Richard knew not to stay and argue with her, he didn't want her to do something too drastic in retaliation. He left Crawley house and made his way to the hospital. Isobel saw the porcelain mountain she had created on the tray and groaned. She briefly entertained the thought of picking up one of the china teacups and hurling it against a wall. Why was she angry?
Was it what Richard had said? Was it the fact that she had thought she was comparable to Ethel. With Reginald's death she was left to raise a child alone. Did she really think that made her situation with Ethel the same, that somehow Ethel could overcome all odds to keep her child? Jane the other maid at Downton had lost her husband and had to work to provide for her child however, she had the support of her mother. What did Ethel have?
The stack of teacups once again caught her attention, here at Crawley house she had servants, she had access to fine china. Isobel still did things for herself but this didn't make her one of the people. Today she had witnessed a woman's heartbreak over losing her child. While Charlie was alive it was little comfort to Ethel. She rang the bell and Molesley appeared, "Could you take this away for me please?"
Mr. Molesley had heard from Mrs. Bird the ongoings of the meeting with the Bryant's and shared her shock at having Ethel serve tea. He heard the bell and he popped in trying to seem indifferent, that melted away when he saw and heard the hitch in Mrs. Crawley's voice. "Of course." he replied before taking away the mess.
The door closed softly behind him and Isobel covered her face with her hands. When she was attacked the police had asked her who they should inform. Instantly she had thought of him and not Matthew. She had tried to rationalize her choice, that if Matthew had come to collect her she didn't want him lecturing her. However, that wasn't true, she had called for Richard for she knew that he would come for her because she asked. Also because he was the one she thought of frequently, more than she would care to admit. The world hadn't changed when that man had hit her, the world had been as it always was, what had changed was her. She now felt fear and doubt. None of her ideas seemed to be working, it was as if none of the puzzle pieces before her went together no matter how hard she jammed them. He knew, he had known all along.
What was the first unwritten rule of medicine?
"You can't save everyone." She muttered to no one in the empty room. That was something she had heard her entire life and she never believed it. To her everyone could be and should be saved. Today was the bitter truth that she had been wrong. Her shield was gone and now her core beliefs had been challenged most cruelly. No, she could save everyone she just had to think harder. She wasn't ready to confront all these new insights. Wanting to cloak herself in the familiar she reached for her coat and left her home.
Besides Ripon and Thirsk the red coach line also had another stop where an individual could board another transport for the York city center. Isobel did this and soon found herself back the women's shelter. There was no applause as she walked through nor did she expect there to be. She simply hung up her coat and began addressing the few women that were chit chatting around the donated sewing machines.
The lesson began, normally the nattering of the women didn't bother her. The shelter door opened and in walked a woman, she was no more than mere girl. "Have you come for our help, if you have then you're welcome."
The girl looked around in disbelief hardly daring to believe that anyone would help her.
"you should know that we help every woman who has come here to rebuild their lives." Isobel said before adding softly, "I'm helping them. And I very much hope that I can help you, too."
Unfortunately an older prostitute named Mavis decided to chime in, "That's right. Why not come in and help us rebuild our lives?"
At this all the other prostitutes laughed mercilessly and the young girl bolted for the door. Isobel ran after her but the girl was too swift. Outrage was rising in her again and she stormed back into the room, reaching down she snatched the fabric up from the first sewing machine she came across, "Where does it start? The simple stitch, the one we went over...over a week ago now!"
None of the women could answer her for they were too stunned. This was a side the prostitutes hadn't seen, Isobel Crawley seemed to possess supernatural patience when it came to dealing with them. Her raised voice had them actually looking at her, they saw the fading bruise and realized Isobel Crawley was human after all.
There was soft knock at his office door and Clarkson spoke, "Come."
The door swung open to reveal Matthew Crawley, Clarkson rose from his desk. "Dr. Clarkson, I was hoping you could help me."
Clarkson's eyes began assessing Matthew, "Is something ailing you?"
The blonde smiled, "Not physically, Mother is missing. I was supposed to pick her up for dinner and she's not at Crawley House. None of the servants know where she had gone either. Now knowing Mother she is probably fine and off doing something of vast importance. I know that you and she are friends and I wondered if you knew where she was?"
Splaying his fingers Richard rested his hands on the top of his desk and quickly went through her options. With the incident this morning with the Bryant's he came up with one answer, "Most likely she is in York."
"York?" Matthew said a little stunned.
"She is working at a women's shelter." Clarkson informed.
"Oh that." Matthew said almost dismissively.
"Time must have gotten away from her." Richard said sagely.
Matthew seemed satisfied with explanation and left. After the young Crawley had gone Richard snatched up the telephone.
After Isobel's outburst some of the women were more keen to listen to instruction while a two simply got up and left. The sun had set and the staff were serving a meal, the prostitutes would eat and would either go to the dormitory to sleep or leave to go back to the street. This wasn't a locked facility, the women could leave at anytime if they wished. What pained Isobel was that so many did, only to come back the next day for a meal.
Isobel's feet was resting lightly on the treadle of the sewing machine. With the gentle movements she manipulated the needle up and down. A scrap of fabric caught her attention and she placed it underneath the needle. The needle was not threaded so as the needle moved it merely pierced the fabric over and over. How many piercings could it take? How many punctures before it would become damaged and tear?
Was the fabric her?
The door behind her whispered open and she found she didn't have the joviality to give a warm greeting. Nonetheless the person needed to be welcomed. Isobel began her stock greeting taking her time to turn around, "Have you come here for our help?"
When she eventually did see the individual she felt like crying, for Doctor Clarkson was in the doorway. He wasn't there for help, he was there to help her.