a fourth on her lips as she turned away again.
…...
"You're sure about this?" he asked her as they reached the hospital door, pausing on the steps,"You haven't had second thoughts?"
"She asked for me," she reminded him, "You said she asked for me."
"I'm worried about you," he told her.
"As if I needed reminding," she murmured lightly, then, "Thank you, Richard. There aren't many men who'd be as good as you've been to me and ask nothing in return."
"You know I don't ask anything?" he asked, wanting to be certain she knew.
"Yes, of course I do," she replied, "Sweet man."
Standing on the step above him, she ducked her head under the brim of his hat and kissed his forehead.
"Come on," she told him, opening the door of the hospital, and waiting for him, "We need to see Mary."
Only the lingering illusion of her eyes being on him stopped him from brushing his hand tenderly over the spot where she had kissed him as they walked together down the corridor to Lady Mary's room. Isobel knocked softly on the door. There was no reply.
"Mary, dear," she called, "It's me. Isobel."
"Come in," came Mary's voice after a pause.
Quietly, Isobel opened the door and let them both in. The room was just as she had left it before, only the crib that had been by the wall at the side of the room was now pulled up close to Mary's bedside. Richard had said that Mary was sleeping a lot, and like the dead, he had said; and it was true, she looked fairly install in the hospital bed. The baby was in the crib, asleep. While Richard fetched another chair to join the other at the head end of the bed, Isobel went straight to the crib where her grandson lay.
"Hello, Mary," Richard addressed her, sitting down, "Do you feel better today?"
"A little," she replied, "I'm still very tired."
"Do you feel like you might want to go home yet?" he asked, "Don't feel like you have to say yes," he added quickly, smiling kindly at her, "You can stay here as long as you need to as far as I'm concerned."
"Tomorrow, maybe," she replied, "If it's alright with Tom to come and pick me up."
"Has he been again today?" he asked.
"That was was his chair that you're sitting in," she replied, "He said he'd drive me back whenever I feel ready."
"That was kind of him."
"Yes," she agreed, "Very kind."
There was a sob from the side of the crib and they both looked around. Isobel was standing straight as a rod, her hand clasped to her mouth, trying to cry as quietly as possible.
"Isobel?" Richard stood up in his concerned, rounding the foot of the bed as quickly as he could to go to her.
"What is it?" Mary asked, panicking, "Is there something wrong with the baby?"
"No," Isobel spluttered, as Richard's arm went around her,"There's nothing wrong with him, he's beautiful. I'm sorry, just ignore me, I'm only being silly. It's just...he's changed so much since I last saw him. He's the spitting image of Matthew just after he was born."
"Is he?" Mary asked, her eyes wide, "You're sure?"
"Oh, my dear," Isobel half-beamed at her through her tears, "Of course I'm sure. I'll never forget that little face."
There was a pause; Isobel stood, craning her neck to look at the baby, with Richard's arm settled around her waist. Then, there was a tiny gurgle from the bundle in the crib and then a cry.
"He's awake," Isobel told them unnecessarily.
"You can hold him if you like," Mary told her shyly.
Isobel looked up at her eagerly.
"My dear, are you sure? It won't be upsetting for you?"
"No," Mary replied, "Please, hold him. See if you can get him to quieten down."
"Hello," Isobel whispered to the bundle of blankets and tiny limbs, "I'm your grandma."
She was crying again, but she was smiling too; and as she bit her lip and lifted him up into her arms to bounce him softly up and down, Richard's arm was still around her.
"Mary, I'm so sorry I didn't come to see you earlier," she told her, brushing her hand as softly as she could over the baby's head, "I realise now how selfish I've been."
"It's alright," Mary told her, "I know you would never willingly neglect anyone. I understand."
"Perhaps we should sit down?" Richard suggested, and he gently guided Isobel and the baby into the seat beside his.
"I remember," Isobel continued, "When I lost Reginald, everything everyone said, however well-intentioned, only made everything worse. I wasn't as used to grief then. So I thought I'd better leave you be for a while."
"And did it get easier?" Mary asked her, "With time?"
"No," Isobel replied sadly, "Not with time. With distraction. With Matthew. Of course he was more than a baby then. He saved me from myself. Like this little chap will, I promise you."
Mary did not look wholly convinced, but Isobel was sure, and she continued to examine the little baby's features.
"I wanted to talk to you about his name," Mary said at last.
"Of course," Isobel replied, looking up again, "I'd be honoured if you'd use me as a sounding board."
