Chapter Eight

The silence in the hallway of Downton Hospital was deafening. Dickie had occupied one of chairs and kept checking his pocket watch every minute while Larry alternated between sitting and pacing. Dickie could tell his son was a nervous wreck, but of course he would never admit it - just as he wouldn't accept any gesture of comfort or encouragement. He was actually waiting for his son to burst like a overheated cauldron, but so far Larry had restrained himself from doing so. He had even accepted Isobel's offer to look after Amelia, which was even more astonishing. They had been waiting for over two hours now and hadn't heard a word from either Doctor Clarkson or Isobel. It wasn't necessarily a bad sign, but his gut told Dickie that something was deeply wrong.

He hadn't seen much of Amelia since his wedding to Isobel, yet he found himself afraid for her life, not to mention for the life of his grandchild. Not his first as he feared since tonight, but nevertheless the first one he could have been a real grandfather to.

Involuntarily his thoughts travelled back to the dinner that never happened. Just as he had feared the evening had become a disaster. Isobel had been right with her prediction about Helen. He had indeed taken a liking to his daughter, something her mother wasn't too happy about. Her behaviour and her angry words had confused him. He didn't know what Annabelle had expected from him when she had told him the truth, but it had become obvious it wasn't what she had hoped for. As much as he wished to avoid another unpleasant conversation with her, he doubted it was possible to leave things between them as they were. Rather sooner than later he had to find a way to talk to her - face to face with no one else around. Isobel would hate the mere idea of it, but he felt he owed it to Annabelle to talk to her privately.

"Why does this take so long?" For the first time since Dickie had arrived, Larry was talking to him. The hands buried on the pocket of his coat, he was staring at the ceiling, as if the answer was hidden somewhere above him.

"I'm sure they do whatever they can," Dickie answered.

"And what if what they can is not enough?"

There was no good answer for that question and so Dickie just said, "Don't give up hope. Amelia is young and strong."

Larry crooked his eyebrows, "And so was Sybil…"

Dickie acknowledged the remark with silence.

"Why was Helen at your house?" Larry asked, suddenly changing the subject. "I told you to leave her alone."

"And I told you her family and ours are acquainted," Dickie answered. "Aside from that this is neither the time nor the place to discuss her."

Larry's mask of a face changed into a sarcastic smirk, "I knew you would say that. You're always so upright, aren't you? Decent, all knowing…."

"You could try a little decency at times. You may find people will appreciate it."

"Do they? In my experience people mostly appreciate what benefits them. So, in what way does Helen benefit you?"

Dickie sighed, "Why don't you concentrate on your wife? I think it's her your mind should be occupied with - not Helen."

Larry contemplated Dickie's words for a moment and then he sat down next to him. "Easier said than done."

Exhausted and with a gravely expression on his face Clarkson entered the preparation room where Isobel was waiting for him. She hadn't had any wish to go back into the hallway, where Larry was and so she had stayed in the deserted room, pacing the room like a tiger. Clarkson was still wearing the blood stained apron and the operation mask dangled under his chin. It was the weariness of his movements that told her everything she needed to know. She had never liked Amelia, but her untimely death shocked her nevertheless. Memories of Sybil's sudden death reappeared on her mind and made her numb. No one so young deserved to die.

"I'm sorry," was all he said as he went straight to a cupboard where he hid a bottle Scottish whiskey. After he had exed his drink, he offered her his glass.

"No, thank you," she said. "I think I'll need a clear head. What about the child?"

"It's a boy. He's small, but he's alive - and healthy, as far as I can say." Clarkson answered. "Time will tell. One of the nurses is out to get a wet nurse. As for Mrs Grey…. She's lost too much blood. There was nothing to be done."

He straightened his back and removed his apron and the mask. "l go outside and tell Mr Grey."

"I can do that," she said and fetched her gloves and coat. "With Larry Grey it's hard to predict how he will react. I don't want you to get a dose of his acid or even worse his fist."

"I know he has a reputation of being difficult," Clarkson said and added, "It's no secret you're not close."

"You can say that again."

"Do you think he'll manage - with the boy I mean."

She shrugged unconvinced and busied herself with her gloves. She hissed when her sprained wrist protested against her forceful drag of the soft fabric.

