Chapter Nineteen

Crawley House

When Isobel went upstairs to get ready for dinner, she passed Dickie's study. The door was open and she heard him moving around and railing under his breath. Curious what he was doing in there, she entered the room and found him piling up books on his desk. He had emptied several shelves and with his uninjured arm he picked up one volume after the after to check the title on the back.

"What on earth are you doing in here?" she asked dumbfounded. "You're supposed to take it easy. Is that what you call resting?"

"I'm looking for something," he answered crisply.

"I can see that."

"I should have made more of an effort of sorting them when I moved the books in here."

"Well, why don't we leave that for the spring cleaning?" she asked. "I really don't think you should…"

He cut her off, "Please, it keeps me occupied and my mind off other things. Just let me be."

Astonished Isobel closed the door and went to him. "What is it you're looking for?" she asked and picked up a random volume. "The Scarlet Letter?"

Realizing she was pulling his leg, he looked at her, trying to be annoyed, but the twitching of his lips gave him away. She had already noticed his moodiness when she had returned from the hospital and pinned it on the aftermath of the shooting.

"You've been like this all day. What's wrong?" She closed the distance between them and leaned against him. With a loud sigh he placed the book he had been holding back on the table.

"Do you know how exhausting it is to have a wife who can read your every mood?"

"No, because I don't have a wife. I only happen to have a husband who's been shot and perhaps starts feeling affected by it and I'm not talking about your physical injury."

He placed a tender kiss on her forehead. "It's not just that," he admitted.

"So, what is it?"

"I had a visit this morning from Tom Branson."

"Tom? What did he want?"

"He asked me about a certain gun he found in your handbag after the shooting."

Isobel's facial expression became blank. "The revolver? He knew it was in my bag? How?"

"He got worried when he couldn't find it where he left it and started looking for it. He didn't mean to snoop around personal belongings, he was just irritated and I can't blame him."

"Well, I couldn't be sure Doctor Clarkson wouldn't call the police and so I hid it," she explained. "Did I do anything wrong?"

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, his lack of understanding clouding his voice. "I think I deserve to know when my wife carries around a revolver!"

She cupped his face with her hands. His reaction was as upsetting to her as it was to him. "Dickie, I didn't even think much about it and I certainly didn't plan to kill anyone," she joked, but a closer look at his eyes told her, the time for jokes was over.

"I left it at Cavenham," she added, now completely serious. "I returned it to the firearm locker in Larry's study where it belongs. If I had any idea Tom had noticed it was missing, I would have told him. You know I don't like guns."

Relieved and satisfied with her explanation he pulled her against him and kissed her. "I'm just glad you didn't keep it here."

"Of course not! I'm so sorry, I worried you."

"I just want to put all of this behind us," he said into her hair. "What would you say if I took you away from here for a few weeks?"

"And where would you take me to?" she asked, glad for the changing of the subject.

"I don't know…. Somewhere south perhaps? France, Italy, Greece…."

"Egypt?" she asked, because she had always wanted to go there.

He chuckled and kissed her head again. "Egypt be it. Though I'm completely happy with the very own squinx in my home."

She chuckled against his chest and leaned back to wrap her arms around his neck. "Are you flirting with me, sir?"

"I think I am."

"In that case I have remind you, sir, that I'm a married woman," she rose to the tip of her toes and placed a kiss on his mouth.

"I think I'll take the risk of a wrathful husband. He would be a fool not to watch out for any competition."

They shared a laugh and then they kissed again - and again until Dickie freed himself from his wife and reminded her about his bad shoulder. "The Doctor ordered me to rest… I doubt he likes the idea of you tempting me like this."

Isobel bat her eyelashes and brushed her lips along his mouth. "If you don't tell him, I won't."

Cavenham Park, the next day

"Please, take it." Larry showed Helen the revolver, Isobel had so carefully locked away two days ago, and placed it on his desk. His nose was still heavily bandaged and his movements were ponderous as if he were an old man. She had never thought she would see Larry as someone who could be scarred from life, but that was exactly the impression he gave.

"Larry…." Helen looked uneasily at the gun and shook her head. "This thing won't make me feel safe. On the contrary!"

"But you just said, you're afraid of Alain. If he really locates you, you can at least defend yourself!" Larry said. "I won't take 'no' for an answer."

Still not convinced a gun was what she actually needed, Helen took the revolver and hid it in her bag as if it were a stolen item.

