I know I've kept you waiting for this last chapter, but I simply didn't have much time or the energy to write during the last two weeks. I hope you enjoy the last installment!

Chapter 8

The sun set early the day before Isobel and Dickie intended to marry. After endless discussions about the perfect date and or the best way to celebrate, the couple had settled for Sunday, a fortnight to Christmas. The first of snow had fallen earlier that day and a sense of calm had settled over the village. To say it with the words of Reverend Travis, "Everything is falling into place. Everything is well."

The only one feeling anything but calm and well was Richard Clarkson. As a family doctor and close friend the doctor was invited to the wedding. Of course, he was invited, though it wouldn't be a big society affair. Since Cavenham was burned down and Crawley House was too small, Lord Grantham had kindly offered to host the wedding. So, at least, the Doctor would be spared the claustrophobic narrowness of Crawley House for the wedding breakfast, but he still didn't feel genuinely happy for Isobel. With every secret rendezvous with Prudence Shackleton his obsession faded more and more, but it wasn't gone. Isobel still ruled his heart and she did so with an iron fist. So, he found himself at her front door with the fresh snow crunching under his feet. The day was slowly coming to an end and the dark clouds over his head promised more snow - most likely sooner than later.

It was the landlady herself who opened the door for him. She had placed a tartan scarf around her shoulders to protect her from the cold.

"Doctor Clarkson!" She gave him a surprised, genuine smile. He had never seen her this relaxed in years. The last time she had looked this content and happy had been the summer before Matthew had died, before his drunk-almost-proposal, when she had been his friend and he thought she might be in love with him too.

"Good afternoon, Mrs Crawley."

"What a surprise! Why don't you come in?" Her good mood was understandable, but still cut straight into his bruised heart.

"Where's your maid?" He wondered while he took off his hat and coat.

"I had to send her to the Abbey. They needed help with the flower arrangements."

"I see."

He followed her into the drawing room where he was greeted by a pleasant fire and festive Christmas decor. The scent of hot chocolate, fir, and pastries hung in the air. The winter outside was rearing its ugly head, but in here it was warm and friendly. It was the home she had prepared for her future husband, a home that was waiting for that other man to move in. The visit was to become harder than he had imagined it.

A book was laying on the table next to the armchair. He stole a glance from the title and crooked his eyebrow. It was 'Dracula' written by Bram Stoker. He wasn't a vivid lover of modern literature, but he had heard about the novel and what he knew about it wasn't to his liking. He had no use for vampires, blood sucking demons, or mentally unstable women. He decided to ignore her choice of reading material and looked at her instead.

"So, are you nervous?" He asked, avoiding her curious eyes.

"A bit," she confessed with an almost coy smile. "But what do they say? It's not my first rodeo."

"I gathered you plan to live here?" He said and let his eyes travel across the framed pictures of her family on the mantelpiece. Matthew, Mary, George…. the late Reginald Crawley and one more, new picture of Isobel with Lord Merton.

"Yes, we will. Cavenham's lost after all and God knows when it'll be rebuilt. I think we'll be best suited here."

He nodded, lost in his thoughts. It wouldn't be easy for him to have them live so closely near the hospital. The village was small, too small to ignore Crawley House on his way to work in the morning.

"Can I get you some tea?" Isobel asked. "The scullery maid is still here. I can ring for her."

He quickly raised his hand. "No, no. All I wanted was to… wish you the best of luck. That's all."

She smiled and her eyes glittered in the light of the flickering fire. "That's kind of you."

"It's necessary… because you deserve it." Deep down inside, the man who still longed for her like a demon longed for death and destruction, wanted to add that he was the one who should walk down the aisle with her, but he forced this man to keep the secret to himself.

His cause was lost, his mission to win her heart was a failure. She was in love with someone he considered completely insignificant and boring, but he had to keep his dislike for Lord Merton in check and had to find another way to unleash the jealous creature within him, most likely in the arms and between the legs of Prudence Shackleton.

The thought created a devious smile on his face and forced the blood into his trousers. Already embarrassed by his lack of control he cleared his throat and rose.

"I'll see you tomorrow then." He bowed courteously and didn't wait for her returned greeting before he fled the room.


When Dickie entered the cemetery it started snowing again. Soft crystals danced around him, as he approached the grave of his late wife. He had no good reason to be there aside from his wish to tell her that he was about to live a happy life after all. Ada, who had always wanted for him to be unhappy and die alone, needed to hear that her death wish hadn't come true after all. As always when he paid her grave a visit he felt watched - from the gargoyles at the church, from the ghosts of the dead, and the shadows behind the hatches, from anyone who wasn't in this world anymore and yet still part of it.

"As I see, you've come to bid her goodbye." Feeling caught, he froze and turned around. Prudence Shackleton, all dressed up in fur, was approaching him with slow, deliberate steps.

"You've scared me," he admitted. "What are you doing here? It's almost dark."

"The same as you," she answered with a raw chuckle. "I'm bidding someone goodbye." She stopped next to him. "So, tomorrow is the big day."

