We're getting closer to the impending wedding of Lord Merton and Isobel Crawley…a few more chapters until we get to November, 1925! I hope you enjoy this latest installment!
**A quick note to all those who have asked/are wondering about Isobel's past and her sad memories when children are mentioned: Another story is being written which will develop and explain that story line.
Early September, 1925
"So, what made you choose Italy for the honeymoon?" Elizabeth asked as she and Isobel walked out of the dining room. They were followed closely by Timothy and Dickie, the men deciding to go through with the women that evening.
The wedding date was looming, and details were finally beginning to fall in to place. However, there was one major event they needed to get through before they could enjoy their day….that of George Crawley's fourth birthday party…and the fourth anniversary of Matthew's death. Isobel, along with Dickie and Timothy, were invited to Downton for an outdoor picnic to celebrate George's big day. But it was with trepidation that Isobel had accepted…she usually preferred to be alone on this day and shower George with gifts and hugs a few days later.
She appreciated Elizabeth having come down with Timothy this weekend. It allowed conversation to stray from George's little party to talk of the wedding. Isobel needed a distraction from her only son's death…and Elizabeth was quickly reminding her life had to move on.
Glancing over her shoulder to smile at Dickie, she turned back to Elizabeth. "You'll have to ask Lord Merton. It was he who decided on Rome."
"Have you been to Rome, Father?" Timothy asked, also interested.
"Once….many, many years ago. I remember it was quite beautiful in the city, but the landscape in the country is simply breathtaking. I thought Isobel would appreciate exploring it," Dickie answered.
Elizabeth sighed. "How lovely…and romantic."
Isobel and Dickie both blushed, causing Timothy and Elizabeth to laugh softly. "Come now, Elizabeth. We mustn't embarrass them too much just now. But…once they are married, that is a completely different story."
Timothy smiled and motioned that they should enter the drawing room but was quickly interrupted by a commotion at the front door.
"Mr. Mead! Mr. Mead! Hurry, please!"
"What on Earth?" Dickie began moving towards the front entrance and the elderly man who had just crashed in to Mr. Mead. Timothy followed while the women hung back a few steps, unsure of what could cause such an eruption.
"Please, Mr. Mead…the doctor! We need the doctor!"
"Mead, Hamilton, what is going on?" Dickie demanded. He was now standing in front of the quivering, out of breath Groundskeeper and confused Butler, his hands balling in to fists at his side. "Is such an interruption necessary?"
"I am sorry, milord," Hamilton spoke, twisting his hat as he looked down. "But we need the doctor! Little Harry, milord, he…he was thrown from one of the horses and isn't moving!"
As soon as Isobel heard the word 'doctor', she had started moving forward. Any time a medical term was uttered, her ears perked. Reaching the four men, she unknowingly clutched Dickie's arm.
"Not moving? He is unconscious?" she asked, Dickie and Timothy turning in surprise at her presence. Elizabeth had already moved to the phone, not bothering to wait for Mead to make the call to the physician in the village.
"I think so ma'am…his head is bleeding something fierce! He won't move, even after we tried to splash some water on him."
"Where is he?" she asked, her tone suddenly gaining strength.
"Outside the stables…please, we must get the doctor. I'm afraid…"
The poor groundskeeper looked down at his hat now twisted in to a knot. Isobel could sense the man felt great fear for this young boy's life. Moving forward, she gently patted his arm.
"Now, now…not to worry. Miss Elizabeth is sending for the doctor," she assured, looking over her shoulder to make sure Elizabeth was still on the telephone. "Mr. Mead, would you be so kind as to get a new needle and some thread. I trust there are blankets down at the stables?'
Mead looked to Dickie, wondering whether or not he should follow Mrs. Crawley's instructions.
"You heard her, Mead. Go!" Dickie commanded, turning back to find Isobel ushering Mr. Hamilton towards the front door. Hurrying forward, Dickie gathered her coat from the side along with his own. He called for Timothy to bring Elizabeth and the doctor to the stables before hurrying out the door.
"You say he was thrown? How far?" Isobel had asked the groundskeeper, her small steps rushing to meet the large strides of the determined and worried Mr. Hamilton. The man seemed on a mission to get back to Harry, not truly hearing what Isobel was asking him.
Dickie caught up to the pair and wrapped Isobel's coat around her shoulders. Isobel reached over for his hand, not caring who saw. She needed his support now, especially if Harry was in as bad a shape as Mr. Hamilton was detailing.
"The horse…one of the large mares…the poor lad was doing all he could to calm her. But she spooked and threw him right off. Harry…he…his head hit the fence straight on, and he didn't…he didn't move. We turned him over and there was blood everywhere."
