Chapter Eighteen

Dower House

Violet Crawley couldn't have been more surprised by a visitor if Spratt had announced the Prime Minister himself, when he told her Lord Merton wanted to see her. Alerted she abandoned her pen and grabbed her walking stick.

"I hope I'm not intruding," Dickie said when he entered the drawing room. "But I think we need to talk."

"Of course. Take a seat." Uneasy she looked at his obvious injury when Spratt helped the Lord out of his coat. "Can I offer you something? Tea perhaps?" she asked.

"No, thank you. I won't be long."

She waited until Spratt had left the room. "What happened?" she asked, uncharacteristically frightened. "Where's Isobel?"

"She's at the hospital," he said and added quickly when he saw how Violet's eyes widened with fear, "To see the child. She's fine."

"But you are obviously not."

"I got shot," Dickie reported dryly. "Last night at Cavenham. It's a long story, but according to Doctor Clarkson there won't be any lasting damage. Anyway, that's not the reason I'm here."

"Well, there aren't too many people who get shot on Christmas Eve," Violet said a little snappy and added, "It's only a wild guess, but is there is a chance that this has something to do with Larry?"

Dickie sighed, "Of course it has and so has my visit." He made a pause and Violet straightened her back, awaiting his request.

"What do you know about a certain Colonel Patrick O'Leary?"

"I see…" Violet carefully leaned her walking stick against her chair. "You're not satisfied with what Isobel's told you about the Irish soldier."

"I want to know what she didn't tell me or to be precise what you didn't tell her. I found a bit about him in Ada's diaries, but after his sudden departure from England she never heard of him again, even though she tried to find him. After her father had passed she hired a detective, but he came up empty. He simply suspected the Colonel had died many years ago and so she had to drop the matter. My suspicion is that he never really looked for him and just took her money."

"So, what makes you think, I know more?"

He smiled, "Please… there's no better secret service than the servant's halls among the British upper class. If there were people who knew about Ada and him, there must be people who know what happened to him."

Violet agreed. "I thought so too. That's why I made some further inquiries and as it happens another a letter reached me on Christmas Eve." She rose and crossed the room. She took a letter from her davenport and unfolded it. "A friend of mine returned from India a few years ago. Her husband's former valet happened to be in the same regiment as Colonel O'Leary. A rather dubious pleasure, if you ask me."

She gave Dickie the letter and said, "As I suspected it the tale of the love struck soldier who was sent to India was the product of a very romantic but unlucky fool. I doubt he ever gave a second thought to the late Lady Merton once his ship had set sail. Patrick O'Leary was a good-for-nothing. He vanished after he lost too much money at the gambling table in a brothel in Bombay and his body turned up three days later. Apparently all of this happened only a few weeks after his arrival."

Dickie sighed and returned the letter. "So, there's nothing redeeming to this story."

"I'm afraid not," Violet confirmed.

Unsatisfied Dickie rose. "Thank you. I think, I'll take my leave now." Violet quickly rang the small bell on her table and followed him across the room.

"May I ask…."

"What I will tell Larry?"

"Actually, I was wondering, if you plan to tell him at all."

Dickie nodded. "Ten years ago my ego would have agreed with you. Today I just want to see my field ordered." He turned away, but Violet wasn't satisfied with his answer.

"Your feelings do you credit, but as far as I know Mrs Rouquette is still a married woman. Do you think it's wise to encourage Larry to go after her?"

"I think you underestimate Helen when you think she depends on Larry to leave her husband."

"What do you mean?"

"It's just a hunch, but my guess is Helen has already made plans she told no one else about."

Violet's eyes widened in surprise. "Do you approve?"

He clenched his jaws, "Unfortunately, it's not on me to agree or disagree with anything she does. I doubt I have a right to interfere."

Violet leaned on her walking stick and said, "In my experience we only tell ourselves not to interfere because we fear rejection."

Dickie contemplated her words, but left them uncommented, because Spratt opened the door. "Good day, Violet."

Crawley House

Dinner was a quiet affair that evening and just as Isobel and Dickie, Helen didn't seem to mind to retire early. At dinner she had informed them over her plans to go back to York the next day and to a degree Isobel was relieved about her leaving. As much as she liked Helen and wished she and Dickie would have more time together, she also missed to have their house just for themselves. Perhaps now their life would go back to normal after the last weeks of snow, death, and turmoil.

