Chapter Seventeen

Downton Hospital

Annabelle Kent stared into the night, wife awake and unable to fall asleep. Her bed stood close to the window and she had asked the nurse to keep the curtains open. She prefered to watch the snow falling to staring at the ceiling. She couldn't remember when she had enjoyed an evening like this. Before he had been called away, Doctor Clarkson and she had sat in his office. It had been lovely to talk to a man who looked past her money and her beauty. He seemed genuinely interested in her as a person. They liked the same books, shared the same sense of humour, and just as she, he disliked almost everything connected to the Merton family. Over a bottle of his favourite Scottish whiskey he had also confided to her about his problems with the parents of the late Amelia Grey about her son who had finally been named after Larry's father and favourite uncle.

Annabelle hated to think that a good Doctor like Clarkson was dragged through the mire by a vile person like Cruikshank. The moment she had laid her eyes on him in the hospital floor, she had recognized him. A long time ago, Amelia's father had been one of her customers and he hadn't been one of the nicer punters. Even back then the man had disgusted her with his preferences and his cruelty. Thanks to Dickie Merton, Dickie Grey back then, and his money, she could turn her back on men like Cruikshank, but that didn't mean she had forgotten about them. Perhaps it was time to repay Cruikshank for his dirty deeds. Perhaps she could kill two birds with one stone, even if it meant she had revisit her own, infamous past.

Cavenham Park

Clarkson cleaned his hands on the bowl of hot water that stood on a chippendale table and dried his hands in the towel Helen handed him. With a mixture of relief and annoyance he looked over to Isobel who was kneeling next to her husband and tenderly wiped his forehead. Thankfully the wound had been easy to deal with. The shock had been worse, but Clarkson was confident that after a few days of rest, the Lord would completely recover.

He turned around to take a closer look at Larry Grey's face. The young man groaned when Clarkson touched his nose.

"I think you'll be better off at the Hospital," he said. "Your nose is broken and I think you might have a concussion."

Larry just nodded carefully, too weak to protest. Clarkson turned to Tom who was leaning against the mantelpiece, the arms crossed over his chest. "Perhaps you could call the hospital and ask them to send an ambulance."

Tom agreed, apparently glad to have something to do at last. "Of course."

After Tom had left the room, Clarkson returned his attention to Isobel. "Lady Merton, could I speak to you?"

She looked up. "Of course. I'll be right back," she said to her husband and rose. She adjusted her dress as best as possible and followed Clarkson into the hallway.

"What is it?" she asked.

"You know I have to inform the police about the shot wound."

She swallowed. "Please, don't."

"It's the law!"

Her face lost all its colour. "I know, but… it was an accident."

"Listen, I don't even want to imagine how your husband got shot or why your step-son has a broken nose, but it certainly doesn't look like some innocent accident - especially not on Christmas Eve!"

Isobel shifted from one foot onto the other. She understood his anger, but she also wanted to protect her family.

"Larry threatened to kill himself. We went over here and the men found him outside in the park. He was drunk and fired a shot to startle them…." She shrugged helplessly. "That's the truth, and now I kindly ask you not to involve the police. Please!"

She did something she hadn't done in ages, if ever and it made his heart race within his chest. She placed her hand on his wrist and squeezed it. A strand of her hair had loosened from her chignon and he felt the sudden wish to brush it back her ear. "I thank you for everything you did for us, but I can't let you call the police. What this family needs is healing not judging."

Her unexpected touch had made his throat dry and his determination staggered. So much for his fading sentiment. "All right," he said defeated. "No police."

"Thank you." she said quietly and gave him wide, grateful smile.

After Tom had helped to take Larry into the ambulance, he returned to the deserted drawing room. Isobel had asked the servants to prepare a bedroom for Dickie and herself for the night while Tom was supposed to take Helen back to Crawley House.

Using the opportunity of being alone in the room Tom looked around. The missing gun hadn't left his thoughts for a moment. He started searching the drawers of the various boards and shelves, but came up empty. Since Larry and Dickie had been indisposed, the only two options to take the gun were Isobel and Helen. Was it gentlemanly to search their bags for the gun just to ease his mind? He couldn't imagine one of them meaning any harm, especially not Isobel, but still. Larry hadn't wanted to shoot anyone and yet he had done so.

Helen's handback lay on the chippendale table next to the bowl with water. After one last, quick look at the door, Tom opened it. Aside from a handkerchief, a small compact, and a few coins it was empty.

His eyes travelled the room. Isobel's bag was nowhere to be seen. Since he was sure she hadn't had it with her when she left the room with Dickie and Helen, he got on his knees and looked under the furniture. He detected the bag on the floor near the chesterfield. He picked it up and the weight of the black velvet handbag told him everything he needed to know.

"Are you all right?" Startled he whirled around. Helen stood in the doorway and looked questioningly at him.

"Oh yes!" he said quickly and got back to his feet. "I just found this on the floor. Lady Merton might miss it."

"I'm sure she'll come downstairs again, once she's sure Lord Merton is all right," Helen said.

"Yes, right." He carefully placed the back onto the sofa. "Are you ready to leave?"

