Downton Abbey 1926
Christmas Special (Episode 12)
Chapter 4
Monday December 6, 1926
Mary and Dr. Clarkson
Clarkson came with his usual speed, though the minutes seemed like hours to Mary. She was riveted to the side of George's bed, perched on the edge of her chair, aghast at the heat of his brow. And fearful of touching him. She wanted to hold him, but he cried out in pain when she did so. This was alarming all in itself. Mary writhed in helplessness. George was ill, perilously so, and she could do nothing.
Cora sat on the other side of the bed almost equally stricken. They had not seen much in the way of dread illness in this house, not apart from the Spanish flu epidemic in 1919. That episode had taken its toll, almost as great as the war that preceded it, and Cora, who had been one of the lucky ones to come through that scourge, was frightened by the sight of the little boy in such distress.
"But there's been very little flu about this season," Mary said agitatedly. It was not at all fair for the illness to have snuck up on them so. Had she known it was sweeping the county, she'd have … well, she'd have done something different. "We don't know anyone else who's had it," she added petulantly.
But was it influenza? Cora was not convinced.
Both women were vaguely aware of their husbands, standing behind them, Robert leaning against the back of Cora's chair, Henry with a hand on Mary's shoulder. The men remained silent. They could say nothing to alleviate the anxiety of their wives for they had no remedy for their own concern. They all withdrew from the room when Clarkson arrived, leaving him to make his examination without distraction. But they hovered by the bedroom door, joined now by Tom, the only one among them dressed for the day. Only Edith was absent, having been overnight with Granny.
When the doctor emerged from the room, he hardly had time to draw breath before he was surrounded by the anxious family.
"What's wrong with him, Dr. Clarkson?" Mary's tone was half-demanding, half-begging. "How is he?"
The doctor had a professional demeanour that emanated calm, but now there was an unusual energy about him that communicated without words a sense of urgency. "We must get Master George to the hospital right away," he said.
"What is it?" Mary clutched at him. "Dr. Clarkson, please tell me what's wrong with my son!"
But the doctor hesitated. "I can't be certain, Lady Mary. I don't want to make any rash statements."
"You know what it is!" Anger, rooted in an all-encompassing fear, was sweeping over Mary. Dr. Clarkson might want to dissimulate for professional reasons, but she wanted to know, needed to know. "Tell me what's wrong with my son!"
Clarkson's eyes circled the little group warily. "I don't know, Lady Mary," he insisted. "Not without tests. And I don't want to alarm you."
"We are alarmed!" Mary cried.
"Please, Dr. Clarkson," Cora put in, pleading for Mary and for all of them. She agreed with Mary. Clarkson had a good idea of what it was, only it was so dreadful he wanted to be certain.
They were hanging on his words. He closed his eyes, took a breath, and then fixed his gaze on Mary. Then he spoke words more terrifying than any they might have anticipated.
"Lady Mary, I believe this is a case of the infantile paralysis."*
"What?" Mary and Robert gasped this in the same moment. Cora made an inarticulate sound. Tom and Henry only stared, wide-eyed.
"There've been several cases in the North this fall, a few of them in York. It's unusual at this time of year and I may be wrong – I can't emphasize that enough. But we can't afford to wonder. We need to call an ambulance right away and take him to the hospital in Leeds."
"What?" Robert swung toward him. "Why not to our hospital?"
"I'll make the call," Henry said, grasping the critical nature of the situation. He bolted down the gallery.
Mary stared at the doctor. "What…" she began again.
"This is well beyond the capacity of our hospital," Dr. Clarkson said, responding to Robert's query.
"But you managed well enough with my bleeding ulcer," Robert countered, not protesting but simply shocked at the level of crisis the doctor had invoked.
"It's completely different," Clarkson said. "They'll be able to make the proper tests at the Leeds hospital. And provide for the kind of isolation that will be needed." And then he turned to Mary once more. "Lady Mary, if I am right, and we do not know this for certain, then … it may be very bad indeed."
"What are we speaking of?" Robert asked hollowly. "Paralysis? Death?"
