Chapter 6
Dickie Merton left Crawley House before dawn. The air was chilly as he quickly walked through the dark village where everything was silent, foggy, and he felt as if he was being watched by ghosts and shadows that hid behind curtains and drystone walls. Isobel had been asleep when he had disentangled from her legs and the warm sheets to sneak out of her house in the middle of the night. After tonight he felt like a thief who had taken something precious. In his world a gentleman didn't seduce a lady, no matter how loving or willing she was. Of course, one could argue if he had been the seducer or the seduced, but the result was all the same. He reached his motorcar. His chauffeur was snoring in the rear seat with a blanket spread across his uniform.
The church bell struck four times and Dickie looked up to the steeple. Behind the trees the horizon faded from darkness into a soft orange. Wasn't it way too early for dawn? He narrowed his eyebrows and woke up his driver. It really was a strange night.
"Well, what's wrong with you this morning?" As it was her most cultivated habit, Violet had appeared in Isobel's drawing room without announcing herself and at the most inconvenient time. Just as she had promised herself the night before, Isobel had just started to tear up the novel 'Dracula' and threw the pages into the fire. Violet gave her a disapproving gaze while the sheets crumbled up in the flames and coloured black.
"Nothing," Isobel answered crisply. Still she closed the volume and placed it on the mantelpiece.
"Won't you ask me to sit down?" Violet wondered.
Isobel stayed silent. She was still angry with her cousin for creating a fait accompli and inviting Dickie, Doctor Clarkson and Prudence Shackleton for dinner.
"I see." Violet smirked and stepped to the sofa near the window. She took her time while she sank down and scrutinized Isobel.
"How's poor Denker?" Isobel asked, when she realized no hostility in the world would make Violet leave Crawley House any time soon.
Violet scoffed. "Arguing with Spratt again. But don't avoid my question. What's wrong?"
"Everything's fine," Isobel lied bluntly.
"So, is it normal for you to burn books? That's a rather savage act, even for a socialist like you!"
"What do you want me to say?" Isobel returned.
"What happened between Dickie and you after the two of you left last night?" Violet blurted out. "Don't tell me, he dropped you off without losing another word about the dinner!"
"If you want to know, he wasn't happy with the pumpkin souffle."
Violet pursed her lips. "Your sense of humour's as enlightening as a candle in a stormy night."
"Anything else you need to know?"
"Well, I could ask you why Spratt told Denker that Lord Merton's chauffeur had asked him for a blanket around two o'clock this morning, but that wouldn't take us very far, would it?"
Isobel felt how her cheeks coloured, but she remained silent and didn't avoid Violet's knowing look. Violet admired Isobel for her stubbornness and decided to leave the subject alone - for the time being.
"Since we've cleared that up, I think you should know that something's happened at Cavenham last night." Violet made a dramatic pause while she waited for Isobel to show some sort of reaction. The latter did her the favour and asked, "What happened?"
"Well, I guess it can be considered a tragedy."
"Don't string this out! My patience has its limits!"
"Well, there was a fire."
Isobel swallowed and her voice was thin when she spoke again, "A fire? At Cavanham?"
"Yes. From what I heard it seems the house has completely burned down. That drafty old shag must have burned better than any of us thought!"
"Who cares about the house!" Isobel blurted out. "Is he hurt?"
"Well, since he was here with you, I guess the answer is no."
Isobel threw her hands up in exasperation. "I have to go!" She stormed across the room and tore the door open.
"Well, he's in the hospital," Violet explained unmoved. Isobel turned on her heels. "You just said he's fine."
"One thing doesn't exclude the other," Violet pointed out.
Isobel clenched her fist. "You know, sometimes…. Argh!"
"You ahead. Get it off your chest."
Isobel shook her head. She shut the door so vehemently that the framed pictures on the wall vibrated. Violet winced and said to herself, "Everytime I do her a favour she gets mad."
Doctor Clarkson hadn't expected anything to torpedo his good mood, but once the news about the fire at Cavenham arrived at the hospital, he knew better. Several firemen and two footmen had been hurt in the fire. He had spent the better part of the morning with the treatment of burns and light cases of smoke poisoning. When at last Isobel arrived on the scene, his mood finally sank like the Titanic after hitting the iceberg. When he heard her high-pitched voice and saw the flying seam of her coat his throat became dry. The well-suppressed memory of the night he had spent with Prudence Shackleton reared its head and he blushed. It was ridiculous, but he suddenly felt guilty - like a husband who had betrayed his wife. It was all nonsense, because Isobel wasn't his wife and didn't even have an interest in him as a man, but loving her was like a habit that he couldn't discard like a pair of old shoes.
"Mrs Crawley," he greeted her. "What can I do for you?"