"More than that, I want your advice," Mary told her, "No one in the world knew Matthew better than you."
Richard watched Isobel bite her lip slightly, bite back another deluge of tears and succeed.
"We talked about it together, Matthew and I," Mary pressed on, "He liked to plan ahead. He was so excited."
"I know, I know," Isobel murmured.
"Is it selfish of me to want to call him Matthew?" Mary asked.
"Why would it be selfish?" Isobel replied, frowning.
"Because when I suggested it to him he laughed and said he'd feel terribly pompous if he did that," she explained.
Isobel smiled, and Richard was hard-pressed not to grin too; that certainly sounded like Mr. Crawley.
"Yes, that was like him," Isobel agreed, "But don't you think the circumstances have entirely changed now? He didn't think that he'd … that he'd have to be remembered this soon."
Richard heard her swallow the lump in her throat.
"And especially as he's so like him," she told him again, looking at the baby and then up at them both again, "Honestly, if either of you had seen him you wouldn't credit it."
"And then there's the middle name," Mary continued, "Matthew was adamant that we shouldn't be excessive about it, but he has to have one middle name at least. So we agreed that he'd have one, but we couldn't decide which."
"It's a start, anyway," Isobel told her encouragingly.
"He suggested Reginald," Mary told them both.
"I'm sure he did," Isobel replied, "That's exactly what he would have done. But can we have two generations in a row of Matthew Reginalds?"
"Well," Mary almost smiled for a moment at her mother-in-law's genuine apprehension at the idea, "I did wonder about that."
"It does run the risk of monotony," Richard contributed.
"Quite right," Isobel agreed, "And Matthew was so much like his father... By calling him Matthew you credit Reginald too," she told them both decisively, "You should choose a different name, don't feel guilty about it."
"Alright," Mary replied, "I had to think about Robert, but somehow it doesn't suit him. I didn't think it did, anyway. And then I thought about Tom?"
"Tom?" Isobel repeated, trying it out, "After Tom Branson?"
"Is that silly of me?" Mary asked, "After all the trouble I gave Sybil over him when he worked for us?"
"I'd say it was very kind of you, taking that into account," Isobel decided.
"He has been so kind," Mary told them both, "So very kind to both me and little Matthew. And he was such good friends with his father. I want to ask him to be godfather; I'm godmother to Sybbie."
"That's a lovely idea," Isobel replied.
"I wondered," Mary continued, "If you'd like to be too?"
"Me?" Isobel repeated, shocked, "But I'm his grandmother anyway."
"Both of you," Mary corrected, looking to Richard, "And I can't really ask Dr. Clarkson without asking you too, Cousin Isobel."
"Why?" Richard asked, completely bemused.
"Because whoever heard of a baby with two godfathers and no godmothers?" Mary asked, "But believe it or not, I asked Mama to ask Edith and she'd agreed to team up and make another pair."
"No, I mean why me?" Richard asked, "My Lady," he added for politeness sake.
Lady Mary smiled tiredly at him.
"Because you brought him into the world. Because you've known me all my life too and because Matthew thought very highly of you. He wouldn't want one of our high-flying cousins..." she glanced towards Isobel, "Well, he wouldn't, would he?"
"No, my dear," Isobel agreed, "He wouldn't."
"And, do you mind me saying this?" she glanced warily from one of them to the other, "You two will make a good team. And a handsome pair."
"Thank you very much, my Lady," Richard replied, flushing the colour of beetroot.
"He's nodded off again," Isobel announced quietly, nodding in the direction of the baby.
"I think we should be taking our leave, then," Richard announced in equally hushed tones, "I imagine you're quite tired too, my Lady."
"A little," Mary replied.
"We'll go then," Isobel agreed, "I'll but him down very gently. Goodbye, my darling boy," she whispered, kissing Matthew's forehead before settling him back in his crib, "Goodbye Mary."
Once they were outside the room and the door firmly closed behind them, they stood still for a moment.
"You feel better, don't you?" Richard asked her.
She was positively glowing.
"Yes, I do," she agreed, "But I miss that little baby already."
"We'll come back tomorrow, then," he told her, "She'll be glad to see you, and if she's getting ready to leave you will be a help to her."
"That sounds like a good plan," she agreed, as they began to make their way back down the corridor.
"What would you like to do for the rest of the day?" he asked. Usually, for the best part of the daytime he was at the hospital and she said that she was in the garden. This would be the first day when they were both comparatively unoccupied.
"I don't mind," she replied, "As long as I can spent it with you."
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