"Didn't I tell you to keep the bandage for at least a week?" Clarkson asked, chiding her. She ignored his reprimand and went for the door. Unsurprised by her attitude he followed her outside. They found Larry and his father in the hallway sitting next to each other.

Dickie looked up when he heard the steps and caught her gaze, silently asking for something to hope for. Larry was just staring into nowhere and didn't seem to notice Isobel or the Doctor. Subtly she shook her head. Dickie held his breath and rose, touching Larry's shoulder. The younger man looked up and came to his feet.

"How is she?" he asked.

"I'm afraid I have bad news," Clarkson said, before Isobel could open her mouth.

"She's dead?"

"Yes. I'm sorry, Mr Grey, but the loss of blood was fatal."

Shocked Larry fell back in his chair. His face was white as the wall and for a second Isobel feared he would faint.

"But the baby is alive," she said, after a moment of silence. "You have a son, Larry."

"I have a son…," he repeated.

"We're looking for a nurse for him," Clarkson reported, but Larry wasn't listening. Bent over he stared onto the floor and covered his ears.

"Do you want to…" The grave silence of the hallway was disturbed by the soft cry of a baby. Seconds later a young nurse stepped out of the ward and came towards them. Larry stared at her as if she were the devil himself. He rose again, but was unsteady on his feet. Dickie tried to help him, but he pushed his father's hand aside. The nurse stopped dead in her tracks, when Larry shook his head while he couldn't take the eyes from the small bundle in her arms.

"Don't touch me…. Stay away from me! All of you!" At first he stumbled backwards down the hallway, then he turned around, and fled the hospital. The small group remained where it was, shellshocked.

"Was that me?" the nurse asked flabber-gastered.

"It wasn't you," Clarkson reassured her quickly. "Mr Grey has a shock."

With careful, deliberate steps Isobel went to the nurse and looked down at the baby.

"He's really small," she said, when the nurse handed the new born over to her. Dickie stepped behind her and gently placed his hand on her back.

"He has to stay here until he's gained enough weight," Clarkson said as he watched Isobel wiping away an escaping tear. She couldn't say if it were the events of the day that were taking its toll or if it was the memory of the birth of her own son that caused her tears. She felt Dickie's soothing hand moving up and down her back.

"We will take good care of him."

"I don't doubt it, Doctor," Dickie said in a husky voice. "Thank you for everything."

As gentle as possible Isobel returned the baby to the nurse.

"Go and get some rest," Clarkson said, after the nurse had gone. "And make sure Mr Grey comes back to his senses. The little chap here will need him soon enough, as a matter of fact, he does now."

"Easier said than done," Isobel replied dryly, as Dickie helped her into her coat.

"And get that bandage back on," Clarkson said quietly enough so she wouldn't hear him.

Two hours later Isobel and Dickie were lying in the dark, her head rested on his chest. After their return from the hospital Dickie had placed some quick calls to a funeral parlour and to Cavenham Park. Larry had arrived at home, but had locked himself up in his study with the strict order not to disturb him. Glad his son had at least found his way home, Dickie had decided to call it a night. There was nothing to be done anyway at this time and everything else had to be arranged tomorrow. Amelia's parents were abroad, Egypt as far as he knew, and hard to reach. He would take the appropriate action in the morning - unless Larry would do so himself, what he doubted.

"I can't believe our day ended like this," Isobel said quietly, interrupting Dickie's thoughts.

"Me neither."

"Isn't it ironic when you think about how Amelia locked you up to die in your own house?"

"You make it sound so harsh…."

"Well, she was harsh, wasn't she?"

"I admit, she could be," he said and kissed her head. "Try to get some sleep. Tomorrow will be a long day."

"What will we do, if Larry won't come around about the baby?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know very well what I mean. You can't leave a child in his care, when he's like this."

Dickie didn't even want to think about it. "Speak of the Devil and the Devil will show up! He's had a shock, as any man would. He will come to his senses."

He wasn't as convinced as he sounded, but he hoped he hid it well enough to allow Isobel to get one night of sleep, before they had to face a very harsh and cold reality.

*tbc*

I don't know if I've mentioned it before, but I'm so very grateful for your lovely messages and comments. I hope you enjoyed the chapter despite the dark theme. See you soon :-)