Thanks for your lovely comments for Chapter 1. Enjoy the next installment!

Chapter 2

The next morning the storm was over and was replaced with fog. Thick, confusing, and damp air hung over the village like some heavy cloak that wanted to suffocate the small community. Spratt, butler of the Dower House, rubbed his cold hands when he entered the kitchen downstairs to get himself some hot tea.

"You won't believe it!" Denker, the Dowager's ladies maid, announced when she waltzed in. Spratt rolled his eyes in annoyance. This woman never allowed him one minute of peace and quiet. Every time Denker was about to spread the latest gossip, she radiated with almost obscene glee.

"I already do," he returned most uninterested while he poured himself a cup.

"Mrs Crawley's in the drawing room."

He scoffed. "What's new about that? She's there at least once a day!"

"I know, but she's just told her ladyship about her latest rendezvous with Lord Merton."

"Rendezvous?" Spratt crooked his right eyebrow. Everybody knew Mrs Crawley and had given Lord Merton the brush off months ago. "I think your imagination is running away with you once more. Have you been drinking at this time of day?"

Denker ignored Spratt's offence. "What would you call it, when a gentleman turns up at a woman's house in the middle of the night?"

"I don't know… perhaps this rendezvous was more of an emergency? I heard in the post office that his Lordship's car had broken down during the storm. He needed to make a phone call to get home!"

"Humbug! I bet he was there to…" The bell rang and interrupted Denker. "Her Ladyship calls," Spratt said, relieved he had a reason to flee the kitchen and swallowed his last drop of tea. "I have to go upstairs."

"Good. Maybe you'll hear it for yourself then."

Spratt hesitated for a moment, contemplated Denker's words and then he bent forward and lowered his voice to a mere whisper. "You know what I also heard in the village this morning?"

Denker's eyes widened with curiosity. "Pray, tell!"

"There's a werewolf loose around here. Apparently it tried to violate Mrs Beaver last night."

"A werewolf," Denker repeated in disbelief. "I think it's your imagination that's running away now. Everybody knows there are no werewolves."

"Or was it a vampire?" Spratt wondered on his way to the door. "Anyway, it was something with big teeth and a horrible haircut. Perhaps it was you!"

Denker grabbed for the first thing she got hold of - a tea towel - and threw it after Spratt, but he was already gone and so the towel ended on the door handle.

"Bloody bastard!" she yelled after him.


"Can you believe the nerve of that man?!" Isobel asked while she paced the Dowager's drawing room like a hungry tiger.

Violet watched her cousin with growing amusement. Little did she know that Isobel's bad mood was not just a reaction to her late night visitor, but her haunting dream afterwards.

"So, you actually think he just pretended that his car had broken down, because he wanted to spy on you?" Violet asked, but her voice was clouded with doubt and Isobel realized how ridiculous it sounded when Violet spelled it out like this. "I never took Lord Merton for someone who could come up with such a cunning plan just to meet you. Isn't he more the type who drops in for tea?"

"Me neither, but then I never thought he would…" She broke off and fiddled with her gloves.

"Yes?"

"Feel attracted to someone like Lady Shackleton." Violet did her best not to smirk. Of course, Isobel's struggle with her emotions was real and not something to glee about, but then Isobel had manoeuvred herself into this position without help from anyone else. Perhaps the latest developments would help her to see sense - at least for once.

"But wasn't that ages ago?" Violet asked. "You can't really be angry with him for something that happened ages before you knew him!"

"I'm not angry with him. I just think he shouldn't show up at my door in the middle of the night!"

Violet sighed. "I think you're overestimating a rather harmless dinner between two old friends. But, if you wish, I can try and find out if there's more to it."

Isobel eyed Violet suspiciously. The offer was kind, even generous, but Violet never did anything without getting an advantage from it. "What's in it for you?"

Violet shrugged and the innocent expression on her face told Isobel the older woman was up to something. "I'd like to help - that's all. Since you're horrible at gossiping I'm offering help. And now for the love of God, sit down! You're ruining my rug with your heels!"

Isobel contemplated Violet's offer and sank on the small sofa near the windows. "You know there's one more thing that really bothers me," she finally admitted.

"What do you mean?"

"Dickie said, there's... gossip about Doctor Clarkson and me. I wonder if he simply made it up to annoy me."

Violet toyed with her cane while she inhaled deeply. Isobel watched her friend and rolled her eyes. "Just say it, before you burst."

"We all know that Doctor Clarkson was delighted when you called off the engagement to Dickie."

"Don't exaggerate!"

Violet ignored Isobel's argument and continued unimpressed, "And he uses every excuse and opportunity to show up at Crawley House. Of course, everyone in the village has understood his motives - that means everyone but you."

Isobel blushed. "Are you saying I'm leading him on?"

"All I'm saying is that you being unattached seems to encourage him."

"You're not a big help."

"You've asked for my opinion and you got it," Violet returned, a bit miffed. "You can get rid of him anytime you want - unless of course, you enjoy the attention and his unrequited feelings for you." Violet picked up her bell and rang for Spratt. "Tea? Or do you need anything stronger?"


Dickie Merton entered the Downton Hospital after he had failed to reach Isobel at Crawley House. He had spent a rather sleepless night tossing and turning after their unpleasant argument and wanted to apologize for the way he had spoken to her. He didn't like the idea of having this conversation at the hospital though, but he wanted to get it off his chest before it suffocated him. As things were between him and Isobel these days, he had no wish to run into Doctor Clarkson. It was torture enough to hear the local gossip about them that awoke certain images in his head. The last thing he wanted was seeing them together to have his worst fears confirmed. All he wanted today was to apologize. Perhaps they could be friends some day, once the awkwardness between them was gone.

