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Hi.
No excuses, as always. Can you believe how long it's been? Can you believe the things that have happened in the world since the last chapter? I certainly can't. I hope everyone's as well as can be. Crazy times we live in.
Just one quick note: This chapter is set before the previous one. It wouldn't have made sense at any other place though so here it is. I'm not exactly pleased with it but I'm also not unhappy about it. It had to be written, some ends needed tying.
Without further ado: Here's the next chapter.
Disclaimer still applies. I make no money off of this (fat chance, with how infrequently I post...).
I had always been rather resolute in my actions. Would I have proposed to Isobel if I wasn't? Probably not. But since I was the way I was, I took action the very next day after deciding that I was going to fight for my wife's love. At the rise of dawn, my chauffeur turned on the car and we were on our way to Downton.
We parked right in front of the hospital, the chauffeur opened the door, I straightened my hat and exited the vehicle only to have my plans crushed fairly promptly by one of the nurses.
"I'm very sorry, My Lord, but visiting hours have not yet begun." she said.
Visiting hours? I didn't even want to visit anyone. I merely wanted to see my wife.
"I understand, good woman, but I am here to see my wife not to visit anyone." There. Polite yet firm.
"Yes. As you've said. But I cannot let you enter the hospital just yet. And since Lady Merton is inside, you will have to wait for a few hours." What exactly had she not understood? Was my wife working at the hospital? She wasn't. There was no reason why she shouldn't at least be able to come outside.
"Most certainly, good woman, but wouldn't it at least be possible for my wife to come outside? You see, it is most urgent that I speak to her at once." Politer and firmer, still, than before. Good.
"You see, she is working right now." the nurse replied.
"What do you mean 'working'? My wife does not work here."
"Well, that's not exactly true right now she's -" Right in that moment, Isobel walked past the door behind the nurse carrying a kidney dish with some tubes and needles on it. And was that blood on there, too?
"Isobel." I called. She looked startled for a second as I had obviously pulled her out of her thoughts.
"Dickie? What are you doing here?" she finally said.
"I've come to talk to you. Come with me, please?"
"Oh, what a pity you came here so early. I'm busy with doing the morning rounds right now. I'll be done in about two hours. Will that be convenient for you?" Morning rounds? Busy? Two hours?
"Actually, I would appreciate talking to you right now." That's right. Remaining strong and steadfast.
Isobel gaped at me for a few seconds. I was sure, she would put the dish down, take off the apron and come outside to talk. She did the exact opposite.
"Not now." she said and turned around.
What is a man to do in a situation such as this one? What is he to do?
So I waited. Who would have thought that a man such as me would be found sitting in his motor in front of a village hospital waiting for his wife? Was this how it was supposed to be from now on? Was I ready for this? Did I really want this in my life?
Answering those questions, honestly and truthfully, was harder than I would have imagined. No, I was not ready for this. Was I prepared to be waiting for Isobel? I had known who she was. I had known what I was getting myself into and I had decided that I wanted this life, this life with her. I wanted her and nothing about that had changed in the time we had been apart. If anything, those days apart had strengthened my resolve to fight for what we had and to fight for her and her love. No, I did not want this particular situation in my life and - by God - I did certainly not want to wait for my wife while she was keeping vigil at another man's bed. But yes, oh yes!, I wanted Isobel in my life.
My musings helped in passing the time and two hours later I was finally allowed to enter the hospital. Isobel took me to the doctor's office and shut the door behind us. She was still wearing the apron but was, thankfully, minus the kidney dish. Reading about medicinal matters was one thing. Seeing needles, tubes and blood all gathered on one instrument or another was quite a different story altogether.
We stood looking at one another for some time. I lacked all perception of time. It felt like hours but was probably only a matter of seconds.
"What is it then?", she finally broke the silence.
"What do you mean?" Not exactly as eloquent as I had hoped, but her question took me aback. Wasn't it perfectly obvious why I would want to talk to her?
"Why do you want to talk? Why did you come here?"
"Because I haven't heard from you in days!" I had gotten defensive. This talk was going a lot worse than I had imagined. I had been sure she wouldn't just come home with me without any argument, but standing in front of her now, convincing her of my good intentions and making her come back with me suddenly seemed a lot harder.
"Well, excuse me." Why was she so calm? "But I've been busy taking care of my friend. You said you didn't want me to neglect my friendship with Doctor Clarkson and he needs me right now. So here I am. Honorig said friendship and helping where I am needed. I need to be needed. I need to have purpose." Her speech became more passionate with every word. I wouldn't have been surprised if she had stomped her foot at the end of her last sentence. She didn't.