"I hope I'll never need it."

"So do I," Larry said.

"When will you leave?" he asked.

"The ship leaves Liverpool on 2nd January and we'll leave York on New Years Day. It's all planned out."

"And your mother?"

Helen shrugged, "She doesn't know anything yet and I won't tell her. She would only spoil things for me. She thinks of Alain as our saviour, not the monster he can be!"

Larry cleared his throat, "I wish I could…"

She silenced him with the raise of her hand, "But we can't… we've established that, haven't we?"

He scoffed and nodded, "Absolutely. I'll never forgive…"

"There's nothing to forgive," Helen told him sternly. "None of us knew we were related and I want you to stop blaming other people for it. If it is anyone's fault, it's my mother's, because she lied about it in the first place." She sighed heavily and looked down on her hands. "Stop being so bitter… I know you can be kind, much kinder than you let on, so please try to be nicer, at least with your family. Your boy will need them when he grows up."

Larry leaned his head back. "My boy…. Why did you want me to call him Richard?"

"Because I like the name and the idea… it's an olive branch, Larry. Use it. Your father… our father loves you and I know you love him. Allow yourself to be loved." She rose and gave him a smile. "I have to go now. It's time."

"Of course." Deliberately slow Larry got to his feet and groaned from the explosion of pain in his head.

He led Helen across the room, but both stopped dead in their tracks when suddenly the door opened and a footman came in.

"His Lordship's here, Sir," the servant announced.

"Thank you…." Larry said annoyed.

"Perfect," Helen mumbled and put on a smile when Dickie entered the room.

"Good morning…." Dickie entered the room and his voice trailed off when he saw Larry wasn't alone. His eyes wandered from Helen to Larry and back, asking the inevitable question.

"I did not stay here overnight," Helen said quickly. "I just came here to pick something up I had forgotten on Christmas Eve."

Dickie accepted her explanation with a shrug, "I guess it doesn't really matter, but I'm glad to see you both. We have to talk…."

Downton Hospital, New Years Day

Richard Clarkson didn't trust his eyes when the door to his office opened and Isobel came in. He had been reading an article in the latest issue of a medical journal, but he had a hard time concentrating. After a busy night New Years day had been a quite affair and he had the used the calm evening to catch up on his reading. After Baby Grey, Richard Grey, had finally been released this morning he hadn't thought to see her back so soon. On the contrary. In the last couple of days his impression of her being glad for a break from him and the hospital had become painfully obvious.

"Lady Merton…," he rose and gave her a smile. He couldn't help it, because this evening she looked more beautiful to him than ever before. Her dark blue dress underlined the sparkling of her eyes and her blonde curls shone golden in the light of the flickering fire.

"Doctor Clarkson, am I interrupting something?" she asked, as she approached his desk.

"No, no." With a swift motion he abandoned the journal in the drawer and closed it. "What can I do for you?"

"I needed to see you," she said and bit her lip. "Something's happened and I don't know how to…." she drew a deep breath and shrugged. "I just need you…"

Sure, he couldn't be hearing this right, he surrounded his desk with weak knees. He stopped right in front of her and his heart missed a beat when her perfume reached his nose. As always her scent was intoxicating.

"You need me? Is someone hurt?" he asked, knowing this time she didn't come to see him as a doctor. This time she wanted the man.

"No one's been hurt but you," she said lowly and touched his cheek with the back of her hand. "I'm so sorry."

Her touch made him shiver and he felt himself leaning against her hand. "It doesn't matter," he said. "You're here now."

"I'll always be here from now on," she said and leaned in. Her lips touched his mouth and his body was instantly on fire. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her until he was breathless. This was the answer to all of his dreams. Finally, she was loving him back and all the misunderstandings and harsh words were forgotten. Mindless his hands roamed her body, exploring every detail of her delicate curves.

When he felt his head was spinning, he finally, finally pulled back. He was lost of words, unable to think straight and so he just smiled at her and took her hands. He wanted to take her away from his office and the hospital to a place where they could be alone and undisturbed. "You never cease to amaze me," he whispered hoarsely, as he blindly took his head from cloak hanger and all of the sudden he wasn't talking to Isobel Grey, he was talking Annabelle Kent - and he didn't mind. She wore the same dress and looked every inch as perfect as isobel had and he didn't mind at all. "I've waited for you all my life," he said. "You're all I ever wanted."