Mary cried out and her body wilted. Clarkson caught her in mid-fall, but she hadn't quite fainted and he passed her into the arms of Tom and Robert who stepped up quickly.
"We won't know until we've gotten him to the hospital," Clarkson said, answering Robert's question. "It's impossible to tell until we see which course it takes."
"What can we do?" Cora asked, her voice husky with emotion.
"Nothing. We can do nothing until we reach the hospital." What he did not tell them was that there was not much they could do even then. He looked around at them all and then retreated into the sick room once more.
Mrs. Carson, Lady Mary, and Lady Grantham
Mrs. Carson ascended to the gallery unprepared for the atmosphere of panic she met outside the nursery. Lady Mary was in a state and Her Ladyship appeared only slightly less distraught. The active anxiety in their countenances took a different form in His Lordship, who stood as though made of stone, staring blankly. Mr. Branson stood off to one side, running his hand through his hair and looking more shaken than Mrs. Carson had seen him in years. Through the open door, Mrs. Carson could hear the agitated cries of the small boy, Master George, and the soothing voice of Dr. Clarkson. She'd gathered that the child was ill. Mr. Barrow had heard Mr. Talbot's earlier summons of the doctor. Now, seeing the terror on the faces of the two women and taking in the agitation that emanated from their every gesture, Mrs. Carson realized that it was very serious indeed.
"How could this have happened?!" Lady Mary was wringing her hands. Her complexion was normally pale, but now it was bloodless, an almost deathly pallor. She looked like she might collapse in a dead faint at any moment. And this, to Mrs. Carson's way of seeing things, suggested a calamity. She'd never seen Lady Mary so unravelled. The sight was disconcerting.
"There are only a few cases in York. How could George have possibly…. Mamma! What if…." Her agitation had suddenly turned to panic and she seized her mother's hands.
Her daughter's convulsive clutching seemed to rouse Her Ladyship from her own haunted reveries. "Mary, he's right there. He can hear you."
"He is beyond hearing me, Mamma!" Lady Mary snarled in outrage. "He…."
"Mrs. Carson." Her Ladyship had caught sight of the housekeeper and found some level of normality in addressing her. "Master George is … very ill." Despite her effort to control what might be controlled, there was a waver in her voice and a veil of terror in her wide-eyed gaze.
Mrs. Carson understood the layers of fear she saw reflected there. Her Ladyship had lost a child in the full bloom of life and one unborn. She knew it could happen. Lady Mary might quake in anticipation of such a dread occurrence. Her Ladyship was acquainted with its reality.
"Dr. Clarkson," Her Ladyship began again, struggling to control her voice, "believes it is the infantile paralysis."
Lady Mary cried out at the words, but Mrs. Carson's blood had already run cold. This was a dread diagnosis, as powerful in its emotional impact as that of cancer. It killed. And those who survived might experience devastating consequences. And it spread like wildfire.
"Oh, my lady." Mrs. Carson spoke in a hushed voice.
Her Ladyship hurried on. "We're taking him to the hospital in Leeds. Mr. Talbot has just called for an ambulance. Oh! Here he is!"
Mrs. Carson turned involuntarily and her eyes fastened on Mr. Talbot, taking the last flight of stairs four at a time. He strode down the passage to join them, walking almost into Lady Mary, whom he swept into his arms. She went as limp as a rag doll against him. There was apprehension in his eyes, too, despite the strength that radiated from him.
"It's on the way, darling," he said, his tone so tender. "It will be here in minutes."
Her Ladyship, distracted by Mr. Talbot's announcement, turned her attention to the housekeeper once more. "The nurseries must be cleaned as they have never been cleaned before, Mrs. Carson. Everything must be taken out and … well, I don't have to tell you how to do your job. And every cloth or material item taken to the laundry and disinfected so that…."
"No!" Lady Mary had lifted her head from her husband's chest and was pushing back against his arms. He had to loosen the grip of his arms about her.
"Mary?" Her mother was puzzled.
