Mid-March, 1922
Isobel beamed on her luncheon guests, gratified that they appeared to be having such a nice time with her at Crawley House. Her cook – who, she admitted, was no Mrs. Bird – having gotten much better at preparing her son's favorite meals, Isobel had decided to have Matthew and Mary over. As they talked together and ate, Isobel thought that she recognized a certain aspect to Mary, although she couldn't be sure. Besides, whether that was true or not, there was no doubting that the pair were happy together. And that's all Isobel cared about; her son's happiness would always be tied to her own.
"Won't the two of you spend the afternoon here? Stay through tea?" Only one regret dampened Isobel's happiness for her son and his wife. They didn't live with her at Crawley House. She never seemed to get enough time with them. True, Robert and Cora invited her for dinner very often, but it wasn't quite the same as having Matthew and Mary to herself.
Matthew shook his head as they moved toward the entry-way. "I'm sorry, Mother. We'd like to, but Mary and I made a promise to Sybbie that we'd be back in time for tea." He smiled, helping Mary on with her coat before putting his own on and picking up his hat. "Besides," he smiled at his wife, "I have had a surprise made for you, Mary, and I have to go to Ripon to get it."
"Oh, are we going to Ripon before we go home?" Mary tugged on her gloves, looking at him quizzically.
Laughing, Matthew turned to his mother. "You see why I love her? She doesn't concentrate on the 'surprise' part of what I just said – but on the fact that her plans have been shifted."
Isobel smiled sadly. She'd hoped they'd stay a little longer at least.
"Matthew, stop teasing," Mary said as she placed her hat over her coiffure, using the entry-way mirror to make sure she tilted it just right upon her head.
"In answer to your question, darling, no. We are not going to Ripon. I am going to Ripon. I had the motor sent from Downton to collect you and take you home, and I'll be back in plenty of time for tea." He clapped his hat onto his head.
Mary turned from the mirror to grin at him. "It'd better be a very good surprise then, to make up for my having to go home alone."
"It is." He smiled widely at her. "I believe I hear the car come for you now." Touching Isobel's arm, he leaned forward to kiss her cheek. "Marvelous luncheon, Mother. We had a lovely time, didn't we, Mary?"
Mary took her turn in saying farewell to her mother-in-law, kissing her cheek and embracing her warmly. "Yes, we did. Perhaps next time we can stay a little longer." She smiled at Isobel, and, taking her husband's arm, walked with him out the door.
Isobel stepped out behind them, going halfway to the gate, close enough to see them off. She crossed her arms against the March chill, not having put on a coat, and waited while Matthew handed Mary into the motor. He kissed her before closing the door for her, then got into his own little car. "See you tomorrow for dinner at Downton, Mother!" He called out as he started the engine and then waved at her.
Waving until she could see him no more, Isobel went back into her house and shut the door.
Robert ran slightly late for tea that afternoon. "Confound it," he muttered as he tucked his watch back in his pocket, walking faster. Sybbie would be upset if he was this late, and Cora would be upset if Sybbie was upset.
Just as he reached the drawing room, he heard a scream of agony or alarm coming from the direction of the foyer, followed closely by a wail of "Noooo!"
Hastening toward the sounds, he almost ran into Carson at the foyer entrance.
"Oh God, Mary," Robert exhaled, immediately kneeling on the floor beside her. She'd fainted. He looked up at the butler, "Carson, go get her ladyship and Lady Edith."
Without so much as a "yes, my lord," Carson, fear in his eyes, turned on his heel and rushed to the drawing room.
As he stroked Mary's cheek and made a cursory examination to be sure she was breathing normally and hadn't struck her head, Robert became aware of a strange noise. Glancing around, he spotted the telephone receiver hanging off the edge of the table. Standing, he took this in hand and spoke into the telephone, "Hello?"
"Lord Grantham? Is Lady Mary alright?" The voice belonged to Dr. Clarkson.
"She seems to have fainted, but I think she'll be fine. Clarkson, what's happened? Why has my daughter fainted?" Robert began to get extremely agitated.
Dr. Clarkson hesitated. Then, in a the tone of a man who did not want to be the one to break this to yet another person, he said, "Your lordship, I'm sorry to have to tell you that Matthew Crawley was in an accident this afternoon. He's been – he's been killed."
"What? How can that be?" Robert looked down at his daughter, then back up to the others hurrying toward the foyer, his eyes wide with disbelief.