She smiled with content when she slipped under her blanket next to Dickie. After spending the last night at Cavenham sleeping in her own bed, surrounded by her own furniture seemed like heaven to Isobel.

"What a day this has been," she said when she pushed the pillow behind her back.

"You can say that again," Dickie sighed with closed eyes. He looked a bit too pale for Isobel's taste and so she touched his cheek with the back of her hand.

"How's your shoulder?"

"Painful."

"You really should have taken Doctor Clarkson's advice and rest more," she said. "Can I get you something?"

He shook his head and took her hand. He placed a kiss on it and said, "It's all right, my dear."

She sank a bit down to be closer to him and placed her hand on his chest. "Where have you been this afternoon when I was at the hospital?" She had asked him before at dinner, but he had never answered her question. Compared to his usual optimistic demeanour he had been quite downcast all evening. Not even the news about Larry naming his son after him could cheer him up. She feared either his health was worse than he told her or something else was bothering him. Whatever it was, she intended to find out what caused his anguish.

"I was at Lady Grantham's," he answered sleepily.

"Violet? Why?"

"I wanted to know, if she knew more about the fate of the infamous Mr O'Leary."

Isobel didn't know how to take his answer. Was he jealous of O'Leary despite all the time that had passed?

"As it turns out the good Colonel died soon after his arrival in India," Dickie continued.

"Oh…"

"I thought, it made be useful to know more about him - in case Larry wants to know."

"You mean, if he cares," Isobel corrected him, a bit relieved his dark mood had nothing to do with Ada. "I bet he won't even believe you."

"I admit that's a possibility."

Silence fell between them and Isobel switched out the light of the lamp beside her. As she usually did at night she snuggled up against him, her arm wrapped around his upper body.

"You know what else keeps me thinking?" he asked, when she thought he had already fallen asleep.

"Tell me."

"Didn't Helen say her husband was going to spend Christmas with her?"

"I think, she did," Isobel agreed after a moment of contemplation.

"Well, Christmas is almost over and I haven't seen or heard about or from her husband. Doesn't that strike you as odd?"

"It is odd," Isobel agreed. "Why don't you ask her? Perhaps she has cancelled their plans after her mother's accident and has forgotten to tell us."

"Won't it look as if I'm interfering?" he asked doubtfully. "I don't want her to think I'm trying to control her life. I have no right to do so."

Perhaps she needs someone to do just that, Isobel thought and bent over to kiss his cheek. "Sleep well," she whispered tenderly.

Boxing Day

"The car's here," Isobel announced as she entered the guest room Helen had stayed in for the last couple of nights.

"Good. I'm ready… At least I think I am, " Helen answered and checked her hand bag.

Isobel closed the door carefully and said, "There's something I wanted to ask you…"

Helen looked up, puzzled. "Well, go ahead."

"When you and your mother were here for dinner you told us your husband would be here for Christmas… Well, Christmas is over and he isn't."

Helen hesitated and Isobel could tell, she was thinking about a fitting explanation. "You have a good memory."

"And so has Dickie… He was wondering about his whereabouts last night. Did your husband change his plans?"

"Well… why didn't he ask me at breakfast?"

"So far his interest in his children's life has never found any favour. He has to get used to it."

"I see…."

Isobel did her best to phrase her next words carefully and without insinuation,"You see, I have this feeling your husband was never supposed to come to England in the first place, wasn't he?"

Helen gasped in surprise, then she smiled, defeated. "I'm not used to be seen through this easily… It was Alain's plan to come to England, but I wrote him to meet me at home. He's on his way to Canada and should arrive tomorrow. He thinks I'm on my way home, too."

"And your children are on their way here and by the time he realizes you tricked him, you're free to… whatever it is you want to do." Isobel concluded, unhappy with her suspicion being confirmed. "Do you really think to outsmart him this way will do you any favour?"

Isobel could read in Helen's face that had asked herself the same questions about a thousand times before and the answer had always been the same. "It's my only chance, if I want to live in peace. You've no idea how unhappy I've been the last couple of years. I don't want to grow old and ask myself why I wasted my life with someone I never loved! Please, don't give me away in case he shows up here."

"I won't have to once he knows what you did. Where do you want to hide? Do you have enough money?"

