Richard could tell by the cadence of her breathing when she had fallen asleep. Now his watch would begin, disturbances in sleep were quite common after a traumatic event. No doubt being punched in the face while trying to protect a prostitute counted as a traumatic event. What comforted him somewhat was the fact she hadn't been raped or otherwise touched in a vulgar way. One thing he didn't understand was why she hadn't removed her shoes? Was it due to tiredness or was it something deeper? He threw down his pen in disgust at not knowing the answer and opened the large drawer at the bottom of his desk withdrawing a bottle and glass. If there was ever a time he needed a drink it was now. He welcomed the burn as the whiskey traveled down his throat. Shaking his head he put the glass down, he knew she was once again working for a charitable organization but he had no clue it was with prostitutes. His last thought about her work was that she was aiding refugees of the Great War.
The terror she had displayed in the car about someone from the Abbey knowing what had happened was extreme. However, if they too didn't know about the work she was doing she might receive a scolding much worse than the beating she had just endured. He could see the possibilities in his minds eye, being lectured about bringing shame onto the Crawley name by working with prostitutes. Why couldn't she just leave things alone? Lady Cora had driven her off once to France. Isobel had meant it when she had told him that she had to be useful. Cora took away that usefulness in the pissing contest that had been over schedules of staff at Downton Abbey. With the ending of the war ended brought the marriage of her son and she had needed something to focus on, to devote her attention to.
A thought struck him, did they even know the what she was doing or did they merely leave it at Cousin Isobel is off saving the world again?
Reaching for his glass he drained the contents in one long swallow, relishing the burn. Looking down he found his pen and got back to work.
The sound of her heels seemed to echo more loudly than they should. Seeming to bounce off pillars and physically push her back. Nonetheless she had to move forward for the way behind was blocked. Heads poked out to stare at her, some faces had no eyes and some had no mouths. Moving forward, she had to move forward. Dead end, then he was there-the burly man. He smiled at her menacingly and began to approach her. Fear settled deep in her belly and she knew she must leave. A quick glance over her shoulder still showed the way blocked. More faces were now watching. He approached, from somewhere behind her she could hear someone call her name. The rank smell of stale booze and sweat flooded her nostrils as he approached. She couldn't cry out, she heard her name again and latched onto it.
A whimper had Richard launching from his desk, she was dreaming. Moving to the cot he could see the anguish on her face. He called her name and it had no effect. She had to wake up, now! Her left arm was over the blanket and his fingers curled around her bicep. Keeping his grip loose he shook her and continued to call her name. She didn't bolt upright or scream. Instead her brown eyes snapped open revealing terror which was quickly replaced with confusion. Richard leaned back so his body wasn't blocking the light of his lamp so she could see the office. Understanding came to Isobel and she sat up, the blanket was flung back and she put her feet on the floor. As her heels made contact with the floorboards Richard then understood. She had gone to bed with her shoes on so she could run at a moments notice the thought turned his stomach. "Isobel." he said and she stared at him.
Taking a few deep breaths to calm her pounding heart she finally said his name in acknowledgement. Opening his hand he offered it to her palm up as he did before. She took it, feeling more calm at the physical contact. Through the link of their hands he could feel the tremors in her body. His physicians instincts took over, "Are you in pain?"
She considered the question, her head ached only slightly and her lip only hurt if she probed it with her tongue. Not trusting her voice she shook her head to answer his question. Richard copied her silent communication and nodded before standing up. The glass he had used for her powder was still unwashed so he merely refilled own glass with a finger of whiskey before giving it to her. While a quarter to four in the morning was an odd time for drink she accepted it anyway letting the alcohol steady her nerves. She could see the marks that his mouth had made on the glass and found she didn't care.
When dawn's light came through the windows Isobel gathered her courage, "I want to go to Crawley House to bathe. After that can I came back here? I can inventory the new stock."
"Of course" he confirmed. He went to the coat tree and retrieved their items. The village square was seemingly deserted as they walked through it. She let herself inside and Richard waited by the door for the telltale clicks to know that it was securely locked. Going to his own cottage he washed and shaved before donning clean clothes and returning to the hospital. He took the time to remake the rumpled cot in the corner before swiping up the glasses and placing them in a sink for washing.
No matter how hot Isobel ran the water she couldn't seem to get warm. Normally she would luxuriate in a bath, almost becoming one with the water, getting lost counting the ripples on the surface. Today she merely scrubbed her body with the bar of soap and washed her hair with force. Isobel decided not to do anything different with her hair lest it garner more attention than her wounds Dressing for the hospital she reached up onto the small shelf where her nursing apron was neatly folded, she was ready. She could hear muffled clangs from the kitchen, a signal that Mrs. Bird or Molesey were up and about. She waited until she heard the whistle of a kettle before moving swiftly to the front door and leaving Crawley House.
Richard was nursing a cup of tea when she came in, he watched as she set her handbag down then placed her apron over her head before securing it behind her. Before turning to the store room she gave him a brief wave in acknowledgement. Isobel allowed herself to get lost in the work, she was amazed when nearly fifteen minutes went by before she thought about the events of yesterday. Did her face hurt more or was it her pride? She had honestly thought that being on the side of good would somehow protect her. She was wrong. What else was she wrong about? She didn't want to answer that so she went back to the shelves.