Chapter Nine

The next morning

Right after breakfast Isobel had telephoned the Dower House to tell Violet the news about Amelia's death. Within half an hour the Dowager appeared in Crawley House - appropriately dressed in fur and a black. Isobel already dreaded the mourning period, but she knew it couldn't be helped. When Matthew had died the black had become a part of her and she had never minded the depressing colour, but with Amelia she certainly felt different. What she mourned the most were the prospects of a young, innocent boy who would grow up without a mother - and probably without an attentive father as well.

She had already asked one of maids and Dickie's valet to check out their wardrobe, but she feared both of them needed to stock up their mourning clothes rather sooner than later.

"I just can't believe it," Violet said when she sank into the chair Dickie usually occupied when he was in the drawing room. She took off her gloves and warmed her cold hands near the fire. "And all this just about one week before Christmas!"

In the early morning hours it had started snowing again and Isobel was growing sick of the snow as she was growing sick of black clothes she had been wearing less than three hours.

"I'm not sure I do believe it either," Isobel replied. "Do you want some coffee? I could use one. The night was rather short."

Before Violet could decline, Isobel rang for the maid.

"Where's Dickie?" Violet asked.

Isobel shrugged, "Making calls, writing letters and telegrams. We've been trying to reach Amelia's parents, but they're in Egypt and no one knows where."

"Shouldn't it be Larry's job to do all of this?"

"Larry's vanished," Isobel reported bitterly.

"Vanished?" Violet was aghast, but kept her tongue when the maid came in. Isobel ordered the coffee and added, "Please, bring one to his Lordship as well."

"What do you mean 'vanished'?" Violet asked when the maid had left again.

"Last night we telephoned Cavenham and the butler told us he was there, but didn't want to talk to anyone. This morning Dickie tried to reach him again and was told Larry had left the house very early and hasn't returned since then. And before you ask, he wasn't at the hospital and he didn't show up here either. I suggested we call the police, but Dickie thinks it's too early…"

"It certainly sounds as if he has lost it."

Isobel agreed. "I don't know what shocked him more: Amelia's death or the realisation that he's a single parent and actually solely responsible for another human being."

"But the child is all right?"

Isobel nodded, "Doctor Clarkson believes so. I'll go and have a look later on. He must stay in the hospital until he has gained enough weight."

The maid returned with the coffee and Isobel asked, "Did you bring a cup to his Lordship?"

"I wanted to, but he said he'd come in here any minute. He's…"

"He's what?" Isobel asked with rising worry.

"He was shouting at someone over the telephone," the maid said with a flushed face and left the room as quickly as her feet carried her.

"Dickie Merton shouting at someone. That's quite astonishing," Violet said she took the cup from Isobel.

Isobel drew s deep breath, relieved it was not worse than a sudden explosion of temper. "Well, must be his nerves. I can't blame him though. As always Larry's making a spectacle of his own misery. Not that I'm really surprised."

"You know what came as a complete surprise to me?" The Dowager asked. "The fact that a perfectly normal and sane woman like Mrs Rouquette seems to have fallen for him! She appears way too intelligent and… normal for a man like Larry Grey."

"I was thinking the same thing, but as you well know, we don't choose who we love." Lost in her thoughts Isobel drank her coffee and stared into the flames.

Violet eyed her concerned and decided not to dwell on the subject for the time being. "So, let's hope the young Mr Grey will find it in his heart to love his young son."

After Violet had gone and Dickie hadn't shown up in the drawing room, Isobel searched for him in his library. She found him behind his desk, writing a letter.

"Dickie?" she asked and closed the door.

"Yes, dear?" he asked without looking up.

"Is everything all right? Cousin Violet and I were waiting for you…" she stepped next to him and placed her hand on his shoulder. He sighed sorrowfully and put his pen aside.

"I'm sorry," he said and touched her hand."I wasn't up to talk to anyone. I'm sure she won't mind."

His hand felt cold and her eyes travelled across the room. She noticed annoyed there was no fire lit in the fireplace. Then her eyes came to rest on a couple of boxes near the window.

"Aren't you cold?" she asked. "I don't want you to get ill!"

"No, I'm fine. Don't worry about me," he said. "How's your wrist?"

"I'm fine. What's in the boxes?" she asked, wondering if they belonged to Matthew.