The groundskeeper fell silent as they made their way down the lane, towards the large buildings Isobel surmised were the stables. She breathed a small prayer of thanks when they reached their destination, knowing she would pay in the morning for running in a corset, evening gown and dress shoes. Dickie held tight to her hand, taking the lead when a small group of men huddled together came in to view. He noted she was having a bit of trouble keeping up and left go of her hand to wrap a supportive arm around her waist as they hurried forward.
Isobel quickly became Nurse Crawley when they saw Harry lying motionless on the ground. She called for warm blankets and any ice the men might find in the stables. Falling to her knees, she asked that more lanterns be brought to illuminate the area. Dickie took a lantern from one of the distraught stable hands and held it up to show the boy's face.
"Good God…." He breathed, wincing as Isobel gently brushed the bloody hair off of the boy's forehead. There was a large gash and blood streaming down Harry's white face, so much so that Dickie wondered if his whole forehead hadn't burst open when he fell.
Isobel looked up and caught Dickie's eyes. "His breathing is labored. We have to stop the bleeding."
He nodded to her and set the lamp down beside the boy's face. Though men were shouting for more blankets and towels around them, it seemed the couple was in their own world. Dickie knelt on the other side of Harry and looked to Isobel for direction. "Tell me what to do."
A blanket was thrown over the boy's legs and towels set beside Isobel. "Here ya are, ma'am. We could not find any ice."
"It's all right. Would you fill a few buckets with some fresh water?" Isobel asked, taking one of the towels and pressing it in to Dickie's hand. "Wipe off the blood over his eyes, nose and mouth. But don't touch the wound."
He obeyed and began his task; quickly realizing time was of the essence when Harry's face began to pale with each passing moment. He looked to Isobel, amazed at her focus. She had tightly tucked the blanket in around Harry's legs and placed another under the back of his head. Now, with another towel, she finely wiped away the grass, mud and blood from the head wound, pulling the lantern closer to inspect how large the gash was.
"Mrs. Crawley! Mrs. Crawley!"
Turning, Isobel felt a wave of relief as Mead, followed by Timothy and Mrs. Crane hurried upon the scene. The Butler held out the needle and thread with shaking hands as Timothy dropped to his knees beside Dickie.
"My God…is he breathing?"
"It's shallow, but yes," Isobel replied, thrusting the lantern in to Timothy's hands. "Hold that up for me."
Timothy obeyed, not daring to question the woman who seemed so set in her task. She held the thread close to the light, knowing it was too thin to make any difference in stitching the wound. She tripled the thread to make it thicker and used her teeth to break it from the spool.
"Really…should we not wait for the doctor?" Mrs. Crane called out as Isobel held up the needle to the light. She expertly threaded it under the astonished gazes of Timothy and Dickie. How the woman's hands could work so quickly in the cold and damp night, with a boy dying beneath her, was astounding to the aristocratic Lord Merton and his son.
Isobel chose not to respond to Mrs. Crane and directed Timothy to pass the lantern to Dickie. Dickie held it directly over the boy's head so Isobel could clearly see the gash needing mended. The group watched in fear as Isobel leaned over, readying the needle to start stitching when she was stopped by a loud voice.
"I say, should we not wait for the doctor? Surely he would be better to take care of Harry," Mrs. Crane called out.
Isobel's head shot up, her eyes narrowing in anger. "If we do not stop the bleeding, the boy will go in to shock or die. Would you prefer that?"
Mrs. Crane shivered under the furious glare of Isobel Crawley, taking a few steps back as Timothy stood, his defenses rising. "Mrs. Crane, I suggest you go back to the house and prepare a room for Harry. Now!"
Isobel's eyes dropped back to Harry, her hand shaking slightly from both anger and worry. Dickie reached over and gently squeezed her arm. "You can do this, Isobel," he spoke quietly.
Even in the dark night, she could see the reassurance and confidence in his eyes. She nodded and pulled his hand down a bit to move the lantern as close to Harry's forehead as it could be. She timidly pushed the needle in a few inches above the large gash, using her other hand to hold the boy's head in place. As she worked, the air seemed to leave the group, each onlooker holding their breath in fear. Just as she was about to finish the final stitch, she called for another towel.
"Quickly! I want to keep the wound covered from any dirt or grass that might cause infection," she said, tying off the thread and taking the towel held out for her. Gently, she held it over the boy's wound and pressed lightly to mop up any blood seeping through the stitching. She knew there could be internal bruising or swelling of the boy's brain and chose not to press heavily for fear it would cause more damage.
"A motor! I hear a motor!"
Mead and Elizabeth hurried to the road to direct the motor to the scene but Dickie remained focused on Isobel as she put her fingers under the boy's neck.
"How is he?" Dickie asked quietly, noticing Mr. Hamilton inching closer to the young boy. He kept his voice soft, as he did not want to unnerve the man more than he already was. Isobel took notice of Mr. Hamilton as well and lowered her voice.
"He may have some broken ribs affecting his breathing. If one punctured the lung, he may need surgery."