Helen cut her off, "Forgive me, if I won't tell you what my plans are. The less you know, the better for you. And now I have to go!"

After Helen had left Crawley House Isobel paid a call to the Dowager and Dickie retreated into the drawing room to read the morning paper. To his annoyance he found himself distracted by the returning memories of the last couple of days. While in retrospect it didn't surprise him that he wasn't Larry's biological father, he couldn't help but to feel betrayed. He was barely a good example or advocate for the noblesse obliége, but Ada's family had used him and left them both trapped in a life they didn't want to live - and all of this because of an unworthy soldier who never cared for Ada in the first place.

That Larry, ungrateful and irresponsible as he was, had also shot him was just another reminder of the misery Dickie had been put through by him and Ada over the years. He was ready to admit that at a certain point he hadn't tried to improve their relationship, because he had simply been sick of Ada and everything connected to her. Still, he was now left with the task of telling Larry the truth, but the one thing that kept him from doing so, was the idea that Helen and Larry could actually become engaged. Did he want her to live a life at Larry's side? Even if Larry truly loved her, he doubted Larry would be able to lead a relationship that wasn't damned to become toxic sooner or later. Knowing first hand what a bad marriage could do to one's self-worth he wanted something better for his daughter.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.

"I hope I'm not intruding," Tom Branson said, as he entered the room. "I just wanted to see how you're doing."

"Tom! What a surprise!" Dickie abandoned his paper and rose to greet the younger man.

"Can I offer you anything?"

Tom refused, but took a seat. "No, thank you. I'm on my way to see a tenant of ours. I see you're up and about again."

"I'll live, though I have to admit, it's quite a nuisance." He pointed at his bandage.

"How's Larry?"

"He's at home. Doctor Clarkson's released him this morning."

"I see…." Tom played with his hat, quite unsure how to proceed.

"What can I do for you?" Dickie asked, when he noticed Tom's hesitation.

"I know it sounds silly, but I'm a bit worried."

"About what?"

"Where is it? The gun?" Tom finally asked.

"The gun?" Dickie repeated puzzled.

"Yes, the one Larry did shot you with. I know Isobel had in her bag on Christmas Eve. What happened to it?"

Dickie was lost of words, "Actually, Tom, I have no idea."

Downton Hospital

After a short visit at the Dower House, Isobel went to the hospital. She wanted to see the baby and in the hallway she ran into Doctor Clarkson whose mood hadn't improved since the day before. On the contrary. When he saw her, a shadow crossed his face. Corresponding to his facial expression was his sour attempt of humour.

"We just call this the 'Merton Hospital'" Clarkson announced when she followed him inside his office. "We put a plate over the door that says 'For the Merton Family and Friends'."

"Forgive me, if I can't share your sense of humour," Isobel snapped and stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Annabelle in her wheelchair right in the middle of the rain. This woman was like the plague. Never really gone.

She had been reading a book and raised her head when she saw them. Clarkson either ignored or didn't mind Annabelle overhearing them, because he said, "Oh, you don't have to share my sense of humour, but you can't deny that there's an overwhelming amount of your family - and friends - lodged in here these days."

"You make it sound like a vacation."

"Each to their own. After all you and your husband share an interest in medicine, don't you?"

Isobel ignored his last remark and looked at Annabelle who had followed the little exchange with growing curiosity.

"Hello and goodbye," she said more snappily than she intended and looked back to Clarkson. "I'm going to see your namesake now and you shouldn't forget about your patients!"

She left the room and Clarkson let out a deep sigh.

"So, that's the real problem here," Annabelle said with a widening, but also discouraged smile on her face.

"What do you mean?" Clarkson asked wearily.

"So much for Cruikshank or his infamous lawsuit. Surely, they are a nuisance, but what's really nagging at you is Lady Merton. She is what poisons you."

Clarkson chuckled nervously and did his best to downplay his uneasiness. "If you mean this conversation, it's always been like that. She can be... trying."

"I think I'm aware of Lady Merton's modus operandi by now," Annabelle said. "But as they say, we don't choose who we love."

Clarkson cleared his throat. "I can assure you, that's not it."

Annabelle shrugged, "I think it is… and I hoped… well…. Forget it. I think you wanted to examine my leg. I have the vain hope to leave this backwater as soon as possible."

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

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