"I'm afraid they are mine," Dickie said quickly. "I was looking for something and forgot to have them moved to the attic."

Curiously, she went over to have a look at them. "Is that a picture of Ada and you?"

"I'm afraid so…" He rose and approached her while she fished up a photograph that had been stuck between two notebooks.

She smiled when she saw his young face. "How very young you look… and how very dashing."

He scoffed and took a closer look at the picture. "I think that was our honeymoon. We went to Venice and later to Milan and Rome."

"How romantic."

He grinned, but was far from being amused."Quite the opposite. It was the worst summer they had in years. Very wet and very flowded. It summed up our relationship fairly well."

"Well, Larry was born before your first anniversary. You must have had some good times."

"Let's say we knew what was expected of us."

Sensing his brooding mood, she dropped the photograph and turned to him. She closed her arms around his body and pulled him against her.

"What happened this morning?" she asked gently. "The maid said you were shouting at someone at the telephone."

"Oh well, I tried to locate Larry. Quite a ghastly undertaking, if you ask me. No one knows where he is or what he's doing. Then I tried to find out where Amelia's parents are, but their butler behaved as if he were a member of Secret Service and his employees the Royal Family. He repeatedly told me he weren't allowed to tell anyone where Mr and Mrs Cruikshank spend their vacation. Did you ever hear anything more ridiculous? Their daughter is dead and the butler refuses to help locating them!"

"I'm sorry you have to bother yourself with all of this," she said. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

He shook his head. "No, Darling. The way Larry and Amelia treated you, you have no reason to get involved more than necessary."

She gave him a grateful smile. "But I want to help you - not Larry. Aside from that I want to go to the hospital to see how the child is. Won't you come with me?"

"I don't deserve you, do you know that? And Larry doesn't deserve that you take care of his son. The boy's his responsibility."

"I'm not doing this for Larry. I worry about the child. He's helpless and lonely."

Dickie bent down to kiss her. "Let's go to the hospital then."

At the Hospital Isobel and Dickie parted ways, because Dickie wanted to pay his injured chauffeur a short visit, while Isobel went straight to the baby.

"He's stronger than I've given him credit for last night," Clarkson said, when Isobel bent over the small bundle. "He certainly has good lungs."

"Well, that's a good sign then," she said and picked him up.

"I see you found your bandage," he noticed with slight amusement. She rolled her eyes. Actually Dickie had scolded her when she almost dropped her tea cup in the morning and so she had applied it again.

"I did," she replied curtly and returned her attention the baby in her arm.

"Have you heard anything from Mr Grey?"

"No, we haven't. I'm afraid we don't know where he is."

"Unbelievable." Clarkson shook his head.

"You wouldn't say that if you knew him better," Isobel said.

"I hope you don't consider taking care of the child," Clarkson said, as he watched her holding him.

Isobel looked up. "I beg your pardon?"

"I can understand the thought is tempting, but children need…"

"You don't have to lecture me. I think I know exactly what you mean." Angry with herself, because she had allowed him to see right through her she turned away from him.

In her hotel suite in the Royal Hotel in York Helen Rouquette stared at the lonely figure laying in her bathtub and didn't know whether she should laugh or cry. From what she had understood from Larry's drunken scraps of conversation was that Amelia had died. Feeling nothing but numbness Helen didn't know what to do. Should she allow Larry to sleep off his delirious state or should she call his father to pick him up and bring him home home where he belonged? She had the inkling that Larry had run away - as he always did when life wasn't kind to him or things didn't work out as he had planned it. Over the years she had witnessed his cowardice more than once and knew how he operated.

"Helen?"

She sighed. From the door she heard her mother calling for her. Not ready to face the discussion about Larry Grey again she hurried out of the bathroom, but it was too late. Before she could close the door, Annabelle was already barging in and looked over Helen's shoulder.

"What's he doing here?" she asked angry.

"Take a wild guess," Helen snapped.

"Is he drunk?"

"Amelia's dead," Helen replied instead.

"And he runs to you?"

"As you can see…"

Annabelle marched inside the bathroom and said. "Call Dickie Merton and tell him he can fetch his useless son."

Helen wanted to protest, but she knew her mother wasn't wrong, just without compassion. Determined Annabelle took the shower head, turned on her water and held it over Larry's head…

*tbc*