He walked down the dark corridor and stopped the first nurse that passed him. "Excuse me, please, is Mrs Crawley here?"

"I'm afraid not, Sir."

"Mrs Crawley won't be here until after lunch."

Dickie registered a little embarrassed that Doctor Clarkson was right behind him. He turned and cleared his throat. "Good morning, Doctor," Dickie greeted him as kindly as possible. The nurse realized she was dispensable and quickly left the two men alone.

Clarkson nodded, but he couldn't force himself to give the Baron a smile. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"I'm afraid not. I was at Crawley House, but when she wasn't home, I figured she might be here."

"Well, she isn't," the Doctor informed him curtly. "But we'll have a meeting this afternoon. I can tell her, you came to see her."

Dickie noticed how the Doctor emphasized the 'we', but desperately wanted to ignore it.

"That won't be necessary, Doctor. I'll try to call on her some other time."

"I think she's at the Dower House. She usually calls on Lady Grantham in the morning," the Doctor said and Dickie clenched his jaw. Of course, Clarkson had to remind him that he knew more about Isobel's daily routines than Dickie did.

"What I wish to discuss with Mrs Crawley is not exactly meant for old Lady Granthams' ears, but thanks anyway, Doctor. Have a good day!"

Dickie tipped his hat and turned on his heels. Hopefully he had given Clarkson something to think about.


After she had left the Dower House Isobel strolled absent minded through the foggy village. It was too early to go home for lunch, but she also had no wish to go to the hospital. She only had an appointment with Clarkson and two board members this afternoon and after Violet's curtain-lecture about Doctor Clarkson earlier she didn't want to nurture the local gossip by showing up there without a good reason.

Deep down inside she knew Violet was right and that bothered her more than anything else. Recently Clarkson had given up his restraint and did his best to get closer to her. She had noticed his frequent visits and his unusual interest in her opinions, but hadn't found the right way to deal with it. The truth was, sometimes she was a little tired of being alone, and Clarkson was attentive enough to make her forget about it at times. But it wasn't enough. She liked him, but was too aware of his flaws to ignore them. She didn't feel the wish to share every detail of her life with him, didn't feel the need to share her thoughts with him, when she saw something beautiful, and she certainly didn't wish to share her bed with him. He didn't awoke tenderness or lust within her. Dickie Merton was the only man, her late husband aside, who could make her shiver when his hand touched the small of her back. His visit last night had reminded her about that and after she had fallen asleep hours after he had left her house, she had had the most peculiar dream. She blamed the ugly weather, "Dracula" and the fact that Halloween was approaching for her unsettling dream that had left her with a familiar, but embarrassing tingling in her core when she had opened her eyes in the morning.

In her dream a vampire, a tall, handsome stranger with pale skin, red eyes, and exceptionally talented hands, had visited her bedroom. Unable and without the wish to resist him, she had welcomed him in her bed where he had done unspeakable, but the most delicious things to her yearning body. She had reached a level of fulfillment that she had never known in years and right before she had woken up, she had finally realized that her mysterious lover had been no one else than Dickie Merton.

Usually dreams faded in the broad light of the day, but this one hadn't. It didn't only stay with her, it drove her into sheer madness that she couldn't think about anything else than Dickie making love to her.

Her feet carried her across the cemetery where the fog seemed thicker and colder than anywhere else. Isobel blamed the time of year for the way the thin hairs on the back of her neck turned up when she passed the gargoyle sitting on the railings near the cemetery entrance. She stopped, stared at the strange stony creature and wondered if it had always been there. Was she completely mad now? She read gothic novels, dreamed about being ravished, and now she asked herself if she imagined seeing a gargoyle. What would she do next? Invite a werewolf for dinner?

She shook her head and forced herself to look at the street ahead. Only a few people were outside, but one man caught her indefinite attention when she found him watching her. Dickie stood near the war memorial and raised his hand to greet her. She blushed, wished she could run away, but naturally, she couldn't ignore him.

With weak knees and a lump in her throat she crossed the street to meet him.

"I'm so glad to see you," he said once she had reached him. "I was looking for you at the hospital."

"I see… What is the matter?" she asked as casually as possible.

"I wanted to apologize to you. Last night, I spoke out of term to you. I was tired and the fact that my car had broken down in the middle of a storm didn't help to improve my mood. I wish for you to forgive me for my impertinence."

Relief flooded her, but she didn't want him to notice how glad his words made her feel. "I wasn't on my best behaviour either," she said. "Let's forget about it."

He gave her one of his most radiant smiles. "I feel a lot better now," he confessed. "I couldn't live, if you despised me."

Once again he made her speechless. "Don't be daft," she returned nervously. "I have no reason to despise you."

A little embarrassed by the situation he lowered his eyes. "I'm glad to hear it." His voice sounded breathy and suddenly she felt herself caught in the memory of her dream from last night. She bit her lower lip and licked it before she said, "I have an idea, why don't you join me…."

The horn of an approaching car absorbed her words "for lunch" and startled by the unwelcome interruption they turned around. The car that stopped next to them belonged to Lady Shackleton. Isobel froze when she saw the smile on the other woman's face when she looked out of the car window.

"The man I wanted to find," she said and beamed at Dickie who didn't seem the least bit unhappy to see her.

"Will you please excuse me," Isobel said with barely hidden anger. "I have to go home."

"But Isobel…" Dickie yelled after her, but she pretended not to hear him while she headed for Crawley House. With the appearance of Prudence Isobel felt as if someone had emptied a bucket of ice water over her head. Whatever had gotten into her head when she wanted to invite Dickie to her house, was gone. Instead she felt furious for her foolishness and her heart ached with the feeling of not being enough to keep Dickie's attention as soon as his former lover appeared on the scene.

-tbc-