"Stephen isn't going back in there. I want him right away from here."
Her Ladyship took a breath and chose not to argue. "Of course. Mrs. Carson, could you then see to making another room ready for…."
"No!" The word rang higher and louder still from Lady Mary. She stared at her mother, her face flushed, her dark eyes filled with a determination that reflected the derangement that fear had caused. "I don't want him in another room. I don't want him in this house. I want him right out of here!" However distraught, Lady Mary's voice rang with authority. She would not brook contradiction. "And he must have no further contact with Nanny. She's been caring for George and…."
"Mary…."
"Out of the house, Mamma! The place is tainted! I won't have my other son infected with this… this plague, too! I won't…." She began to beat her fists against her husband's chest, unthinkingly.
"I agree with Mary," Mr. Talbot said immediately. He spoke forcefully but without the anxiety of his wife. "We must have Stephen, and the other children, too, out of the house." He paused, frowning in thought. "Perhaps Anna could take Stephen," he suggested.
"No!" Lady Mary glared at him. "Anna has her own child to worry about. Robbie's been exposed, too. Or might have been. I want Stephen somewhere safe, untouched by this." A fretful cry from within the nursery prompted her to a deep convulsive breath and tears blurred her eyes. "George!"
"We could take Master Stephen, my lady."
Mrs. Carson surprised herself, both with the offer and the equanimity with which she spoke. The words were out of her mouth before she really considered the novelty of the proposal. The other five were suddenly staring at her. She did not blink. "I don't go in the nursery," she explained. It was the only part of the house where someone else, in this case Nanny, reigned supreme, in terms of housekeeping. "And Mr. Carson's not been near the Abbey in a few weeks. We've our own house and…."
"Would you, Mrs. Carson?"
Over decades, Mrs. Carson had seen many faces of Lady Mary and been enamoured with none of them. But she had never known the woman to look so vulnerable and, in that moment, she supposed she could see Lady Mary as Mr. Carson always saw her.
Mrs. Carson nodded.
Lady Mary's gaze pivoted to her husband. "Henry?"
They stared into each other's eyes. He was searching her soul, gauging her distress, trying to find some means to alleviate even a fragment of her pain. "Yes," he said, and then his gaze shifted to the housekeeper. "We should be very grateful, Mrs. Carson, if you would care for our son." And then he was looking at his wife again. "Mary, the ambulance will be here imminently. We must get George ready."
Her Ladyship did not follow them as they disappeared into the nursery. Instead, she turned to the housekeeper.
"We'll all be going to the hospital. Please make arrangements for Miss Marigold to be cared for until Lady Hexham returns. She's at the Dower House." Another wave of pain shimmered across Her Ladyship's face. She closed her eyes as if gathering strength, and then opened them again.
"Someone will have to go to the Dower House. Lady Hexham and Lady Merton are there and they all need to know." Isobel. For a moment, Her Ladyship faltered again. Then she drew a deep breath. "Edith can decide about Marigold. And Sybbie is at school and Mr. Branson will be picking her up."
"Very good, my lady."
Her Ladyship nodded. It was clear that she was only slightly more in control of her agitation than her daughter. "Mrs. Carson, Lady Mary is entirely out of her mind, as she has every right to be. I'm not sure that it's necessary to take such a drastic step,…." It was a big house after all. "…but, if it eases her mind at all, then…."
"I meant what I said, my lady."
"Only…." Her Ladyship's tone was leaden. "Master Stephen may well be infected, too. We've no idea what the … the incubating stage for this disease is." Behind her, her husband groaned, almost imperceptibly.
"We will attend him constantly, my lady. And call for the doctor at the first sign of anything amiss. We have a telephone in the cottage."
This reassurance did not have much of an impact. "I have the utmost confidence in you and Carson, in this regard, Mrs. Carson. But … it's an infectious disease. And adults get it, too. We've no right to ask you to risk…."
"I know, my lady." And she did. Had not Dr. Clarkson imparted all the dread features of the disease only weeks ago in her own sitting room? "But the child must be cared for by someone, and if it will give Lady Mary a fragment of relief…." She was not afraid. She had listened carefully to what the doctor had said. They would take precautions.
