The funeral was today. Upstairs, downstairs, and the village came to say their farewells to the former heir of the estate, Mr. Matthew Crawley.
Everyone gathered in the church to hear the eulogy, the words of comfort and of sorrow.
Isobel Crawley sat in the front row, next to Mary, listening to the vicar. She wore a simple black mourning dress, gloves, and hat.
She had heard enough condolences to last her lifetime. She grew tired of all the empty platitudes, the same old, exhausted refrain, even from the vicar. Was it really a part of some plan? For her to lose her son - was there any sense in that? She wondered.
She did not cry at the funeral, not even when she watched the undertaker lower his body into the hole in the earth. No tears, not even when she threw a rose down onto his casket. It carried her kiss within its petals. Maybe, she hoped, it could reach Matthew wherever he is.
I have no tears left in me.
I am not supposed to bury my child. The singular thought continued to plague her mind.
As the burial service concluded, Isobel walked away. She would not follow the Crawleys to the big house, not for some food, not for some typical gathering one attends after a funeral. She was going back to her living room, back to just sit down and stare.
I serve no purpose anymore.
Before any of the Crawley family even realized, Isobel had already gone, walking quickly back to her house.
Robert looked around as he ushered Mary, Edith, and Cora into the waiting car. "Where's Cousin Isobel?" He thought that she was just behind him only a second ago.
"Did she leave already?" Edith wondered. "Surely, she's coming back to Downton. Perhaps, she'll meet us there."
Cora shook her head, knowing Isobel would not be waiting for them at the house. Robert climbed in beside her. She gently touched his hand and shook her head. She whispered, "She won't be there. We'll have to send someone to check on her, but she won't come, however much we wish she would."
Edith had overheard her Mama and spoke up. "She would come to see little George, wouldn't she? She's his grandmother," Edith pointed out, hoping that her nephew would bring Isobel around.
Cora smiled at Edith, but said softly, "You're a darling girl, Edith, but, I'm afraid little George looks too much like Matthew. I don't think Cousin Isobel can take that, not now." Cora looked from Edith to Mary.
Mary did not say a word. She was miles away, too wrapped up in her own grief to listen to anything else.
…
Throughout the service and burial, Doctor Clarkson kept his eyes on one Isobel Crawley. She did not cry, did not weep. She showed no emotion whatsoever. Her eyes simply remained transfixed on her son's casket. What must be going through her mind?
Doctor Clarkson worried about his favorite nurse. He could not help it. She was stoic. To see her not display any emotion, any warmth, any passion, anything really, was so unlike the Mrs. Crawley that he knew.
This is what grief does to people, he reminded himself. She'll pull through it. She has to, doesn't she?
Doctor Clarkson was determined to speak with her after the burial though he did not know what to say. He hoped that the words would come to him. But, no sooner had the service ended and he glanced around, she was already gone. She had left without a word to anyone.
Violet spied Doctor Clarkson out of the corner of her eye. He looked so lost, so defeated as his eyes searched.
The Dowager knew what, or rather, who he was hunting for - Isobel.
Anyone could see how much he cared for her. Violet mused he may even love her. But, in all her years, the Dowager came to understand that love meant very little if one never pursued it. No matter how much one may feel for someone, they may never know unless told.
Violet hoped that the good doctor would eventually figure it out.
For her part, the Dowager was deeply concerned about her old sparring partner. Although she would not yet admit it, she had come to care for Cousin Isobel in all her meddling, upright ways. The loss of Matthew had been so shocking, so unexpected; it had shaken Isobel to her core. Anyone could see it.
Violet was never much one to sit on her hands and do nothing. If Isobel did not emerge from this dark tunnel she had found herself lost inside, then Violet would be the one to pull, push, or drag her out.
For now, the Dowager hoped the doctor would act, but, if not, then she eventually would.
…
The Crawley family and their servants arrived back at Downton, ready to nibble on whatever Mrs. Patmore had prepared.
Before she headed inside, Cora spied Mrs. Hughes, preparing to walk around back to the servants' entrance.
"Mrs. Hughes," Cora stopped the Scottish housekeeper before she left. "May I have a word?"
"Certainly, my lady," Mrs. Hughes answered as Cora motioned her inside into a small sitting room to talk privately.
"I have a favor to ask of you," Cora began. "Mrs. Crawley and you are friends, yes?"
