Downton Abbey:
Guy(s) Night
by Mirwalker
Chapter Thirty-One: Examinations
"You've really never been seen by a doctor? Thank you," Isobel asked as Ian held the door for her. "Not once?"
"No, mam," he answered, staring around the bustling, polished space. "Well, maybe at me birth; but I don't much recall that either way."
She chuckled again at the innocent honesty this worldly, working class young man seemed to possess. None of the airs and layers of Downton, or even of some of her previous social circles in this town. He also wasn't so stiff and afraid to be human as the estate staff tended towards, even if for understandable, professional reasons. She could see why Thomas so enjoyed his presence.
"Skiagraphy?" she asked at the reception desk, giving the details of their appointment.(1)
They were escorted through the pristine building of white and red, to the correct wing and floor, and left to wait on the doctor in a hallway intersection.
"As I mentioned on the tram," Isobel explained with some glee, "they've been in this building for only four years; we passed the old site as we left the train station earlier. I must admit, I am excited to see more of the facilities, as I've only been for events, and only in some parts."
Ian nodded obligingly, but still seemed unimpressed, nervous, even distracted.
"You mustn't worry," Isobel tried to reassure with a pat on his good arm. "Birmingham may be better known; but they've the latest in medical technologies here as well. And Doctor Lennox is not only a good friend, but also one of the top physicians in the northwest. I promise, you're in the very best of hands."
"I do appreciate, mila- Mrs Crawley…"
"But?" she sighed sympathetically, knowing there would be one.
He gave her his longest eye contact since they boarded the tram. "Do you know where Thomas has gone? Why he wouldn't come with us?" His eyes jumped fretfully back to a door opening down the hall, only to see a uniformed woman who headed away from them.
"I don't know the specifics, truly; only that he's on business for the Granthams." Though he nodded, sadly, Isobel could tell that it bothered Ian greatly that his only family would choose work over his wellness. Could tell how much he had been counting on Thomas' presence for strength and support. "If it's any consolation," she fudged the truth a little, "He only agreed to the task when he knew I would bring you here today; it was a non-negotiable condition for this trip. So, please don't think his not being here is any indication of a lack of concern."
Ian looked up at her with some real surprise, and a relieved smile. He visibly relaxed a little as well, knowing his devoted cousin was watching out for him, even if not in person at this exact moment.
In hopes of buoying his spirits even further, Isobel dared to share a little secret with him. "And, I'd intended to save this news until we met up with him again; but I think it might help with your nerves now…" She turned toward him, and leaned in a little. "In just this morning's post, which thankfully arrived before we set out, I heard back from another friend. In London. At a publishing house. Apparently, there are some new men and monies in the industry of late; and everyone is eager to find new talent so as to compete better…"
She was losing him. "I can't claim to understand it all myself. But my point is, they are very impressed by the sketches you did when visiting me. And they'd like you to come to London, soon, to speak with them about a position doing pamphlets and posters, maybe more."
It took a moment for her news to sink in enough for his face to lighten and his smile to return, to match her own. "A position? In London? Thank you…" His smile faltered as quickly, and his gaze went out the window toward the busy streets, and a man about on them. "London?"
"Isobel?" a deep, cheerful voice called from the hallway. "Isobel Crawley! Bless me, it is you!"
They both turned to find a white-bearded man rushing toward them with his hands outstretched.
The invoked friend stood to return the greeting; and Ian jumped up out of polite habit.
"Doctor Lennox, so good to see you as well," she traded kisses on the cheek.
"David, please?" the man in the beard-matched coat reminded. "It's been too long, indeed; but not that long. And you must be our Mister Barrow?"
"I am, sir," Ian smiled at the introduction, almost bowing out of recently learned habit, before simply extending his left hand.
Initially surprised by the wrong hand proffered, the physician realized, "Of course, you're here about your right."
"Indeed we are, David. I wanted him to see only the best!" Isobel beamed between them.
"Well," the plump man apologized through smiling eyes, "I'm afraid you'll have to make do with me… Do come back this way."
He led them off down the corridor, as Isobel continued her reunion. "And how are Betsy and the girls?"
"Ian, can I have you take your shirt off, please?" Doctor Lennox asked, as he pulled the partition to behind them, closing them off from the larger ward.
Ian looked immediately to the older, unrelated woman standing with them.
"I'll just step out a moment," she smiled knowingly.
"Wait?" Ian asked. He seemed even more concerned about being left with the even less known physician.
"Mrs Crawley is a trained nurse," the doctor reminded them both. "Mr Barrow, if you don't mind terribly, perhaps we could have her opinion as well. And it'll only be your shirt…"
The young man nodded nervously, and then did his best remove his jacket, vest and outer shirt without grimacing much or groaning at all.
Behind him, the old friends and colleagues traded polite smiles and knowing glances. Isobel restrained herself from jumping in and mothering; they both knew well the fragility of a young man's pride, especially an injured one.
Finally down to his sleeveless undershirt, Ian turned and sat down again on the chair.
Lennox brought the lamp and his own chair closer, and explained as he gave the patient an initial once over. "No obvious external contusions or lingering discolouration remain. I'm going to feel around the shoulder joint, and move it around a little—to get a sense of what the damage is. Apologies if my old hands are a little cold," he chuckled. "And, to make it even more awkward, I'll ask you some questions as I do… Just relax, and tell me, how did you injure your arm?"
"I tripped steppin' up on a curb, sir. Landed on it."
"He said he was trying to avoid a car on the road," Isobel added helpfully. "And there do seem to be more and more, each time I'm here. It's almost as bad as London."