"I know," Annabelle answered and grabbed him by collar to kiss him again. "Because you're the man I've been waiting for all my life. I never loved anyone like I love you - not even Dickie Merton."

Clarkson returned her kiss with ardent passion. She tasted of Scottish whiskey, his favourite brand and he was in heaven. "Say that again," he whispered into her mouth.

"I love you."

Then there was a hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently. Suddenly the room around him got cold. The lights faded and the fire was dying.

"Doctor Clarkson, you must wake up." He heard a voice from far far away, while the image of Annabelle faded.

Disorientated he opened his eyes. The room was indeed cold and it was dark outside. He saw the rising moon through the icy glass of the window.

His head nurse was talking to him, but he barely heard her. His sense were still located in the strange dream he just had and didn't want to adjust to reality. Not just yet. He had been too warm, too comfortable, and too happy in this other world to leave it so abruptly.

"Doctor, you should go home. It's late," the nurse repeated again. Her gentle voice became a more harsh and he wished she vanished and left him alone.

"Thank you, Nurse," he said and stretched his aching back. His chair had been the wrong place to fall asleep and the worst place to dream about… He cleared his throat, embarrassingly aware of the painful bulge in his trousers. Perhaps some fresh air would do him well. He certainly needed to clear his head. "I'll go home soon."

"You should, Doctor," the nurse said and left him alone - finally. He groaned, annoyed with himself.

His gaze fell into his desk. There was a pile of letters he hadn't read yet. Perhaps the sight of bills could help him to get rid off the visions of his dream. He took the first letter, opened it, and didn't trust his eyes….

Cavenham Park

Isobel and Dickie stood at the cradle in the nursery and looked down on the sleeping baby.

"I think he likes his new home," Dickie said quietly.

"It seems like it," Isobel agreed with a smile.

"So, you're not upset Larry's taken him home?" Dickie asked and ran his hand gently over her back.

She shook her head. "No. With Helen at Larry's side, I'm confident little Richard will be fine. Though it was a tempting thought to have a baby at the house."

"I understand you, but you know what makes me all the more happy?"

"What is it?" she asked and looked up to him.

"This house is filled with life again. With Helen's children being here, even if they're in hiding as long as Helen's husband is on the warpath, there's more love and fun in this house than there has been in decades."

"As long as this doesn't mean we have to move in here, I'm glad to agree."

Dickie chuckled. "No, we'll stay we are. Your home is my home now."

"And that makes me very happy," she said and kissed him.

Their tender embrace was interrupted by loud voices from downstairs. Isobel and Dickie broke apart and exchanged a bewildered look.

"Is someone down there shouting?" Isobel wondered. They quickly left the room and looked down the gallery to see what was happening downstairs.

"It's Mr Cruikshank," Dickie whispered when he recognized the bald-headed figure of Amelia's father who followed Larry into the living room under the watchful eyes of the servants.

Together they rushed downstairs and followed Larry and his unwelcome guest inside. As expected Larry and his father-in-law were in the middle of a heated argument. Helen who had brought her children to bed and was supposed to stay for dinner was watching them with growing unease.

"My grandchild won't be raised here!" Cruikshank shouted. "He belongs to us!"

"You know, you have no claim on him," Larry answered nastily. "As long as I'm alive my son stays with me. For every other possibility I've made certain arrangements."

Cruikshank's gaze fell on Helen who still stood near the fireplace. Her face had lost its colour and Isobel left Dickie's side to go to her.

"I think that's enough for tonight," Dickie stepped in.

"No, Sir!" Cruikshank barked. "If you think I'll be leaving this son without my grandson you're very well mistaken."

"Of course, we can call the police to escort you out," Dickie said. "But I think that would end up rather embarrassing for everyone involved."

"Are you threatening me?"

"I'm merely suggesting you should reconsider your approach of the situation." Dickie said, his eyes fixated on Cruikshank.

"Humbug!" Cruikshank barked. "You may think I'm not aware of how your son treated my daughter, you're very well mistaken."

"And what do you mean by that?" Larry asked coldly.

Cruikshank made a an appraising gesture at Helen and spat, "Don't you think I don't know you're his whore and have been for years? You're just like your mother. Cheap and without dignity and you won't raise my flesh and blood!"

"I beg your pardon?" Enraged Helen marched forward. Isobel tried to get hold of her hand to keep her from doing or saying something she might regret, but she was too late.

