Chapter Twelve
Three days later
The funeral of Amelia Grey was a cold affair. Not only was the world now covered in under a most solid blanket of snow, what didn't improve the grim situation was the arrival of Mr and Mrs Cruikshank who hadn't been in Egypt after all. It turned out the couple had spent their time in Dublin where Mr Cruikshank had been negotiating a secret business deal for his bank.
After examining his first and only grandchild two days before the funeral, Mr Cruikshank had decided to sue Downton Hospital for failing to save his only daughter's life. In another outburst Amelia's father also blamed Larry for his daughter's sudden and unfortunate death, simply because Larry was the father of baby. Much to Isobel's surprise Larry endured the old man's tirade with a lot more composure than she had given him credit for.
While Clarkson had retreated into a state of shock, Isobel and Dickie had both tried to reason with Mr Cruikshank, but soon had to realize how useless it was to argue with someone who had no intention of listening. At first Isobel had suspected Mr Cruikshank was too consumed by his grief to see sense and leashed out at everyone, but after a very tiresome discussion she had realized he was just a nasty old man who didn't give a button about anyone but himself and especially not for the half-orphan who was very much alive and needed someone to care for him.
Mrs Cruikshank barely opened her mouth and the second time Isobel had taken her to the hospital, she refused to hold the baby. She had just burst into tears and had fled the ward. The only surprise in the mess had been Larry Grey himself. The day after his drunken intermezzo he had actually found the way to the hospital to see his son. The wet nurse later reported to Isobel that Larry had behaved most awkwardly, but at least he had taken an interest in the baby's health.
The only lingering question left was the missing name. No one had come up with a name for the boy yet and Isobel didn't want to push the matter as long as the funeral wasn't over. Despite Mr Cruikshank's notions Larry had arranged that Amelia would be buried at Downton next to his mother Ada, which had caused another unpleasant afternoon tea at Cavenham Park. Isobel's dislike for the estate grew with every time she had to enter it. It was a house filled with misery and, as the late Lord Grantham had so rightly stated once, literally the coldest house in England. Every time she left it she suffered from cold feet. She had never wanted to live in there, even if she might have done it for Dickie's sake, but every evening when she returned to the warm and friendly Crawley House, she thanked God for the peace of her own home.
It had started snowing again during the memorial service and after the final blessing from a very freezing Reverend Travis the large congregation quickly dissolved and people rushed to their cars, their collars up and their hands buried deeply in their pockets.
"What a sad occasion," the Dowager said, as she joined Dickie and Isobel on their way to the motorcars.
"You can say that again," Dickie agreed.
"How's Larry?" Violet asked. Larry and his parents-in-law were walking in front of them, neither of them was talking.
"Stable," Isobel answered curtly. "But I'm afraid Amelia's parents are not very cooperative."
"At least they don't show any interest in taking the baby away to London, do they?"
"No," Isobel confirmed. "On the contrary, but they still plan a lawsuit against the hospital, which is insane."
They passed the small gate at the end of the cemetery, where Dickie suddenly stopped dead in his tracks.
"Oh dear," he said with a barely suppressed sigh.
"What is it?" Isobel asked worried.
"Helen's here," he answered in a low voice. "And Annabelle."
"How inappropriate." Violet craned her neck to find the two women and detected them near the street where most of the cars already were passing by. Dickie hadn't been the only one seeing the two women. A few feet away from them, Larry was staring at Helen as if he was seeing a ghost. Dickie quickly went to his son and gave him a quick hint to follow Amelia's parents, before someone would notice the uninvited guests.
"What are they thinking?" Isobel asked angrily, as she watched Dickie approaching the two women.
"Death always lures people," Violet said dryly. "It's like a magnet."
Isobel ignored the Dowager and watched how Dickie exchanged a few words with Annabelle. Whatever he told her, seemed to have the wished result, because both women went back to their motorcar and climbed inside.
"Should we go now?" Dickie asked, when he returned. "We shouldn't be late."
"What did she want?" Isobel asked, ignoring his urging.
"They wanted to express their condolences," Dickie answered so nonchalantly that Isobel knew it was a lie. "Let's go." Understanding, but not liking his meaningful gaze, Isobel took his arm and followed him, the Dowager on their heels.
The next morning Isobel woke up and Dickie was gone. Her searching hand hit an empty, already cold pillow and at once she was wide awake. She remembered vaguely that she had fallen asleep in his arms the night before and this morning she didn't even notice him leaving the bed. The clock in the hallway struck eight times and she wondered when she had left slept till eight in the morning. She must have been more exhausted than she had realized.
On her dressing table she found a note from Dickie. With a sigh of annoyance she read that Dickie had gone to Cavenham to speak to Amelia's father. Amelia's parents were staying with Larry and she realized she was quite relieved that she didn't have to share another meal with Larry and his parents-in-law. As tame as Larry was these days, she had no intention of pushing her luck with him.
Before she had finished dressing, she heard the maid opening the front door for someone. It was the Dowager. If Violet Crawley paid a visit at this hour, something very important or grim must have happened. Unsure, if she could bear more bad news on an empty stomach, Isobel drew a deep breath and rushed downstairs.