"Thank you, Mrs. Carson." And then Her Ladyship turned to her husband, held out a hand to him, which he seized, and they both retreated into the . Carson stood still for a whole minute, ordering her thoughts, and then moved briskly into action.
Robert, Isobel, and Edith
It was Robert who went to the Dower House to tell Isobel. It was the very last thing he wanted to do.
"I want to be there for Mary," he insisted, when Cora put it to him. I want to be with you. I need to be with you. In this moment of terror he wanted to be wherever Cora was. George! Not George!
"Robert, Isobel must be told immediately and by one of us. And she'll want to come to the hospital. You can bring her."
Cora was not wrong about any of this, but Robert resented it nevertheless. So he watched them all depart – Mary in the ambulance with Dr. Clarkson, Cora in the car Henry had brought round. He ought to have roused Pratt, but it never occurred to him to do so. Instead, without thinking, he went out to the garage and got into his own car, the one that had so recently brought him so much pleasure. Now, it was nothing more than a functional tool, a way to get from the Abbey to the Dower House, and, from there to the hospital in Leeds.
As he turned the car out into the drive, he caught a glimpse of the other two vehicles disappearing over the hill on the road.
Not George! Not George! The emotional intensity of the crisis ramped up with every repetition. And then a litany began to unfold in his head.
James. Patrick. Matthew. George.
James. Patrick. Matthew. George.
It wasn't his only concern or even his greatest concern, but it was always with him.
George! He was a sunny little boy who brought so much joy to the household. And Mary. Robert felt a heaviness in his heart. Would to God that Mary could be spared that! Because, yes, he knew what that was like, too, and next to, intertwined with his dearest wish that George survive this trial, was that his child never know that kind of grief.
The infantile paralysis!
And this on top of Mama, too. Oh!
Tears blurred his eyes. He drove slowly, not by design but from distraction. He had no awareness of his route, knew only that he must get to the Dower House. George was Isobel's grandson, too. And he was all she had left, in blood, of her own darling son. Robert stifled a cry. Isobel, too, had known enough grief. Why was this to be visited upon her? George, Mary, Isobel, Cora, me. They none of them deserved this. And Edith would be there, too.
Spratt let him in and it was Robert's impulse to run up the stairs to his mother's bedroom, but he caught himself. It would do Mama no good at all to hear this news.
"Spratt," he said, surprisingly himself with the evenness of his tone, "who is with Her Ladyship this afternoon?"
"Lady Rosamund, Lady Merton, and Lady Hexham, my lord."
Rosamund. Thank goodness. There was one among them not directly touched. "Would you please fetch Lady Merton and Lady Hexham. I'll wait in the sitting room."
Spratt nodded obligingly and moved away. Robert watched him start up the stairs. He was not impressed with Spratt. How was it that when a vacancy had occurred in his mother's household that Molesley had missed the opportunity? Molesley was a gentle soul and Mama would have flattened him, but she had been as kind as she was capable of being to the fellow. And Robert would have been more confident that his mother was in caring hands. Spratt might be functionally capable as a butler, but there was no warmth to the man at all.
Isobel and Edith came promptly but not with undue haste. He had not wished to alarm them. They were both smiling. It seemed they were having a good day with Mama. They greeted him genially. Isobel was a few seconds behind Edith in realizing that something was amiss.
"Papa, what is it?"
He had suppressed the tears that had blurred his vision on the drive over. It was no good ever showing emotion before the servants. But now they returned. "It's George," he choked out. "He's taken a turn for the worse. Clarkson came and … and called an ambulance at once."
Horror had overtaken the two women.
"Does he have any idea what it is?" Isobel asked, struggling to keep her voice steady.
Robert's jaw worked futilely. He could not speak.
"Robert, what is it?"
"He thinks … He's not sure, wants to do tests first. But … he says he thinks it is the infantile paralysis."