Dickie closed his eyes, sorrow washing over him. Isobel looked down at the young boy again and gently stroked her fingers down his cheek. Within a moment, Elizabeth appeared with the doctor, a middle-aged gentleman who immediately took control of the situation.
"What on Earth happened?" he asked, setting his bag down and leaning over the young boy to observe the damage.
"He was thrown from one of the horses. I've stitched up the gash on his head, but his breathing is quite shallow. Perhaps a broken rib…" Isobel explained, noticing the doctor's eyes widen in surprise that it was she who gave report of the situation.
"You…you stitched him up?" Dr. Frederick asked.
"Dr. Frederick, this is my fiancée, Mrs. Crawley. She is a trained nurse," Dickie interjected, not wanting the doctor to act rudely as Mrs. Crane had only moments before.
"I see…well, it is a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Crawley, though I would have hoped for happier circumstances. Now, let's see what we have…"
The doctor began his examination of the young boy's chest as Isobel held his head still. Glancing over, she saw Dickie staring at her with concern.
"I'm all right," she whispered, knowing the comments of Mrs. Crane had angered him greatly. She wanted to set his mind at ease, though she knew he would dwell on the subject regardless of her reassurances.
The doctor looked between Isobel, Dickie and Timothy after a few moments. "I'm afraid there are a few broken ribs, but all breath sounds are normal though quite labored due to the severity of the fall."
"What would you suggest, Doctor?" Timothy asked.
"Lord Merton, the boy will need complete peace and quiet in a room of his own. And we will need a plank of wood to carry him to the house without disturbing his injuries."
"Of course. Hamilton…"
"Right away, milord," the Groundskeeper answered, grabbing two men and hurrying for the stables to gather a spare board.
"He will need to have constant supervision…at least until he wakes. I'm not sure I can spare a nurse from the hospital…" the doctor began, stopping to think of how he could rearrange the Nurse Rota to accommodate an extra patient.
"There will be no need for that, Dr. Frederick. I will stay with him," Isobel replied. Dickie and Timothy looked to her in surprise.
"Mrs. Crawley, I cannot ask that of you," the doctor answered. He realized that while the woman may be a nurse, she was soon to become Lady Merton over the entire county. It would not do for him to allow her to lower her status in this way.
"You did not ask, Doctor. I offered and it seems it would be the best option," Isobel answered simply.
The doctor, a bit flustered, looked to Dickie for direction. But he could not catch the man's eyes for they were now gazing appreciatively at his bride-to-be. Timothy smiled to the doctor, quick to take note of the man's dilemma, and offered, "I think the decision has been made, Doctor."
Dr. Frederick let out a sigh of relief. "I am grateful for your help, Mrs. Crawley."
Isobel smiled. "No matter. Whatever we can do for young Harry…."
The men returned with a plank, and Harry was quickly carried back to the main house. Dickie held Isobel back before she could follow Dr. Frederick in to the large suite prepared for the young boy.
"Isobel….are you quite sure about this?" he asked.
"Of course…why?" Her eyes creased in confusion as he looked down, a pink blush creeping up his neck.
"I do not wish to be presumptuous…but I thought perhaps I would send word to Crawley House to gather a bag for you…to stay for a few days."
Realization came quickly as Isobel also looked down, her cheeks matching the color of Dickie's. In any other situation, it would be quite normal for her to send word to Crawley House that she would be staying with a patient for a few days. But now…now she was to stay at the home of her fiancée…something that could easily be twisted in to scandal by a devious mind.
"I see…."she replied, clasping her hands together in front of her. "I suppose it would make the most sense…seeing as though we do not know when Harry might wake."
"Right," Dickie answered, "but I will be clear that the reason is to care for Harry…nothing more. And that Timothy and Elizabeth are here as well. I will leave no room for assumptions."
She looked up at him and smiled, tentatively reaching forward to grasp one of his hands. "I trust you."
A grin broke out on his face as he squeezed her fingers. "Good…then that's settled. Is there anything more I can do to help?"
"I'll see what the doctor would like first…but it might be best to alert the boy's parents," she replied.
Dickie's grin faded. "His parents are both dead. Spanish Flu…"
Isobel's heart broke for the young boy of only eleven or twelve lying broken in the next room. "How horrible…"
She looked towards the closed door sadly and then back to Dickie. "All the more reason for me to stay with him…he will need someone looking out for him just now."
She dropped his hand and moved to open the door when he called to her.
"Yes?" She turned and found him closing the distance between them.
"You were absolutely wonderful tonight…" he said, cautiously pressing a kiss to her cheek. Her eyes closed for a moment, relishing his touch. She reached up and cupped his cheek with her hand, a look of understanding passing between them. He stepped back as she entered the room of young Harry, allowing a large smile to grace his lips only when the door was securely closed.