"The Lord knows I am. It was a long day!" she said. She crossed the room with quick steps to pick up her own bag. "I think I have to apologize to you, Mr Branson."

"I beg your pardon?"

"For disrupting your Christmas Eve," she explained. "And for abusing your driving skills."

He chuckled, "Believe it or not, life at Downton is never dull. Far from it."

She laughed softly, "I've noticed that much by now. At least you'll be home for your daughter to open her Christmas presents."

He looked at the watch. It was almost half past one. Christmas Day had arrived and knowing the children he feared the night would be over soon. "Yes, I will. Who needs sleep anyway?"

Christmas Day

Isobel woke up when Dickie moved next to her. Alerted she opened her eyes to find herself entangled with her dress and a thin blanket. Her arm was still wrapped around his upper body. Feeling a little stiff and cold, she removed her arm and tried to remember every detail of what had transpired the night before. The snow, the shooting, the blood, and the decision to stay at Cavenham, because she didn't want Dickie to be taken across icy roads in the middle of the night. Being utterly exhausted herself she had fallen asleep next to him without even undressing, even though a maid had given her a nightgown. Isobel feared it was one of Ada's or even worse from Amelia. To her regret she hadn't removed the hair pins. As a result some of them poked into her scalp, causing her head to ache.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"As if a truck had hit me," he admitted, his eyes still closed. "And you?"

"Not much better. Do you want some breakfast?"

"Yes, but not just yet."

She climbed out of bed, glad to stretch her bones, and inspected the bedroom for something she could use to make herself presentable.

The night before she hadn't taken to time to reacquaint herself with the bedroom. It formerly belonged to Ada and after that to Amelia. Her dislike for the house hadn't gone away, but she decided to see the practical side of it, instead of dwelling on colours and wallpaper.

She quickly removed the disturbing hair pins and groaned with relief when she found the last one and pulled it out.

"Mary's hair cut certainly has its values," she joked when she searched Amelia's dressing table for a brush.

"Don't you dare. I love your hair just the way it is."

"Already complaining again?" she asked with a chuckle.

"I was merely making a statement," he said and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. "I love your hair almost as much as I love you."

"What are you doing?" she dropped the brush. "Let me help you!"

She rushed to his side, but he was standing on his feet before she could assist him. "I'm fine, Isobel," he said, but flinched when he touched his injured shoulder. Clarkson had fixated the arm in a fling.

"Be careful. Are you sure you're not dizzy or…?"

"I'm not dizzy… it hurts like hell, but as I said…."

"You've been shot before," she repeated his words from the night before. "I wonder when that happen and why you never told me about it!"

"It was a stupid hunting accident," he said. "Rather embarrassing to be honest. My cousin once removed Archibald forget to engage his twelve bore. He had too much to drink, it fell out of his hand and the shot hit me in my left calf."

"I'll never understand why people… men drink and go hunting," she said with a shudder. "It's reckless."

"It happened a long time. Archibald died a few years later. Hepatocellular necrosis."

"Why am I not surprised?" she asked and allowed him to pass by. She watched him vanishing inside the bathroom next door and sighed. As relieved as she was about Dickie's condition, she had to remind herself about the surrounding circumstances. There was still the fact that Larry had shot Dickie and she had asked, begged Doctor Clarkson to cover everything up. She had shamelessly abused their friendship and his lingering feelings for her to get him to do what she wanted and to a certain extent she felt guilty about it. Nevertheless she would do it again, if necessary.

Then there was the revolver. It was still in her handbag that was securely hidden in the drawer next to the bed. It had been a spontaneous decision to hide it, before someone else could take it. Without the gun the police couldn't prove anything, but she still wanted Larry to pay for the pain and fear he had caused. She knew Dickie wouldn't want to hear about it, but she wanted to hold Larry accountable in some way. He had got away scot-free too often in his life. It was time someone called a halt to his bad deeds.

She heard a car coming down the driveway and went to the window. She opened the curtain and saw it was Doctor Clarkson. She looked down on her wrinkled dress and her less than presentable appearance. If she wanted to look at least halfway decent she needed to hurry.

Downton Hospital

Clarkson returned to the hospital around lunch time. To his relief his nurse reported nothing unusual. Mrs Kent was an easy patient and Larry Grey was still asleep after a high dose of medication. He had indeed suffered a mild concussion and his nose was broken and bandaged.

Before lunch he wanted to pay a short visit to Annabelle, but when he entered the ward, he saw she had a visitor. Her daughter was sitting at her bedside. A little disappointed, he retreated and decided to have a look at Baby Grey instead. So far he hadn't quite digested the fact that the baby, Lord Merton, and he shared the same first name. It seemed immensely ironic to him and another sign for his useless attempts to create a distance between himself and Isobel's family. Their short conversation in the hallway of Cavenham Park had kept him awake for the rest of the night. He couldn't shake the image of her standing before him in all of her deranged beauty. She knew exactly what she was doing to him and he shouldn't have fallen for it, but, of course, he had.

He looked down on the baby who contently yawned in his cradle. Very soon the small chap could be released and not for the first time he wondered, who would take care of him.