Robert thought that Isobel had fainted and lunged forward to catch her, but she found the table edge and faltered but did not fall.
Edith's face had gone a ghastly pale. "Papa, what …? Will he …?" She managed to focus. "Marigold," she said.
The name roused Robert. "There are no signs in anyone else. The children have been removed from the nursery and everything and anyone in which they've come in contact is being scrubbed down."
"I must go to the hospital," Isobel gasped.
Robert nodded firmly. "I've brought the car. We'll go straight there." He took Isobel's arm and then looked to Edith, who was gathering her thoughts. As he watched, she seemed to summon some mettle from hidden resources.
"I'll call the Abbey and find out about the children." Edith took a deep breath. "If things seem all right, then I'll stay with Aunt Rosamund and Granny, at least for a little while." She turned to Isobel, who looked ashen. "I'll make your excuses. I don't think we ought to tell Granny." Her eyes met her father's. "Not yet anyway."
Robert enveloped his daughter in a crushing embrace, more grateful than he could ever express at this display of level-headedness. Edith pushed him away.
"Go, Papa. Quickly."
At the Hospital
The hospital overwhelmed Mary, a novel sensation for her. She was not easily cowed. But the circumstances were against her. Dr. Clarkson had had the wherewithal to telephone ahead. George was whisked from the ambulance and out of Mary's sight almost before she herself had clambered out of the vehicle. Fortunately, Henry had been close behind and he and Cora were there almost immediately to support her and Mary had collapsed in her husband's arms, more distraught than she had ever been. She remembered her breathless apprehension for Matthew at war, Matthew wounded, and the searing pain of Matthew dead. And how she had felt with Mama writhing from the influenza and at the deathbeds of Lavinia and Sybil. The emotional turmoil in each of those instances had been real and powerful. But none of them could match this in the eviscerating agony of watching her son, her dear little boy, convulsing with this dread disease. And she completely useless.
Cora stood white-faced beside her daughter and son-in-law. Of all of the residents of Downton, Cora knew the Leeds General Infirmary best. She had had tours and meetings aplenty in her role on the board of regional hospital administration. She had met doctors and nurses and attendants and office staff. She had studied every report. She ought to be comfortable here. But it was always different when you came as an observer or administrator rather than with a loved one. She remembered how it had been when Robert's ulcer had burst and she had held his blood-soaked hand for the few minutes while Dr. Clarkson's team had prepared for surgery. That was at the cottage hospital at Downton. Now, standing in the familiar surroundings of the Leeds Infirmary, she was stripped of her administrative calm. I am paralyzed with fear, she thought, and then rebuked herself. With George in the grips of the infantile paralysis, to evoke such a condition for descriptive purposes was hyperbole. And yet … she knew what it was like to fear for the life of a child and to lose.
The minutes stretched interminably, but at length Dr. Clarkson appeared, now wearing a white medical coat over his grey suit. They leaped to their feet, Cora wishing desperately that Robert were here with her.
"We've begun the tests, Lady Mary, but it will take some time, hours, before we can be certain of diagnosis. In the meantime, Master George will be moved to a room, a private room, as he needs to be isolated."
"When may I see him?" Mary asked, her face crumpled in distress.
Clarkson took a deep breath. "Well, you can't."
"What?"
"Lady Mary," Dr. Clarkson spoke earnestly, "if … if it is the infantile paralysis, it is highly contagious. It is transmitted through droplets spread by coughing, sneezing, just breathing the same air, as well as through contact with infected fecal matter. Hospital personnel will be wearing protective gowns and masks to attend to him."
"Can't I?"
Clarkson hesitated. "If you will bear with me, Lady Mary. Please let us ascertain that this is what we are dealing with and then … then I will do my best to ensure that you may at least be present near your son, if not actually able to comfort him directly."
This was a blow Mary had not expected and it sapped her further. "But where would George have picked up such a thing? No one else is sick."
Hanging in the air were the dread words Not yet.
"The river," Henry said abruptly. "You said there had been a few cases in York, Dr. Clarkson. George fell in the Ouse last week. Might there have been contaminated … matter … there?"