"Lord Grantham, a lorry struck Mr. Crawley's motor car, and he was thrown from it. He was rushed here, but…." His voice faltered. "There was nothing to be done. He was already gone."
"My God," he breathed, lowering himself into a chair, watching Edith pick up Mary's head and put it in her lap and Cora turn to tell Tom to get her smelling salts from her dressing table as quickly as he could. "Isobel?" he asked, vaguely remembering that Matthew's mother would need to be told.
"I'm going to Crawley House right now, your lordship."
Robert thought he heard Dr. Clarkson sigh mournfully. He closed his own eyes. "Right. Thank you, Clarkson. I – I have to tell the others. Goodbye." He put the receiver down without waiting for a response.
Cora looked at him in slight panic. "Robert, what's happened?"
Tears forming in his eyes as the reality began to sink in, he gazed at his wife a moment, taking in her worried expression and her rounded belly. Unable to speak yet, he stood, took her hands in his, and led her over to the chair in which he'd been sitting, helping her settle onto it. He couldn't have Cora fainting and falling to the floor too.
Tom burst in with the smelling salts. Keeping his hand clasped around one of Cora's, Robert waved at Tom and Edith with the other. "Not yet," he said, roughly. "She doesn't need to hear it twice."
Edith repeated her mother's question, "Papa, what's happened?" Tom stood poised over Edith and Mary, smelling salts at the ready. Carson didn't seem to know what to do with his hands and kept his eyes trained on Mary.
Robert addressed them all, but he looked at his wife. "There was an accident this afternoon. Matthew was involved. He – he didn't make it."
"What?" Edith exclaimed, while Cora put a hand over her mouth in shock, and Tom looked down. Carson blinked several times.
"It's true." Robert felt his breathing get heavier and his face flush, but he knew he had to tell them first and to make sure Mary was alright. "That was Clarkson on the telephone, and he was certain. Matthew's gone." He closed his eyes, feeling his chest start to constrict now as Cora squeezed his hand. "He'll tell Isobel."
"Robert?" Tom asked. "Shouldn't we wake Mary now?"
Robert's eyes opened and he nodded. "Yes. Yes, we have to see that she's alright – alright from the faint I mean." He clutched Cora's hand tighter as perspiration beaded upon his brow.
Edith took the smelling salts from Tom, tears already streaking her face. She held them under her sister's nose.
Mary's eyes flew open. She focused them on her papa, whose face told her in one glance that she hadn't just woken from a nightmare. "No," she whispered, curling up into a ball, and turning herself so her face burrowed into her sister's skirt. Her sobs echoed around the small room, her anguish affecting them all. Cora looked as if she wanted to kneel beside her and take her in her arms, but she couldn't in her state. So she simply wept, one hand over her baby bump and the other in her husband's, her heart aching. Carson continued to wring his hands, his face as sad as anyone had ever seen. Edith stroked Mary's hair, and her tears blended with the ones her sister poured onto her dress.
Tom, grey-faced, crouched down and whispered, "Mary, please, you have to tell us if you're hurt from falling on the floor when you fainted."
Mary shook her head vehemently before burying her face even farther and continuing to choke with sobs.
Robert, his breathing becoming more difficult, carefully extracted his hand from Cora's and, quietly as possible, left the foyer, headed for the library.
Cora turned her head in his direction, staring at his back as he went, worried. She couldn't get close enough to her baby to comfort her, so she waved Carson over. Her voice trembling, she said, "Carson, please inform the staff of this. Make sure Anna and Molesley know especially. And do thank Jimmy for us for taking Sybbie up to her nursery."
Carson's eyes flicked back to Mary, but he inclined his head to Cora. "It will be done, your ladyship."
Extending her hand, she asked. "Might you help me up?"
Taking her hand, Carson helped her stand and passed through the doorway with her where they parted ways – he toward the servants' stairs and she toward the library.
"Robert?" Cora went to him as quickly as she could once she saw that he sat on a chair, breathing heavily and clutching at his chest. "Darling?" she asked apprehensively, putting her hand on his back.
Robert shook his head, his eyes screwed tightly shut, unable to speak.
Cora swallowed her tears, comforted somewhat that he could do even that. "Is it – is it one of your episodes?" She prayed he'd say yes.
Barely managing a nod, Robert kept breathing heavily.
