Here we go with Chapter 4. Enjoy :-)
Chapter 4 - Letters
"There's an element of timelessness about letter writing" ~ Lois Wyse
Downton, 1920
The wedding was finally over. Mary and Matthew had left for their honeymoon and she was alone. All on her own in Crawley House. Ready for bed and unable to sleep, she was sitting at her dressing table in front of her open jewellery box. Always modest in her taste she didn't own many valuable pieces and therefore the contents of the box was tasteful but limited. Reginald, as kind and generous as he had been, had never cared for jewellery and neither did she.
There was one pair of earrings though that didn't fit the description modest at all. Hidden in a small velvet bag, she had never worn them and she avoided taking them to have a look at them. They reminded her about a man who wasn't Reginald, about the war, about a stolen time full of passion and adventure.
The eardrops didn't quite match her wardrobe and she also didn't want Matthew to notice them. She feared he would ask who had given them to her. He knew his father well enough to know they had never been a present from him and she didn't want to lie to her son. She wasn't a good liar and she knew it. The previous afternoon had proved how bad she was in hiding her feelings and that she only ended up hurting others when she tried to cover them up.
She opened the small bag and a pair of golden sapphire drop earrings slid into her hand. The stones were just as breathtaking as she remembered them.
"They perfectly match your eyes," he had said back then in Paris. She swallowed when she remembered how he had closed her hand around them the night he had given them to her. "I want you to have them. I won't take no for an answer."
Her hands trembled when she put on the earrings and watched her own reflection. She was not very vain, but she knew something beautiful when she saw it, and she had to admit the earrings suited her. They indeed matched her eyes. With a sad sigh she removed them and put them back into the bag.
She would probably regret her next move, but she knew what she had to do next.
Downstairs in the drawing room she switched on the lights and sat down at her desk. It took her several minutes before she knew how she wanted to start her letter to him.
"Dear Richard,
Or should I go over to start calling you Dickie, since everyone else seemed to do so?..."
Bretagne, 1918
"Sincerely yours…"
He finished his letter and did his best to ignore the pain in his injured hand. He had tried to keep his letter as short as possible, but his hand was still hurting from the exercise. He put the pen aside and folded the letter. It would take some time for the letter to reach its destination, but as things were he didn't care, if his wife learnt about Pommeroy's fate sooner or later. The only really important thing was that he would find the contents of the safe deposit box as soon as possible - preferable before anyone else opened it.
He looked at the back of his hand. To write the letter he had had to remove the bandage and now his hand was swollen. Where the machete had hit him the scar was pulsating with pain. He groaned in agony and annoyance.
Behind him he heard her stirring in bed. He turned and saw she was still asleep. The sight of her being in his bed made him smile and let him forget about his physical pain. She slept on her stomach, embracing her pillow. Her hair was open and fell softly over her naked shoulder. He noticed how cold the room had become and took the second blanket from the end of the bed and placed it gently over her. Not for the first time he wondered how he deserved her.
She had accepted his explanation about his search of Pommeroy with the expected irritation about his former lies. So far she hadn't agreed to go with him to Paris, but he was confident she would come around. He still hadn't confided completely in her about Pommeroy and he had come to the decision that he didn't want to. Somehow it seemed wrong to bother her with the aspects of his dreadful marriage. He would stick by his story about Pommeroy being his sister's former lover and that was it. Pommeroy had caused him to many embarrassments over the years. The fact that the dreadful fellow had also stolen valuable pieces of jewellery that had once belonged to his beloved mother only made things worse than they already were.
He had never cared so much about his wife having a lover, but he cared for the fact that she had cheated on him under his own roof with a man who was nothing but an ordinary thief. He had only helped Ada to cover up her affair, because she feared her sons would look down on her if they found out. The other reason was, of course, that he didn't want his inability to lead a good marriage reflect badly on his family and his estate. He owed this much to his parents and his dead brother.
Again she moved in her sleep and rolled on her back. Her eyes flickered open and she was clearly confused about her whereabouts.
"What time is it?" she asked.
"Late," he answered gently. "Go back to sleep."
"Why aren't you sleeping then?" she asked, as lifted herself up and inspected the second blanket.
"I had to write a letter," he answered. "And I have to admit it took longer than I expected."
"With this hand of yours?" she asked, now fully awake. Swiftly she slipped out of bed and grabbed his shirt from the rest of the chair. After she had buttoned it up, she took a closer look at his wound.
"You should show it to a doctor," she said worried. "The way it looks it could easily get infected."
He saw the concern in her eyes, but shook his head. "I just overdid it today, that's it."
"Promise me to show it to a doctor tomorrow," she insisted. Her fear for his health made his heart swell. He kissed her forehead and said, "If me consulting a doctor calms you, I'll do it."
"I mean it."
"How about an agreement?" he asked. "I'll go to see a doctor you promise me to come with me to Paris to look after me? I think it's obvious I need supervision."
She pulled back and gave him a look. "That's called moral blackmail."
"The diplomat in me tells you, it's an agreement," he teased her. "And a good one at that."
"I can't believe, you ask me to follow you into the great unknown."
