A./N.: First of "Thank you, thank you, thank you" for all your reviews. They do mean the world to me. For my other story "Surrogate Mother" I got a review by HB rules telling me that penicillin was discovered in 1928, so I spent most of my day on the Internet searching for medication used around the turn of the century. Here are the fruits of my labour. It will get better from here on out, I promise.

Again a big thank you to my beta for her patience with me.

Please leave a review. I appreciate them.

Love Faithful

Road to Recovery

Elsie was trying desperately not to hyperventilate as she remembered her arduous road to relative recovery … starting with the examination after her attack.

oOoOoOo

Before Matthew could step through into the library, his mother came out of the dining room.

"Robert, we were wondering what took …" Her voice died away as her eyes widened to the size of saucers. Without another word she rushed forward and gently cupped Mrs Hughes' bruised cheek. Tears were gathering in the other woman's eyes and she closed them with a pained expression, but she didn't flinch away from the touch. Her breath was coming in ragged bursts as she tried to stem the tears and the increasing nausea she felt in the pit of her stomach. When Mrs Crawley spoke again, it was in a much softer voice, which still held a lot of authority. "Get her upstairs to her room, Matthew. I will make a preliminary examination while Robert sends for the doctor. … Oh, and someone needs to get me a first-aid box …"

Here Carson nodded and spoke quietly, "I will show you upstairs and then run down to get it out of Mrs Hughes' parlour."

Isobel inclined her head in affirmation, then motioned for Carson to take the lead.

oOoOoOo

As the two men drudged up the stairs Charles felt the overwhelming urge to express his gratefulness to Mr Crawley. He addressed the younger man over his shoulder as he led the way to the women's corridor – a place he had never been in, the only place in the Abbey that he wasn't familiar with.

"Thank you for saving Mrs Hughes. I don't want to imagine ..." Carson rambled out before Matthew interrupted him gruffly.

"I was simply at the right time in the right place," he growled, but a deep blush rose in his cheeks, "Nothing to thank me about. I hate men who beat women and force their unwanted attentions on them. God knows I have seen my share of them in my father's office."

A slightly different tremble went through Elsie's body and it took Matthew by surprise to feel a new moment of fear from her. Briefly he wondered about Mrs Hughes' own experiences of violence before her attack, but soon came to the conclusion that he didn't really want to know. What he had seen tonight would provide him with enough nightmares already.

oOoOoOo

Mrs Crawley, despite her expensive evening gown, was a flurry of activity lying Mrs Hughes on her bed. She wanted to know that the woman would be alright in the end. She wanted to see with her own eyes that Mrs Hughes' injuries were seen to and she was indeed still alive. When she had seen the still figure in her son's arms she had feared the worst for a moment. The touch to the cheek had been comfort but also a way to reassure herself that the housekeeper still had a pulse.

Mr Carson stared at Mrs Hughes, lying motionless on the bed, her head turned to the wall and eyes lifeless. His dear friend looked like death warmed up. Gently he brought Mrs Crawley to a halt and asked her quietly so that Elsie hopefully wouldn't hear him, "How is she? Will she be alright? Can you help her?"

"I don't know, I haven't checked her yet. Poor woman! She is in shock, Carson. How could any man do that to her?" Mrs Crawley asked him repulsed. Anger was not an emotion she was overly familiar with, but now it flared alive in her, seeing Mrs Hughes so obviously broken.

"I'm afraid that … She is home now and she's save; it doesn't matter."

"I disagree, Carson. It does matter. She will be altered and she will always know and remember what caused it. She is strong enough to handle the truth, though … I think." Mrs Crawley scooped a bottle of antiseptic fluid and some bandages from the first-aid box. Turning away from Carson she pretended to check how much was left in the bottle and added under her breath: "In any way I hope she is strong enough to come through it."

A suppressed coughing fit from the bed brought her attention back to Elsie. Quickly she stepped to her bedside table and poured her a glass of water before she carefully lifted Elsie's head off the pillow. She tilted Elsie's head a little and poured the liquid into her mouth. Mrs Crawley waited a moment until her friend quietened down again, closing her eyes as she did so. She smoothed back Elsie's dark brown hair, which was very untidy and there were patches of dried blood in it, but right now she looked to be untroubled. Almost serene. Carson meanwhile, remaining with the nurse, was hovering over the bed watching.