"It is."

"Are you nervous?" She wondered.

He shook his head. "No, I'm looking forward to it!"

"I bet you do, but are you sure she'll turn up? She has dumped you before as far as I remember."

He swallowed. Her remark hit a nerve and he hated himself for thinking about it.

"That was different," he returned without looking at her.

"What has changed?"

"Everything."

"If that isn't a sufficient answer, I don't know what is."

Her sneer annoyed him, but he knew where it came from. It came from a dark place filled with the pain of rejection. He knew this place because he had been there when Isobel had dumped him almost one year before. "Is this a woman scorned speaking?"

"I'm way too much of a pragmatist to think like that. I thought you knew that!"

"Do I really know you?" He asked. As it was her way of dealing with uncomfortable issues, she countered with another snappy remark. "For your sake I hope you know her. I still think she doesn't deserve you, but I'm willing to change my mind when she actually turns out to be the right woman for you."

He took her hand and placed a kiss on her glove. "You're one of a kind, Prudence. I hope you'll meet someone who turns out to be the right man for you."

She smirked, but kept the answer to herself. Would he care if she told him about her very own way to get rid of her own unhappiness at least for a few stolen couple of hours every now and then with the local doctor? She doubted it. He was too much in love with Isobel Crawley to care about her gratifying escapades.

He tipped against his head. "I have to go," he said.

"Is she waiting for you? You know it's bad luck to see the bride the night before the wedding."

"It's not night just yet," he replied. "Will I see you tomorrow?"

"Of course! I wouldn't miss it for the world!" That was an outright lie, but she didn't know how to excuse herself without looking foolish and so she would attend. Faking a smile when she wanted to throw things was one of her best trained habits.


In the servants' hall of the Dower House the mood was chilly and it had nothing to do with the weather outside. After her wounds had healed the animosity between the maid and the butler had been taken to a complete new level. Between stupid pranks, shouting, and childish insults, the strange couple was close to forget the purpose of their presence in the Dower House. Violet didn't know what exactly the reason for the ever increasing war was, but she had decided to put a stop to it.

She stood in the middle of the servants' hall, leaning onto her cane and looked from Denker to Spratt and back. Both didn't dare to breathe while the Dowager's silent fury filled the room like heavy perfume.

"I will hear no more talk about vampires, werewolves, or similar creatures from the two of you. No more pranks that involve fur, dead or living animals. And no more gossip about Mrs Crawley or anyone else! Is that understood?"

Denker and Spratt nodded in unisono, but said nothing. Violet exhaled audibly and for the hostile item wondered if she was about to breathe fire like a dragon.

"Good. Denker, I expect you in half an hour in my bedroom."

"Of course, mylady."

They remained where they were until the Dowager had climbed her way back upstairs.

"I think she meant every word she said," Spratt said once he was sure she was gone for good.

"Of course, she meant every word," Denker agreed. "But don't you know what that means?"

"Excuse me?"

"It means I was right about Mrs Crawley and the whole thing about Doctor Clarkson and Lord Merton! And maybe there's a vampire or a werewolf loose in the village!"

Spratt covered his ears with his hands. "I don't want to hear any about it. Mrs Crawley is getting married tomorrow and there are no vampires or werewolves! That's about it as far as I am concerned."

"Don't be such a spoilt sport. As if you didn't want to know!" Denker made a face and poured herself a cup of tea.

"I've decided I can live without knowing," Spratt said. "And now leave me alone, before I tell her Ladyship about your latest gossiping."

She gave him a nasty look. "You wouldn't dare, you nasty, little man." She turned away and missed the butler's outstretched tongue in her direction.


Clarkson lay on the bed like he had been crucified. The soft light of the old oil lamp painted shadows across the wall of his small bedroom. Outside the wind was howling and rattled at the shutters. Prudence Shackleton was nestling up to him and ran her hands over the fading and latest bite marks she had left all over his chest.

"So, tomorrow's the big day then," she mused somewhat weary. "Do you feel prepared for the big day?"

"I couldn't care less," he answered as coldly as possible.

She snorted and withdrew from him. "Liar!"

He shivered from the sudden loss of physical contact, the comforting warmth of her body, and watched her as she climbed out of his bed. His eyes never left her body while she carefully picked up the individual parts of her clothes. To watch a woman this shamelessly was nothing he should be proud of, but he didn't care. As so many times before in the last couple of weeks, he had dismissed the idea of being a gentleman. Being a gentleman hadn't led him anywhere in the last five decades. He had no wife, no family, no children. He was an old lonely country doctor who had succumbed to the lowest instinct a man was capable of - and he enjoyed every second of it. And she was just like him, although she belonged to another sort of tribe. It was refreshing and very, very satisfying.

"I don't lie," he answered. "I mean it."

"But you saw her today, didn't you? Right before you opened your door for me."

He felt how the blood rushed into his cheeks. He had no idea why or how she knew, but it was useless to lie about it. "I did see her," he admitted. "I was there to wish her good luck."

