Disclaimer: I do not own Downton Abbey or any of the characters and lore associated it.
For those specifically interested in when this takes place, I'd imagine off-screen during the events of 3x06.
"Lie…is so unmusical a word."
Richard Clarkson coughs, slightly laughing hours after having heard that line. She would, wouldn't she? The Dowager has a mental pocket book for every quip one might need in their old age, and she somehow rips the necessary verb from it every time. Even when something as dark and depressing as the death of a loved one should dampen her abilities, she's resolute in her convictions.
Though that's not saying she isn't affected.
He wishes he could say the same, but the depressed atmosphere chokes his thoughts. It seems like only yesterday he'd seen Sybil Crawley. He'd treated her from birth, for Christ's sake. Just this radiant flower, this spirit of youth that was so kind and brave to everyone she knew. He'd heard stories of her going to protests and the antics that followed her marrying the house chauffer. His inner rebel wishes he could've gotten a glimpse of that. It sounded memorable enough to keep thinking about.
But maybe fate had been kind enough, and it knew it was time to take hold and lead her off. The memory of watching her die from something he could've prevented made Clarkson want to turn into himself and cry in shame. He knew in his heart that he was right; he had to be. Sir Phillip cared more about his ego than actually saving the girl and had, in essence, killed her. He had killed her by refusing to do a recommended medical procedure. The thought of the pompous physician makes Clarkson want to seethe.
And then the funeral…God forgive him, he'd only made it to the church door before stopping, as if the stone has gripped his ankles to inaction. Richard had caught a glimpse of the entire family, their servants, and the locals standing in mourning around her casket; they looked like a sea of taunting black. It felt like he couldn't breathe. The sobs came up his throat and he spun with what energy he had left, walking silently home. All while the shame followed overhead.
Once more the winds blow and his mind comes back to the present matters at hand. It would be a serious break of his morality if he lies, as the Dowager suggested, and says Sybil would have perished despite the surgery. How can he take advantage of the Crawleys' suffering like that? He has to stand his moral ground on the matter!
So unmusical a word.
He tries his best not to think about it, he does, but a small voice at the back of Richard's brain keeps shouting. Because for all the horrible moral boundaries he could break…Richard isn't as assured about the complete success of a cesarean operation. And he can also help the Crawleys move on. That idea shouldn't be too far-fetched. All it just takes…is for him to lie.
Damn her…that woman makes me do things I wouldn't otherwise.
"Afternoon, Doctor Clarkson," a spirited nurse said as he walks into the office. "Can I help ya' with somethin'?"
"If you'd please," he says humbly. "Send a telegram to the Dowager Countess. Tell her I accept her request."
"Right away, sir."
The nurse moves away hurriedly, and Clarkson sits down with lifted spirits. He's made his choice. He just hopes it will do something to help.
A/N: Thanks for reading! This is my first 'fic for Downton Abbey and I hope you liked it! I'm not exactly the best at getting exact mannerisms for the show, but I appreciate the characters and era and always wondered what Doctor Clarkson must've thought considering and doing this 'service' for the Dowager. Please follow or favorite if you'd like, this might not be the only DA fanfic coming from me! And to everyone waiting for all my unfinished stories, know that with school done, I should be getting back on them soon!