"What's this?" Isobel asked suspiciously, when she eyed the small bundle of letters, she found on the small table at the fireplace.
"I'm a woman who keeps her promises," Violet said, rather proud of herself. "I told you I would try to find out something about your husband's former… friend, but I found something even better."
The maid came in to serve the tea and Isobel's small breakfast - a slice of toast with butter and jam. Isobel registered that the sender of the letters were located in France and Italy.
"As far as I know, Mrs Kent lives in Canada," Isobel remarked with crooked eyebrows and swallowed a piece of her toast.
"As I always say, travelling broadens the horizon."
"You hate travelling."
Violet sighed annoyed. "Do you want to know, what I found out, or not? And where's your husband?"
"At Cavenham, trying to reason with Mr Cruikshank."
"What an honourable and useless task," Violet quipped.
"Indeed… so, what about the letters?" Isobel asked and realized how unenthusiastic she sounded. At this point she didn't see how more information about Mrs Kent could diminish the damage the woman had caused.
Violet cleared her throat. "Well, you'll find yourself surprised by the contents. One is from an old acquaintance of mine. Her maid once worked for your predecessor, the late Ada Merton by the time she got married to Dickie. She died a few years ago, but not before telling her stories to anyone who wanted to hear it."
"And?"
"Well, it seems dear Lady Merton was one of those who walked down the aisle with not only half of the story hidden…. Actually she was hiding much more."
"I'm afraid, I can't follow you."
"Before, Ada's father bought her a husband with a grand title and a big estate, she was walking out with an officer of the Irish Army. His name was Patrick O'Leary and he was dark-haired, dashing, and had a thing for the gambling table and rich heiresses. Once her father found out that Ada planned to elope with him, he pulled the right strings to ensure Colonel O'Leary was sent to India without a return ticket."
"That's sad, but…"
The Dowager sighed, defeated. Her well-prepared arc of suspense failed its purpose and if she hated something, it was lost punchline.
"You know, at times, it's rather tiresome to share a story with you."
"Please, Cousin Violet, I fail to see what Ada's lost lover…" At last the penny dropped and Isobel's teacup hit the saucer with a clangorous noise.
"Larry isn't his son?" Her question was not more than a husky whisper.
Violet shook her head. "At least, that's what the maid told her new mistress." Violet gave her letter. "Read it for yourself. I think her story sounds credible."
Isobel took the letter and opened it with shaking hands.
"Of course, that changes nothing," Violet said while Isobel's eyes flew over the neatly written lines. "Legally, Larry is the heir of Dickie's title."
"But he's not Helen's brother," Isobel concluded.
"And Larry's boy is not Dickie's or your grandchild," Violet added. "In theory all of this exonerates you from every moral responsibility you might feel."
Isobel gave her a shocked look. "In theory," Violet repeated in a gentler voice. "As I said, legally, Larry is the heir and so is his son."
"I can't tell Dickie Larry is not his child," Isobel said. "As bad as their relationship is… and if I don't tell him, there's no chance left for Larry and Helen." Disturbed she put the letter back on the table and picked up her cup.
"I don't think Larry's happiness should be your concern," Violet said. "The question is, do you want Dickie to know the truth?"
About lunchtime Dickie returned from Cavenham. As expected the conversation with Mr Cruikshank had been unpleasant and unsuccessful. At times he wondered if it would be easier to take Isobel on a long trip, where they didn't have to worry about snow, their relatives or the hospital. It was a coward's way out, but that didn't make it less attractive.
Glad to have arrived at home, he sent the driver back to Cavenham and went through the gate of Crawley House. The thought of returning home to Isobel brought a smile to his face.
"We need to talk." Irritated Dickie looked around and saw Annabelle approaching him.
"Have you been waiting for me?"
"I was at the cemetery," she answered. "Helen's at the hospital. She had the crazy idea of wanting to see the baby - or to be precise, her nephew."
Dickie cleared his throat. "What do you want, Annabelle?"
"I want to know, what in heaven's name your wife was thinking when she told Helen who she really is!"
"Isobel did what she thought was right."
"And you just allowed her to do it?"
"She doesn't need my permission to do anything," Dickie said.
"I doubt, she cares, if you don't approve, because you forgive her anyway." Annabelle gave him a hard look. "You always liked free spirits. Seems you found your perfect match. I knew it the minute I saw you together. No matter what I do, I'll never stand a chance against her."
After a minute of uncomfortable silence, he said, "I'm sorry. I truly am."
"I doubt you are, but I appreciate you saying it. Goodbye, Dickie." With a sad smile, she turned on her heels and rushed up the street. After a few seconds of watching her, Dickie continued his walk to the front door of Crawley House. It was the ugly sound of squeaking wheels on a snowy street and a body being hit by a car that stopped him and let the blood freeze in his veins.
*****tbc******
I hope you enjoyed your holidays. I wish you the best for 2019! *P.S. Comments are always appreciated ;-)