"Are you serious?" She snapped much to his annoyance. "Lady Grantham's told me there was a fire at Cavenham Park and Lord Merton's here."
He cleared his throat. "Well, the Dowager's right, but I can assure that Lord Merton is right as ninepence. He's in the ward, talking to one of his servants. I'm afraid the young man has suffered extensive wounds on his leg." He watched the news sinking in. She became pale and suddenly all the energy that had carried her inside the hospital seemed to be drained out of her.
"I see," she stated flatly. "Thank you, Doctor."
She turned away from him and headed into the direction of the men's ward.
"You're welcome," he said so quietly that she couldn't hear him.
Dickie turned away from the young man in the bed and rubbed his tired eyes. The poor lad was probably cribbled for life and had fallen asleep during his conversation with Dickie. Perhaps it was best, because the nurse had told him that the footman had received a notable dose of painkillers.
Cavenham was gone - most of it at least. The home of his childhood had burned down almost completely. When he had arrived at home the fire brigade had already started to put out the blaze, but the damage had already been quite extensive by the time they had arrived. Larry and Amelia had spent the day in London and he suddenly realized that he hadn't telephoned them to deliver the news. Amelia would probably faint when she heard that everything that was left of the house she had married into had turned into a pile of burned wood and stones. For a reason he couldn't tell, the idea almost amused him.
"Dickie!" Too lost in his thoughts he hadn't noticed Isobel who was rushing towards him. Of course, she had heard. Of course, she knew by now. Still he hadn't been prepared to meet her just yet.
"Isobel." He quickly looked down on himself. He was still wearing his evening attire and probably looked foolish within the middle of the men's ward. He was dirty and smelled like an old briquet. It wasn't the sight he wanted her to see of him.
"Are you all right?" She blurted out as she stopped in front of him. The worry was written all over her face and it warmed his heart to know she cared.
"Yes, yes. The fire started before I arrived at home."
"And Larry? And Amelia?"
"They're in London. They don't know yet."
"I see…"
"One of my footmen is over there." He turned around and pointed at the sleeping young man near the window. "I'm afraid he isn't well."
She nodded. "Doctor Clarkson said there were several injured."
"Unfortunately yes."
"And the house?" She wondered.
His response was a weak shrug. "Gone… I think. I doubt there's anything left to save."
"Oh Dickie!" Deeply saddened, she reached out to touch his arm. She remembered the bad joke she had delivered the night before about the house burning down and felt guilty for it. Her malice had been uncalled for. "I'm so sorry."
He cracked a smile. "You're not. As far as I remember, you never liked the house."
"Just because I didn't want to live there, doesn't mean I wanted it to burn down," she said, radiating with guilt. He shook his head and gave her a smile. He resisted the wish to caress her cheek and said, "I know, but you have to excuse me now. I have to go back to pick up the pieces… well, what's left of it."
"If there's anything I can do to help…," she started. "Why don't you come over for tea… later… or dinner…"
"I doubt my wardrobe allows me to pursue a social life any time soon."
"Please… you have to eat."
"And so do my staff," he answered. "I'll think about it."
She swallowed and touched his arm once more, before she stepped aside to allow him to leave. "Please, do so."
In the late afternoon Clarkson found the time to retreat to his office. He closed the door behind him and sank in his chair. The started bottle of whiskey was calling him and he obeyed. After the excitement of the early morning the hospital had calmed down and he could allow himself to take a break.
It was crazy how life could change from minute to the other. Only twenty-four hours ago he had considered himself close to marrying the woman he loved and what had happened? He had made a fool of himself once more and in the end he had made love to someone else. He filled his glass with the strong, golden liquid, but before the alcohol could do its magic, someone knocked at his door. He quickly hit the bottle and the glass in his drawer.
"Come in!"
He had expected his head nurse, but he was mistaken. Prudence Shackleton in all her glory opened the door and stepped in.
He jumped up, hit his knee at the desk, and suppressed a curse.
"Lady Shackleton!"
"Good afternoon, Doctor. I hope I don't interrupt you."
He cleared his throat. "You don't."
"I heard there was some excitement here today."
"There was," he confirmed and added. "And before you ask, Lord Merton is fine."
She pursed her lips, "So, I heard. Actually, I came to see you."
"Did you?" He asked and surrounded his desk.
Prudence smiled and the mischief he noticed in her sparkling eyes made him forget about his aching knee or his busy ward. "I think I need your help, Doctor."
"How's that Lady Shackleton?"
"I think I have a sore throat.
"And what can I do about that?"
She shrugged and turned around. He watched her as she turned the key in the lock and his throat became tight - just as his pants.
"You're the Doctor," she answered casually, "Think about something!"
-tbc-
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