"What did you just say about my mother?" Helen asked, her eyes glittering with fury.

"I think you heard me," Cruikshank said and stepped closer to Helen. He as close enough to touch her, something that made Larry visibly nervous.

"I suggest, we…."

"No, let him talk," Helen said calmly. She towered over Cruikshank by several inches. "Let Mr Cruikshank get this off his chest."

Cruikshank reached inside his jacket and pulled out a letter. He dangled it in front of Helen's nose like a carrot. "Your mother wrote me a letter. I didn't recognize her at first, but as soon as it dawned to me who she was, I made some enquiries about her - and you. She's delusinal, if she thinks, she can blackmail me. She thinks, she can make me go on my knees? Well, go and tell her I'm not to one who belongs on their knees. That's her job and yours."

Isobel gasped upon the insult and Helen started to laugh. "That's as disgusting as it gets." She grabbed the letter and turned away.

"You bloody bastard!" Larry grabbed Cruikshanks collar and pushed him away. The older man struggled and fell backwards on the floor.

"Larry!" Isobel shouted and turned to Dickie, "Just call the police!"

Cruikshank bobbed up. His head had turned red as a tomato and he pushed Dickie aside as he stormed towards Larry.

"I wouldn't do that." The sound of the revolver cocking right behind his ear made Cruikshank stop in his tracks.

"Helen!" Isobel placed her hand over her mouth as she watched Helen standing behind Cruikshank. The barrel of the revolver she was holding penetrated the spot right behind his ear.

"One word, one wrong move and you won't have to worry about blackmail," Helen said calmly.

"Helen, put the gun down," Dickie said hoarsely. "You're only making it worse."

Helen shrugged unimpressed. "I doubt that. Men like him are the worst." She leaned and hissed into Cruikshank's ear. "Do you think anyone will mourn for you? I doubt anyone would miss you, if we buried you here in the park."

All of the sudden sweat was running down Cruikshank's forehead. "Please…."

"Are you begging? Why don't you go on your knees?" Helen suggested sweetly and watched with growing satisfaction how Cruikshank obeyed her orders.

Larry, isobel, and Dickie watched the whole scene with open mouths.

"Larry, why don't you write down a disclaimer for your father-in-law?" she suggested. "I'm sure at this point he'll sign anything to save his useless life."

Perplexed Larry just nodded while Isobel stepped next to Helen and placed her hand on Helen's arm. "Helen, please. I think you made your point."

"Not just yet," Helen insisted without taking her eyes from Cruikshank. Dickie and Isobel exchanged a desperate look, but it was obvious that Helen wouldn't back down before Cruikshank had signed the agreement.

As quickly as possible, Larry wrote the disclaimer Helen had proposed and pushed it together with a pen over the desktop.

"Get up and sign it," Helen ordered. Wobbly the old man rose to his feet. As soon as he had signed the paper, Larry tore it away from him and Helen lowered the gun.

She gave it to Isobel who took it with gingerly and stepped back, afraid someone could grab it again.

"Bloody, little whore!" Cruikshank groaned when he was sure the revolver was out of Helen's reach. He raised his arm and slapped Helen at full tilt with the back of his hand. A cry escaped her throat when she fell backwards and her head hit the edge of the table.

Isobel yelled and rushed to Helen's side. Blood squattered from a wound at her temple. Helen groaned with pain and wanted to get up, but Isobel pushed gently pushed her back on the floor.

"Don't move. Let me look at your head!"

While Isobel examined the wound, she heard how the men behind her continued quarreling. Larry and Cruikshank yelled at each other at the top of their lungs and then all of the sudden she heard one final punch, a loud cry, and then there was silence. Irritated she looked behind herself and saw that Cruikshank was lying on the floor, unconscious.

"What happened?" she asked, as she reached out to check his pulse. He was alive.

Larry looked at his father, almost in admiration and said, "I think Father, just punched the lights out of him."

Isobel swallowed. Dickie was holding his shoulder with his left hand.

It had been his first day without his sling.

"I told you," Dickie said fairly proud of himself despite the obvious pain in his shoulder. "In 1873 my punch was legendary."

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

So, my dear readers this was the penultimate chapter to a story that turned out to be quite a beast. I enjoyed writing every sentence of it and I certainly hope you liked reading it. Let me know what you think!