Mrs Crawley anxiously said, "I think I'd better examine her. Carson, please allow some privacy for a moment?"

"No, I must see what he did to her. I must know so that I can comfort her later and reassure her that I am not repulsed by her … that I still l…" The last word died away from his suddenly dry lips. He had almost confessed his love for Elsie, in front of a Crawley no less.

Mrs Crawley looked at him for a long moment. Trying to decide what would be better for both her patient and the so obviously distraught butler … and for their … friendship. But she knew that there was only one way to handle the situation properly.

"I'm afraid you must, Carson. Please, leave or I shan't be able to conduct a proper examination. I'm not sure she would appreciate you staying in the room while I undress her … especially not after tonight. May I start now?"

"By all means," the butler said resignedly, but nevertheless politely. He stepped back from the bed and turned towards the door. His steps were heavy and reluctant, but he knew Mrs Crawley was right. He had no place in Mrs Hughes' room under normal circumstances, but especially not tonight. She would prefer the company of women … would probably for a while. He clenched his fists at the thought of meeting the spineless worm who had hurt her. Carson was standing very still – outside the room, where he felt about as useful as a statue. He tried desperately not to betray his feelings in front of the Crawleys, but he couldn't hold back the anger and hatred rising in him and judging from the look on Lady Mary's face he was not very successful. He was thankful that a moment later the arrival of Doctor Clarkson prevented the young woman to voice her concern for him.

oOoOoOo

After Carson had left the room Isobel, using all her effort to stay calm, started to undress Mrs Hughes. It was not that hard because all the clothes she was wearing were torn, except for the coat Matthew had covered her up in. As she slowly peeled away the layers of clothing and revealed flesh, Isobel saw that Mrs Hughes' skin was covered with bruises and cuts.

"Oh no … poor dear," she said sadly. Tears were stinging in her eyes. But she had to control herself and was not yet allowed to let them fall. Later in her bedroom she would cry for her friend.

Doctor Clarkson was carefully entering Mrs Hughes' bedroom. He had been told that Mrs Crawley was in there with the patient and quite ferocious in her protection of the poor woman. She would kick him out if he frightened the woman or was in the way despite being the doctor. He heard her quite exclamation and noted gravely, "Yes. I was told that bastard has been very rough on her, Mrs Crawley! She is weaker than I have ever seen her before," he added quietly.

Mrs Hughes shuddered at the male voice in the room and gave an involuntary whimper, trying feebly to cover herself again with Matthew's coat. The movement was obviously painful for her and Isobel shot the doctor a look of reproach. He acted instantly, turning his face to the wall and offering hesitantly, "I could leave the room and wait upside should you need my assistance or advice."

Mrs Crawley bit her lip. She knew that she would need the doctor's experience and help in dealing with Mrs Hughes' injuries. "Just keep your head turned to the wall, but talk me through the proceedings."

Again Isobel resumed her task of helping Mrs Hughes out of her ruined clothes. She was nervous about what she would find. Her mind conjured up various likely images whenever she noticed Elsie wincing in pain, trying to stifle a groan or nearly fainting while moving. As the torn dress, corset and shift were pooling on the floor, Isobel took her first real look at Mrs Hughes. She tried to prepare herself but was obviously unsuccessful. Her eyes widened and a fleeting look of horror flashed on her face. She had somehow found the courage to look below Mrs Hughes' navel. What she found there took her breath away. Mrs Hughes' inner thighs were black and blue with bruises and a constant trickling of blood came from between her legs. She gasped and Dr Clarkson peeked at her in alarm.

"What?"

"I don't ... I can't ...," she said nervously, not able to put into words what horrors this dear woman must have had to endure. "She is bleeding! She ..."

Dr Clarkson felt apprehension rising inside him. Bleeding meant open wounds and those meant possible sources of infection.

"What do you mean precisely? I could see all the cuts ..."