Closing her eyes briefly with a sigh of relief, she made her way to the drinks cabinet, pouring her husband a glass of water. She then stood beside him, took his hand, and held the glass, knowing that it would pass – knowing that he had this sort of attack when something got him truly upset. She'd witnessed only one herself – and then he'd been angry – but afterward he'd told her about them and that anger wasn't their sole trigger.
Eventually his breathing became easier and his face a more normal shade, and Robert pressed Cora's hand gently to indicate that the worst was over. Raising his eyes to her, he finally removed his other hand from his shirtfront and took the glass she handed him. He drank deeply, draining the glass and setting it down on the table beside him.
Then, surprising her, Robert drew her onto his lap, carefully, wrapping his arms around her and resting his head on her chest. It was then she realized that he was crying. Her own tears beginning again, Cora cradled his head, stroking his hair and leaning her cheek against his brow.
Just as Matthew had truly become like a son to Robert, he was gone.
Richard Clarkson's steps grew ever heavier as he approached the door to Crawley House. As much as he wanted someone else to give her the terrible news, not sure if he could endure to see the pain he knew it would cause her, he also knew that it could come from no one else. He had to be the one to tell her, and certainly not over the telephone.
He rang the bell and waited, taking off his hat and worrying the brim of it.
What he hadn't expected was for Isobel herself to answer the door, her face alight when she saw it was him.
"Oh, what a pleasant surprise," she said. "I wasn't expecting anyone for tea, but I can get Lily to bring another cup. Come in, and we'll go into the sitting room."
Dr. Clarkson sighed, watching her step back from the door and go ahead through the entry-way, calling out to the maid to make sure the tea tray had enough for two. He hung up his coat and hat and followed her into the neatly appointed sitting room. Waiting for her to sit, he sat across from her and wondered how on earth he was going to tell her what he had to tell her.
After a few moments, Isobel looked up from the tea tray and over at him. "My, you seem quite grim. Is there something you need to talk about?"
"Actually, Mrs. Crawley, there is."
Isobel listened to him as he told her what had happened, but felt as if she must have heard wrong. Something was wrong with her ears or her mind or perhaps his speech. Matthew couldn't be dead. He couldn't. He'd survived the War, he'd gotten through paralysis, he and Mary were going to have children and be marvelously happy. And she would be happy with them, playing with her grandchildren and watching her son be the kind of father his own father had been. It simply couldn't be true.
Dr. Clarkson watched as her eyes left his face and settled on some item by the fireplace, he wasn't sure what. He didn't think she actually saw anything, however. Her mouth was open, and she began to make a series of sounds, as if she were trying to speak, but couldn't. She appeared to be in shock.
Standing, he walked over to a small table where Isobel kept a limited variety of alcoholic beverages, but at least there was some brandy. Pouring some, he went back over to where she sat on the settee and sat beside her. Placing a gentle hand on her arm, he held the brandy out to her.
Absentmindedly, Isobel took the glass from him and had a sip, then another. She turned her head to look at him. "Tell me it isn't true," she said, somewhat more forcefully than he expected. "Please, tell me anything other than what you just told me. Please."
He shook his head slowly. "As much as I would like to, I can't."
"Richard, you can't tell me my world just ended," she said, closer to a whisper now as a lump rose in her throat, her eyes pleading with him.
He wanted nothing more at that moment than to tell her exactly what she wanted to hear. But he couldn't. Instead, he moved his hand from her arm to her hand, closing it over hers. "I'm so sorry, Isobel."
Closing her eyes, Isobel slumped forward, her body shaking with her tears. Dr. Clarkson reached forward and pried the brandy glass out of her hand, placing it on the table. He hated this. He hated watching her fall to pieces – even though he'd been almost certain she would. The headstrong, confident, determined, and sometimes unrelenting and exasperating, woman he'd come to – well – adore melted before him. How he wished he could comfort her somehow.
Hardly knowing what he was doing, Dr. Clarkson pulled her to him, having her lay her head on his shoulder, keeping his arm around her and rubbing hers consolingly. Isobel continued to cry, her breath coming in great gulps, somewhat conscious of feeling grateful for an arm around her, letting her head sink into the fabric of his jacket. At that moment, it was the only thing that kept her from falling into a black hole, thus, she clutched at him, grasping his lapel and hanging on.