"But there are nurses for that. Nurses, who-"
"I am a nurse." She crossed her arms across her chest. God, she was beautiful though.
"Yes, yes I know. But that was years ago, you-"
"You don't suddenly stop being a nurse. Especially not if you're needed!" Her nostrils flared. She was angry. I had never had that anger directed a me, never to such an extent. My goal of making her come home with me seemed to move steadily further out of my reach.
"I know. Will you stop interrupting me and just let me talk?" She just huffed, which I took to answer my question in the affirmative.
"I know you are a nurse, I know you love your profession, I know you want to help when you feel it is needed. But Isobel, don't you think that there are enough people in this hospital who can take care of Doctor Clarkson just as well? Surely he must have gotten better by now." Her demeanour had softened marginally which meant that her nostrils had deflated again.
"I miss you. I miss having you home with me, listening to you talk about something so passionately as if you're ready to move heaven and earth for it. I miss reading together with you. I miss you and I just want you to come home. And if you're not ready to come home then tell me that but don't leave me in the dark. I am your husband now, remember? We're supposed to share our lives. I want to keep sharing my life with you but I'm going to need you to play an active part in it." I had moved closer to her and was now standing directly in front of her.
"Please, Isobel." I asked while my hand went to her upper arms, gently grasping them. I had not expected what happened next: A sob escaped her lips and her head dropped to my chest, her arms went around my waist.
"He's been so very sick, Dickie. I was so worried. I so sorry, I didn't contact you but I was so busy. For the longest time we thought he was going to die. His fever was so high. He was so very sick. He's only been better for some days now. Every time I look at him, I keep thinking that he'll get worse again and I'm afraid to leave. What if he dies? What if I'm gone and he doesn't wake up again? What if he gets worse again?"
Her words stunned me. I hadn't known that she was quite so well acquainted with the doctor as to merit such concern.
"How long has he been better?" I asked.
"Only three days. He still seems to have a terrible headache, though, and he seems to be very sensitive to light and noise. I know that the flu will often leave patients having similar symptoms but they usually never stay for this long and they are never this severe."
"Has he been lucid all this time?"
"Yes. Yes, he has." Her forehead was still resting on my chest, thankfully her sobs had subsided.
"He is fine then. If he was very ill before, his body just needs longer to regain its strength. We're not exactly young all of us. He'll be fine, I'm sure."
"Are you?" I had never heard my wife sound quite so timid before.
"I am sure." I answered. "Come home with me?"
Isobel pulled away from me, her eyes finding mine.
"Yes. I'll come home with you. Let me just say goodbye to Doctor Clarkson and Mrs. Carson and let the nurses know and then we'll be able to go back home."
If I had only known what was going to happen next. Then again, would that have changed anything? How could it have changed anything? The only thing I might have done differently is change my overly optimistic prognosis. But how was I to know?
As if the nurse had been waiting behind the door for us to finish talking, a harsh knock sounded on the dark wood the second she agreed to come home with me. The door opened and young, distressed looking nurse stood behind it.
"It's Doctor Clarkson. He's unconscious. Come quick." and she left knowing that my wife would follow.
Isobel slipped out of my embrace immediately and ran after the nurse. I followed at a slower pace.
There was no need for me to see what my heart already knew: The doctor was worse, she was going to stay with him, I was going to go home alone.
When I entered the sickroom, the charged and chaotic atmosphere made it hard to focus on what was being said. I heard people talk about meningitis. But surely, the good doctor wouldn't have developed that? Shouldn't there have been signs?
My eyes finally landed on my wife. She was standing next to Mrs. Carson, her eyes fixed on the sick man on the bed in front of her. She was mumbling but I was unable to hear her words through the commotion. A doctor was shouting for antibiotics and a basin with cold water. Someone came rushing over carrying syringes. The doctor was unconscious but seemed to be having trouble breathing while at the same time his body was seizing. People were hurrying around, everyone trying to help Doctor Clarkson as swiftly as possible. Mrs. Carson kept having to reach out for Isobel's arm when she seemed ready to step up to the bed, push the doctor and nurses aside and treat the doctor herself. My wife stayed put though, her lips never once stopped moving.
It was a terrible commotion and only when there was a slight dip in the noise level, could I hear what my wife was mumbling: "Don't leave me, too. You can't leave me. Don't you dare."
I tried catching her eyes, but she was too busy praying for another man.
I turned and left.
Without my wife.
There's one chapter left of the first part. The second part is shorter, I promise and there are two ways this story could potentially go after that next chapter. I had an original plan but I'm not sure about it anymore so I might change my original idea or I might even write both versions but for now I'm glad you chose to read this. Until the next chapter.