"I don't know if you would call us friends, your ladyship. But, I do respect her. I admire a woman of strong beliefs. I feel so terrible for her." Mrs. Hughes absently fumbled with her keys.
"As do I." Cora sat down, looking out the window. "You see, Mrs. Hughes, I would like you to go to Crawley House to see if you cannot get her to come to the estate. For dinner, luncheon, tea, anything really. Just to let her know that we care." Cora folded her hands, wondering how strange this request sounded.
"To check up on her?" Mrs. Hughes supplied.
"In a way," Cora smiled, pleased that her housekeeper seemed to catch her drift. "I just want her to know that we care, that she has family. Maybe if she heard it from someone other than me, someone she respects."
"I don't know if she respects me ma'am," Mrs. Hughes let out a brief scoff, then softened. "But your feelings are admirable. I will try, if I can. Though, I really do not know if Mrs. Crawley will listen to me," Mrs. Hughes answered.
"That is all I ask. That you try."
"Very well. Will that be all, your ladyship?" Mrs. Hughes walked to the door, ready to return to the servants' hall.
"Yes. Thank you, Mrs. Hughes."
…
Isobel Crawley had made it back to Crawley House, escaping everyone after the burial. She was in the sitting room. It seemed that she had been staring at the walls for hours.
She glanced around the room. It's a mess really, she thought to herself. There will be water damage from those flowers and that vase. She thought it best to start cleaning it up.
She had yet to change from the service. She got down on the floor and began picking up the larger fragments of glass. She went in search of a broom and swept up the rest.
The cleaning distracted her. If she had something, even something as trivial as this, she could pretend that nothing happened. She could make believe that there was nothing wrong with her. But, nothing could ever make her forget; make her feel like she once did.
It was a complicated thing, Isobel thought to herself, this grief. One minute she desperately wanted to forget, and the next, she feared that she would be unable to remember.
A doorbell again shook her from her thoughts. I best answer that, Isobel considered. The Crawleys…they must think that I have stood them up.
She went to the front door, and there stood Mrs. Hughes.
"Mrs. Hughes," Isobel began startled, "what is it...what's wrong?" Her mind raced as to why Downton's housekeeper would be at her door.
"Nothing's wrong, Mrs. Crawley. I only came...well...because I care," Mrs. Hughes answered. "I thought you may like to walk up with me to the big house to get something to eat, if nothing else." The housekeeper worried about the woman who stood before. Surely, this was not the formidable Mrs. Crawley who could challenge the Dowager.
"That's very kind, Mrs. Hughes, but I'm not hungry. I'm sure the family has their hands full with Mary. They do not need to feel obligated to look after me as well." Isobel moved to shut the door, to lock herself away from the world.
Mrs. Hughes's hand stopped her.
"Begging your pardon ma'am, but they do not feel obligated at all. I know we share similar opinions on these great houses and estates," Mrs. Hughes started, "but the Crawleys are a family. Your family, if you would let them." Mrs. Hughes met Isobel's eyes. "They love you Mrs. Crawley, even if you do not see that right now. Please come." Mrs. Hughes wished for all the world that her plea would be heard.
Tears pooled at Isobel's eyes. "I..I...not today, not right now," Isobel stammered, "I can't." How can I make anyone understand how terribly useless I feel? There is a gaping hole inside of me.
"I'm sorry you feel that way, Mrs. Crawley. I can only say that you will be missed." Recognizing that she had lost this battle, Mrs. Hughes began to back away. But before she turned away, she added, "Mrs. Crawley, if I can offer you a piece of advice?"
"Yes," murmured Isobel, her hands beginning to tremble, ready to shut the door and the rest of the world out.
"Find something, anything really, to hold on to. Hunt for another one of your causes, needle the Dowager; search for something to lead you out of the dark, at the very least for your grandson's sake." Mrs. Hughes hoped that her words would sink in. "Good day, Mrs. Crawley." With that, the housekeeper returned to Downton.
Isobel shut her door. Somewhere deep down within her she knew that Mrs. Hughes was right. Someday she would have to return to the light. But, for now, she desperately wanted to just succumb. Let grief overtake her and let go. Anything to not feel anymore.
Can't they just understand? I lost my world, my hopes, my dreams, my precious baby boy. Can't they just let me be? I do not want to feel anymore; this is too much, too hard, too dreadful. And she began to weep again.