"If he ingested any water it might be a possibility. Some sewage is dumped into the river and the polio virus lasts longer in fecal matter than in air passages."
"He did take on water," Henry said. "I pumped lungfuls out of him."
"My God!" Mary gasped, turning to Henry. "You went into the river, too! You might have it as well."
Henry shook his head. "I didn't go under and I didn't swallow anything."
"Oh, thank goodness!" Mary wrapped her arms about him, but Henry, meeting the doctor's gaze over her shoulder, looked grim.
"You must be very careful, Mr. Talbot."
"We'll keep a close eye on him," Cora murmured. "We'll all take great care."
* H * H * H * H * H *
They were still waiting when Robert arrived with Isobel. Robert looked haggard, but Isobel was more shaken still. Her countenance was ashen. They had, all of them, aged in a matter of hours.
Isobel went straight to Mary and they clung to each other, Mary overcome by a renewed eruption of tears and Isobel too much in shock to cry. In this crisis, they shared a unique bond, an echo of that forged five years and a half years earlier with Matthew's death. They had both loved and lost Matthew. George was their solace.
Cora had achieved some semblance of calm through their enforced waiting. Practical considerations had prevented Robert from letting go, but now he fell into his wife's arms, his own tears flowing silently into her hair.
They quickly exchanged what news there was to share and the waiting began again.
At length Dr. Clarkson emerged once more. Before they could bombard him with questions, he held up his hands to arrest their words. "Lady Merton, Lord Grantham," he said, acknowledging the newcomers. "I cannot tell you anything for certain."
There was a collective sigh of dismay.
"It will be some days before we know if this is indeed the infantile paralysis and the extent to which it has taken hold. I can only tell you that as of right now, while Master George is in considerable pain and discomfort, and that he feels badly all around due to a severe headache, aching limbs, and a sore throat, he has as yet shown no signs of paralysis. His muscles are painful, but they are still working." As he spoke, Dr. Clarkson shifted his gaze between Mary and Isobel, recognizing that they were the most concerned parties.
"It is imperative that you all take steps to isolate yourselves from others. I won't impose a formal quarantine on the Abbey, but district health authority requires you all to go home and stay there until further notice."
"What about George?" Mary demanded. "I want to see him. We want to see him." She extended her hands out to Henry on one side and Isobel on the other.
Dr. Clarkson nodded. "You may see him, Lady Mary. Only …." He paused. "You may not touch him. And you will be separated from him by a glass wall."
"But he will want me by him!" Mary protested. "He'll be afraid by himself. He'll need his mother. His parents. His grandparents."
The doctor shook his head. "Lady Mary," he said gently, "Master George will hardly be aware of your presence or absence. He is in a great deal of pain and all we can do for him is to give him limited pain relief and administer heat packs to the affected muscles. It's an … unpleasant procedure, for while necessary for muscle health it is very uncomfortable for the patient. You will not want to be always by his side."
Mary turned to Isobel, who folded the younger woman in her arms. Behind them, Cora reached for Robert's hand and held it tightly.
"But we may see him now," Henry said.
The doctor nodded. "Yes. Follow me."
*Author's Note: If you have been reading this story carefully, this diagnosis will not surprise you. Foundation has been established. Dr. Clarkson has regaled the Carsons with an unwanted (from Carson's perspective) lecture on the disease and at Isobel's dinner party the conversation turned briefly to how polio (aka infantile paralysis) had derailed the political career of Franklin Delano Roosevelt. As it turned out, in the short term, it didn't derail F.D.R.'s political career. He went on to become President of the United States, elected to an unprecedented four terms. (They have a constitutional amendment against that now….) In the longer run, it is now being asserted that F.D.R. had Guillain-Barre syndrome, rather than polio. But that is a 21st century revelation.
The Standard Prompt: Reviews warm my heart and prompt me to write. To know that hundreds read and only the stalwart half dozen review is frustrating. That is human nature. If you've enjoyed the first 350,000 words of this story, please review.