"Aren't you interested in a little adventure?" He wrapped his healthy arm around her waist and pulled her against him. He kissed her hungrily and she returned his kiss equal passion and wrapped her arms around his neck.
"I'm afraid I'm much duller than you seem to think I am," she said, once the kiss was over and she leaned her forehead against his. Her statement made him chuckle. "A woman who kisses like this, is hardly dull. Think about it…. Just for a few days. I'm sure they will give you some days off, if someone takes over for you."
"All right… I'll talk to my cousin. I'm sure, she can arrange something."
"How marvellous!" He kissed her again and this time she broke the kiss. "Let's get that bandage around your hand again."
"No." Determined to keep her close to him, he pulled her with him to the bed. "Not tonight."
"But…." His mouth covering hers cut her off. With a sigh she gave in, kissed him back and ran her hands through his hair as his lips started a journey that led slowly over her face and down her chin.
"Tonight I want to feel you," he mumbled against her skin as his lips caressed her neck. His hand moved slowly under her shirt and caressed her skin. As lightly as the muscles in his hand allowed it he let his finger tips travel across her belly up to her breasts. She shivered and her staccato breath encouraged him to continue his soft ministrations.
"Do you still want to apply the stupid bandage?" he whispered into her ear.
"Maybe later…"
South Africa, 1880
She had read the letter with a lump in her throat. The lines she was reading over and over again were taking her breath away and made her head spin. Exhausted she leaned against the wall near the entrance to the hospital and closed her eyes. The linen basket felt too heavy and so she had put it down to her feet. She heard busy steps from the inside of the hospital, heard nurses and doctors shouting, but she needed a moment for herself. Only a short moment to understand what was happening to her.
So, this was it how it felt when a heart broke, she thought bitterly. It simply takes your breath away and tears you apart.
The feeling wasn't as poetic as the writers used to describe it. On the contrary. It was nothing but painful and there was no glory in it. Dying was probably more merciful and she had seen a lot of people die during the last couple of weeks.
She could already hear her mother telling her that she got what she deserved. Before she had left Manchester to train as a nurse in a country on the other side of the world, her mother had tried to convince her to give up on her plans. She thought a war wasn't a suitable place for a young woman of considerable good breeding and had tried to lure Isobel with flattery and a new wardrobe to convince her to stay in England. When her mother's strategy hadn't worked out, she had brought in the big guns. The older woman had openly told her that the hard work would make her unattractive for a certain young and talented doctor who was searching for a suitable bride. How right she had been! Isobel had arrived in South Africa only three weeks ago and today she had received the letter that most probably ended her promising liaison with the man she had fallen in love with from the first moment she had laid her eyes in him.
Far away cannons roared even though the sun was setting. But it wouldn't take long before more wounded arrived at the hospital. She needed to come back to her senses quickly, because those men needed her full attention. She could nurture her broken heart later on.
Determined she crammed the crumbled pages into the hidden pockets of her skirt. With her hands she wiped away her tears and drew a couple of deep breaths. Her heartbeat slowed down as the air filled her lungs. The words in the letter still echoed in her head though.
"Dear Isobel,
I wish there was a less painful way of telling you this, but last night I saw Reginald Crawley with another woman dining out in a restaurant. I was told, the woman was the twin sister of his best friend, Alexander Ferguson who is an aspiring doctor himself. Her name is Emma and she's very beautiful. Reginald's mother has been encouraging a possible marriage between them for years and from what I heard, it seems possible, the two of them will announce their engagement in a few weeks…."
What her mother didn't know was that Reginald was already engaged. One week before she had boarded her passage to Africa he had proposed to her and she had accepted. How was it possible that he had been seen with someone else and why on earth would there be talk about him getting engaged to another woman? He wouldn't hurt her like that. He had told her, he loved her. She wore his ring on a chain around her neck, as a reminder of their engagement. They had made love before she had left for South Africa…. Surely he wouldn't have seduced her, if he planned to replace her as soon as she left England….
A new wave of tears ran over her face. What if it was true? What if he wanted to marry someone else while she was now nothing more than damaged goods for him and also every other man?
"Excuse me?"
She startled and a small scream escaped her lips. A young uniformed man was standing next to her. He was perhaps the tallest man she had ever seen. He gave her a warm smile.
"I'm sorry. I didn't want to disturb you. I just thought you might need this…"
He gave her a handkerchief. She was speechless and couldn't think straight.
"Thank you…." She took the handkerchief. It was made of silk and in a corner she saw the initials 'R.G.'
"Oh, I couldn't… that's silk," she managed to say as she gave it back to him.
"When I look at your tears, I doubt the handkerchief will do them justice," he said. She hesitated, but the friendly expression on his face convinced her to take it back.
"I'm not so sure about that, but…. Thank you." She dried the tears and blew her nose.
"Never mind. I have to go inside now. I was told my brother is being treated here."
"What's his name?" she asked.
"Major Francis Grey."
"Why don't you come with me?" she offered and picked up her basket. "I think I know where you can find him, but he's been badly injured, I'm afraid."
A shadow crossed his face. "So, I've heard. I hoped to find out I was misinformed."
"I'm afraid not," she said, feeling sorry for him.
"Please, take me to him." He opened the door for her and followed her inside the hospital.
*********tbc*********