Isobel arrived at the hospital after tea time. The sun had already set, but for the first time days it wasn't snowing. She had enjoyed the short walk through the village. After Tom had told the Crawleys about the "small accident" on Christmas Eve, Cora had offered Isobel and Dickie to join them for Christmas dinner, but in the vain hope to spent a calm evening at home, she had declined. Glad that Dickie had been the one to insist on leaving Cavenham as soon as possible, she looked forward for a quiet dinner and an early night, but not before she had read Larry the riot act for his irresponsible behaviour.

Before she went to Larry, she made a small detour to see the baby.

"Hello, little one," she greeted him, as the nurse placed him into her arms.

"Well, Mylady, the young man has a name now. We should use it," the nurse declared. The statement caught Isobel by complete surprise. She had no idea Larry had decided on a name.

"Little Richard is a fine, young man. I'm sure his Lordship's very proud!"

"Of course, he is," Isobel said quickly. "Why wouldn't he?"

"I'll be right back, Mylady. I hope you don't mind looking for him for a few minutes."

Isobel agreed, glad to have the baby for a few minutes for herself. The nurse left the room and through the open door, Isobel could see a wheelchair moving down the hallway. She froze. She had almost forgotten about Annabelle and it was too late to pretend not to have seen her. So she put on a brave face and greeted Annabelle as she approached the door.

"Merry Christmas," Isobel said as kindly as possible.

"Merry Christmas. How is the baby? I know Helen was here to see him, but she never tells me anything unless she wants to."

"He's fine."

"The good Doctor told me, Larry named him after Dickie. How kind of him."

"Yes, it was kind...," and silently she added, 'He was certainly already drunk'. She sincerely hoped Annabelle wouldn't ask her anything she couldn't and didn't wish to answer, but she didn't.

"Helen told me there was an accident. Is Dickie all right?"

"He's going to be all right," Isobel answered truthfully.

Annabelle nodded relieved. "Helen wouldn't tell me what happened, but since he isn't in the hospital, I figured it wasn't too bad. She was quite shaken though..."

If she hoped Isobel would confide in her, when her daughter wouldn't, she was mistaken. Isobel's possessiveness towards her husband coming through, she just said, "I can assure you, he's in good hands."

Annabelle gave Isobel a strange smile. "Spoken like a true nurse."

"Let's say it's a profession that comes in handy," Isobel returned swiftly.

"Oh, so did mine…" Annabelle replied sweetly. "But enough of that. Have a nice evening. I won't ask you to give my best wishes to Dickie. I hope he knows I wish him nothing but the best."

Without waiting for a reply from Isobel, Annabelle wheeled back and Isobel closed the door.

When his head nurse had told him Isobel had arrived, he had felt his heart missing a beat. He felt like an utter fool and his only plan to deal with his awakening feelings was to avoid her for as long as possible. Of course, that wasn't easy when half of her family needed medical attention, but he had to try.

On his way to his office he noticed Mrs Kent's wheelchair in the doorway to the baby's small ward. He had never seen Isobel and Annabelle together, despite the myth about their so called acquaintance, but now they were having a conversation. He slowed down and wanted to avoid being seen by one of the women. So he lingered on, trying to make no noise. What he picked up from their conversation was not what he had expected. The women were exactly hostile with each other, but they certainly weren't friends either and the reason for it was a simple one: Lord Merton. Apparently the good old friend of the family was, or at least had been much more than just a friend at one time.

What was it with this that he seemed to attract the same women, Clarkson happened to like? And what kind of game was Annabelle Kent playing with him? Last night he had thought she had shown genuine interest in him, not only as a doctor, but also as a man. He had shared her problems with her and she had been nothing but supportive. Had he been a fool to think she could be the woman who just for once might love him back?

When the conversation between the women was over, he withdraw into the dark hallway, hoping Annabelle wouldn't notice him. He needed to digest this new information before he faced her or Isobel... or anyone else.

"Doctor Clarkson?" After her visit with the baby, Isobel went past Clarkson's office and found the door open. She peeked in and found him sitting behind his desk, staring into nowhere.

He looked up, eventually startled to see her. "Lady Merton."

"Is everything all right?"

"Yes. I was just lost in my thoughts," he gave her a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

Realizing he didn't wish to talk to her, she shrugged and said, "I wanted to see how Larry is, but he was asleep."

"He's been sleeping almost all day," Clarkson said. "I'll release him tomorrow morning. There's no reason for him stay much longer. He can rest at home."

"He'll be pleased to hear it. What about the baby?"

Clarkson contemplated his next words carefully, "He's doing well. I think you can take him home next week." He had started shuffling around papers that didn't need sorting, just to avoid looking at her. "I guess that's what you still want. Considering Mr Grey's physical and mental condition it's perhaps for the best."

At first she didn't know what to say. Of course, the Doctor had no idea about Larry, Helen and the changed circumstances. Not that she had any idea how their lives would go on now. "It's good to hear the boy is doing fine... We'll see about the rest. Anyway, I'll go home now. Good day, Doctor."

"Good day, Lady Merton," he said, after her steps had faded in the hallway.

**********tbc***********

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