"How kind of you." The conceit was audible and he let his head sink back into the pillow. "I'm not scolding you, you know. I did something similar before I came here."

"In other words you're just holding up the mirror." He chuckled rawly.

"At least that's what I'm trying to do."

Silence fell over the room. The light flickered and after a minute he wondered if she had left the room. He pushed himself up and found her standing near the bed, still naked with her dark hair falling over her shoulders. His body reacted to her sight and his brain focused on one thing and one thing only.

"I won't come back," she said.

Surprised and irritated by the sudden change of subject, he blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. This is the last time you'll see me here. From tomorrow on you'll be on your own."

He swallowed, but said nothing while his eyes traveled up and down her body. He would miss her… the realization took several seconds to unfold.

"I see..." He didn't know what else to say. Where did he think this would lead anyway? She was a lady and he was a country doctor and just like him she had needed someone to scratch an itch. There was no future for a relationship like that and he had known so from the very beginning. Why was he surprised that she didn't want to continue their affair?

Her next move was as flabbergasting as unexpected. As she had so many times before, she climbed on his bed and crawled over his lap. He groaned when she touched him.

"You better make the best of tonight," she said and kissed him on the mouth - something she had never done before.

"As you wish," he mumbled after he had broken the kiss. He looked straight into her pearly eyes and ran his hands down her sides until they came to rest on her slender hips. With gentle force he pushed her down into the mattress and kissed her greadily. His right hand fondled her breasts, pinched them most effectively, and brushed down her belly. It found its way between her legs - a move she welcomed with a long, greedy moan. While his fingers got to work, he decided it was time for a new mission - making her return to his bedroom as often as possible.


"Dickie!"

The snow was whirling in the air and ended in her hallway, when Isobel opened the front door for Dickie. She hadn't expected to see him before the wedding and the old saying that it was bad luck for the groom to see the bright the night before the ceremony crossed her mind. She gave him a shy smile, unsure what his visit at this time of day, hours before their wedding could mean.

"I won't be long," he said quickly as he passed her on his way inside. "I just… I wanted to see you!"

"Did something happen?" She asked, worried and took his hat. The sudden fear that Larry and or Amelia had done or said something to change his mind about the wedding came back to the surface.

"Oh no!" He assured her and hung up his coat.

"Good." Relief flooded her. She led him into the drawing room.

"I was about to drink a cup of tea," she said. "Do you want to join me?"

He shook his head. "No, not tonight." He took her hands into his and pulled her closer. "I just wanted to see you."

"Are you sure everything's all right with you?" She wondered once more. His attitude irritated her.

"I've never been better," he admitted, a little nervous. "Perhaps that's my problem. I cannot believe my luck."

A soft smile formed on her face and she felt how her eyes teared up. "Me too. I think I won't sleep a wink tonight."

"So you haven't changed your mind?" He asked and she was sad to hear a shred of doubt in his voice.

"My mind's completely made up," she answered. "I'll become your wife - come hell or high water." She stretched a little and gave him a soft, tender kiss on his lips.

He pulled her closer and his hand wrapped around the back of her neck. As their kiss deepened the sense of relief faded and turned into nascent desire.

"I doubt that's what old Travis had in mind when he told us about 'a virtuous married life'," Dickie joked after their kiss had ended. She chuckled and rested her head against his shoulder. "Who cares about old Travis?"

"It'll torture to wait for another twenty-four hours before we can leave our weddings guests and everything else behind us."

"You've been torturing me with your decision to honour my already compromised virtue for the last couple of weeks," she complained and ran her finger tips over his step collar. At first she had been angry about his wish not to make love to her again, before they were married, but with every passing day, her anger had slowly faded into anticipation.

He placed a kiss on her hair. "I want tomorrow night to be special."

"You've told me as much." She raised her head and looked him straight in the eyes. "I'll remind you about it in less than twenty-four hours," she whispered cheekily.

"Be careful what you wish for," he replied and kissed her once more.

After what seemed an eternity he broke the kiss, before he did something Reverend Travis wouldn't approve of. "I'll go now," he announced. "It's dark outside and my mother used to say that it's bad luck to see the bride the night before the wedding."

"I'm not exactly a stickler to traditions."

He laughed. "You're certainly not and I love you for it."

"I love you too," she answered and stole a kiss from him.

"Till tomorrow then," he mumbled against her lips.

"Till tomorrow."

She escorted him back to the front door, kissed him once, twice and third time, before he tore himself away from her. With a wistful, but nethertheless satisfied smile on her face, she watched him as he walked away into the darkness of the approaching night. The snowfall had increased and covered the silent village with a cold and fairytale-like blanket. Somewhere in the distance, from behind the graveyard she heard birds - or were it owls? - chirping. She thought about the novel on her table in the drawing room and remembered the line Stoker had written for his protagonist, "Listen to them, the children of the night. What music they make!" She shivered and closed the door, leaving the cold winter night outside.

-The End-

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