Isobel groaned in despair and reported quietly but as professionally as she could muster under the circumstances, "She also has internal bleeding. She is torn terribly." In her mind she added a prayer of thanks to God for sending Matthew down that road so he could find her. 'She could easily have bled to death. It's a wonder she's still alive,' she thought hysterically, trying not to faint at the sight and instead staying strong for Elsie. 'I will kill that bastard if I get my hands on him! I will …"

She was brought out of her homicidal thoughts by a quietly asked question, "I understand. Can I help you?"

"Yes, could you hand me antiseptic fluid, bandages and ... ask Mr Carson for some chamomile compresses and maybe some ice as well, it will give him something to do other than pace a hole in the ground … and …"

There was a loud rummaging noise from the other side of the room. Dr Clarkson had immediately turned to gather the required things out of his medical bag. Isobel closed her eyes and braced herself. Ignoring her own distress and leaning over Elsie to comfort and reassure her, she went on, "...and Neosalvarsan against syphilis and other sexual diseases. Please." There was a distinct pleading note in her voice.

"Of course, Mrs Crawley. Anything else?"

She could clearly hear the immense effort it took Dr Clarkson to remain calm and not yell and curse openly. That just wouldn't help Mrs Hughes and right now the first priority was her health.

"No, that is all at the moment."

Slowly Isobel went over every cut, cleansing it and wrapping a bandage around it if needed. While she worked diligently, she faintly heard, but ignored, a soft knock on the door and the silent arrival of Cousin Cora, who was carrying a tray with a bowl of ice and fresh clothes and another bowl, which, judging from the smell, held chamomile tea. After taking care of the outer injuries, Isobel turned her attention to the inner injuries. Carefully she dipped a cloth in the chamomile tea and let it soak. An almost inaudible clearing of a throat drew her attention to the doctor. He held a syringe in his hand, but still had his head turned to the wall.

"The injection of Neosalvarsan. It's best if you inject it into a muscle," he explained softly. "The compresses need to be changed regularly … and will be painful at first."

"I know," Isobel said softly and again Dr Clarkson felt a weight lift from his shoulders. He really didn't need to explain things to her. "Thank you for your help."

Elsie had been almost despondent throughout the procedure, trying to block everything out as best as she could. She didn't want to feel anything anymore. The pain was bearable, but the feeling of helplessness and dependency was not. She shuddered to think of the other outcome of death and yet she wanted the blissful oblivion it offered. Mrs Crawley's hands were soft and ever so careful, often tenderly stroking the few inches of uninjured skin she had left. Then Lady Grantham had entered the room and Elsie had felt humiliated. To be lying naked on her bed with every inch of skin exposed like that, Elsie wanted to curl up and die. Her tears had tried up, but the nauseating feeling had persisted, and now she was fighting wave after wave of nausea. It was something to occupy her mind … and the only thing she seemed to be in control of at the moment.

When she saw the syringe in Mrs Crawley's hands, Elsie shrunk back, shaking her head. She hated syringes. Another pitiful whimper was drawn from her throat and she tried to move back on the bed, but she was brought up short by the pain in her limbs and Lady Grantham's steadying arm.

"You can squeeze my hand, Mrs Hughes," she offered softly, taking her hand in hers and wrapping one arm around Elsie's shoulders, drawing her into her side.

Elsie hated herself for showing such weakness, but she turned her head into Her Ladyship's shoulder, burying it there, when the needle came closer. She hissed sharply as it was plunged into the skin of her upper thigh and she felt the fluid starting to course through her veins. She nearly threw up over Her Ladyship, but managed to suppress it yet again.

"I'm sorry," Mrs Crawley whispered with tears in her eyes. "It's not over yet …"

Gently she helped her to lie down again. Elsie acquiesced as she was pressed softly into the pillows … then she panicked and nearly screamed as she felt Mrs Crawley gently part her thighs.

"Sh, sh, it's alright," Lady Grantham's voice barely broke through the thundering rush of blood in her ears as fear gripped her heart and squeezed it like a vice. "I'm right here."

It was no use. When the first chamomile-soaked cloth made contact with her most-injured part, Elsie lost consciousness.