"And how long ago was this?" Lennox asked, as he prodded on all sides of the shoulder, and manipulated Ian's arm–both earning winces, even a glare from the young man.
"A little more than three weeks, sir."
"And you haven't done anything about it in that time?"
"I haven't used it much. Couldn't. But it were me own fault it happened, and... I had no money to pay for a visit."
"And you couldn't work with this type of injury, I'd suppose," Isobel assured.
Ian gave all affirmative nods to that, and each deduction that followed.
"I presume you hadn't had any problems with this shoulder prior to your accident? I see that it still hurts you considerably, even some when still? And I'll bet you've found it least uncomfortable to try sleeping while sitting up? And, for several days after it initially happened, it was swollen, bruised-looking and excruciating to move?"
Lennox gently rested the arm back at Ian's side, scribbled some notes on his clipboard, and looked up at them both. "Well, Mister Barrow, that you can move it at all is a good sign. However, there is still some internal swelling and tenderness, which means it's only looking better after more than a fortnight, and only on the outside… But the shoulder is a very complicated place; and to understand more clearly what's happened, and how it is now, we're going to have to look inside. Have you heard of an 'x-ray machine'?"
Ian nodded again, his face no less concerned for amputation not being the next step, perhaps even glummer as he admitted an altogether different concern, "I have, sir. Thank you, sir. But… as Mrs Crawley said, I haven't worked since…"
Dr Lennox held his hand up, again anticipating the concern. "I expect Mrs Crawley has told you that this equipment is rather new, not just for us. Today's visit is given with our compliments, for letting our staff improve their skills."
Ian looked to the lady for some confirmation that he understood.
"Me thanks again, sir, mam; truly. But I cannot take your charity," he dug into his jacket, as he'd been instructed. "I have some money, and can get…"
"Ian," Isobel took his good arm, as the doctor stepped out to "check the equipment is ready." She pushed the small wad of bills back into the pocket, and stood him upright. "I ought to have been clearer when explaining. Dr Lennox does take a number of patients for the new machines at no charge. They really are just trying to give their people more experience on them, as well as build public confidence in the procedures. This is no charity; you're doing them and the city a service…"
Ian looked unconvinced, with perhaps a little fear returning about facing the 'under-practiced, public-frightening procedures.'
"If you must pay for something, why don't you buy me a pastry later, when we meet Thomas? You can treat us both to something warm and wildly sweet to celebrate all today's good news and accomplishments? Would you do that, for me?"
He swallowed and smiled his bashful best. Focusing beyond the machine, on seeing Thomas. That he could do.
"Thank you, Carson. And, where is Lady Edith?" her mother asked as she took her seat for a luncheon that was clearly short one daughter, and one first footman.
The Earl looked up from his paper with genuine surprise.
Mary and Sybil looked up at one another, wide-eyed.
William paused in approaching the table with the first course.
Carson waved him on, irritated only at the unexpected hiccup to the meal's flow. Calmly as ever, he reminded, "I understand that her Ladyship has gone to Manchester, I presume with Mrs Crawley, along with Thomas and Mrs O'Brien."
Mid-glide, the Lady Grantham stopped the graceful application of her napkin to her lap. Her eyes scanned the faces of the family, as her hands balled the serviette in proxy for the neck she was imagining.
"Was I not clear with everyone at this table, that Mrs Crawley had asked for Thomas' assistance with a very specific errand today, and that this was not to be an opportunity for a caravan to the city? Was I not?"
"You said we mustn't accompany cousin Isobel, mama," Sybil clarified, a little confused at the apparent trouble. "As Edith said, you'd not actually forbid also going to Manchester today. Independently-"
Her father's look suggested she stop explaining.
"Did you know she was going?" Cora's attention was nonetheless turned on her remaining daughters. "Either of you?"
"Mama, she is twenty," Mary evaded. "You can hardly-"
"I can, and I did," the mother corrected quickly. "And I expected my meaning was clear, not subject to some grasping hair-splitting one might try with my words. Robert, did you know she had gone?"
"I hadn't realized she'd left the house until this very conversation," he admitted honestly, before offering some pragmatic consolation. "But, we've no way to reach her, save dispatching more of the house to Manchester. And she is with Mrs O'Brien."
"And, pray tell, does anyone know why she has gone to Manchester?"
"I presume to do some Christmas shopping in private, and away from our typical York or London sellers…" Mary said, with some small admiration for the thoughtfulness, and the disobedience. "Much as I expect why cousin Isobel took Thomas to pick out some decent fashion for cousin Matthew." That she felt he desperately needed some such intervention, she graciously left unsaid.
Cora glared at Robert, guessing there was much more to the Isobel-Edith secret sojourn connection than Mary had spoken.
He looked to Carson for some intervention, or at least distraction.
"I do apologize, milady," the butler dutifully waded in. "Mrs O'Brien had already asked for her half-day after seeing your Ladyship up this morning; and we were not aware that your Ladyship had instructed Lady Edith not to travel. We do expect Mrs O'Brien back in time to dress your Ladyship for dinner…"
"Excellent," the lady of the house proclaimed, with anything but positivity in her voice. "Until then, let me be very clear that no one else from this house is to set off for the city, for any reason or by any means. And, I should like Lady Edith and O'Brien brought to me immediately upon their return. Am I clear?"
Nervous heads around the room nodded in understanding.
Taking a breath, and nodding to the safely distanced footman, Lady Grantham returned with grace and a smile. "I should very much like to be the first to welcome them back, and hear about their 'creative' adventures."
NOTES
1. Skiagraphy was an early term for medical applications of x-rays, that lasted until the end of World War I. Now used only to describe the use of shadowing not of bones, but of materials in architectural and technical drawings.