Dr. Clarkson had no idea how any of it was happening, but when he felt her grab onto his jacket, he found himself with his hand and lips against her hair, murmuring soothingly. He just wanted to ease her pain somehow. But all his years as a doctor had taught him that in the wake of the death of a loved one, there was no cure nor balm to heal it. The only thing to do was to take as much comfort as you could from those with you. And as he was the only one there – he would be her comfort, if he could. If she would allow him to be.
In time, Isobel became aware that he was holding her, so, rather embarrassed, she lifted her head to look at him, her face wet with tears, her hand still around his jacket lapel. "Richard, I –" She stopped, unsure what she even wanted to say. The rug had just been pulled out from under her, but she couldn't help noticing the tender, concerned look on his face and in his blue eyes. It gave her solace in a way she couldn't have imagined, in a way she couldn't explain. She opened her mouth to speak again, but she still didn't know what to say. She lowered her eyes.
Then, all of a sudden, she felt his hands cup her face and his lips press to her cheek, then the other. She closed her eyes and let him feather kisses over her face, not remembering the last time anyone had treated her so tenderly. Isobel's heart was so very heavy and his touch so light…. It was surreal, in a way, but felt more real to her just then than the truth he'd had to tell her.
And then she felt his lips converge upon hers, but, again, gently, almost hesitantly. When she didn't pull away, he took one hand from her face, sliding it around her shoulders and drawing her closer. She hadn't yet removed her hand from his lapel, but now she uncurled her fingers and placed her hand tentatively upon his neck, leaning into him a bit more.
Moved by his gesture to comfort her, Isobel's tears began to fall again. Her teardrops upon his hand brought him back to himself, and he broke the kiss, turning his head away from her. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have. I've taken a liberty, and… perhaps I should go."
Dr. Clarkson moved as if to get up, but was stilled by the tiniest of things: her thumb tracing back and forth lightly over his jawline, her hand not having moved from its place just above his collar. He turned to her again, looking into her eyes. They were so sad, yet had a soft quality to them just now as she gazed into his. "Don't go."
"Are you sure?"
Isobel nodded. "I – I don't think I can bear to be alone. You won't leave me alone, will you?"
He knew he could never leave her alone, especially when she asked him with such an expression of deep sadness on her face. Not only that, but there was also a sort of fear there, a kind he'd never seen before on her features, and it made him think he might weep too. "No, Isobel. I won't leave you alone."
With a great sigh that seemed to come from the deepest, darkest recesses of her soul, she withdrew her hand from his neck, but only to put her hand in his and rest her head on his shoulder once more. "Thank you, Richard."
"Isobel, you should drink something." The doctor in him knew that she could easily get dehydrated; the would-be suitor in him wanted to take care of her. "Some water, or perhaps Lily would make fresh tea…."
Dr. Clarkson watched as she leaned forward and picked up the brandy glass from the table, draining it in only a few gulps. She set it down again and resumed her place against his shoulder, physically and emotionally exhausted. "We were all supposed to have dinner at Downton tomorrow night," she remarked. "No doubt Cousin Violet would have grated on my nerves and Edith and Mary would have squabbled and Cora would have flaunted her pregnancy, but right now I'd give almost anything for it to be happening." She turned her head so it nuzzled more fully into his jacket. "Perhaps if I go to sleep, it'll be like wiping off a blackboard, and the day can be rewritten."
Sighing sadly, Dr. Clarkson rubbed her shoulder, wondering about her remark about Cora, but knowing it was certainly not the time to ask. "Do you want to take a nap before dinner?"
"I don't want dinner. And I don't want to wake up. Not if it will still be true when I do." Her words were barely discernible, muffled as they were by his shoulder.
"Let's take one step at a time, Isobel. May I help you upstairs?" He knew now this was going to be even more difficult for her to accept than he thought.
She stiffened. "Will you stay with me?" Her voice had that fearful note to it again.
"If that is what you would like." He stood, keeping hold of her hand as she led him slowly, silently up the stairs and into a room modestly but comfortably furnished. Now that they were here and she was closing the door behind them, he wasn't so sure. How would it look for him to be here? "Isobel, perhaps I –"
Isobel sat on a chair to take off her shoes. She looked up at him. "Richard, please, don't stand on ceremony now. I need my friend." Her shoes having been put aside, she rose and slid her hand in his, her eyes welling up again.
"Of course." He hoped he was more than her friend, but he would take that for now, especially as she'd said she needed him.
Squeezing his hand, she let it go and got up on the bed, unfolding a blanket from the foot of it. She arranged it over herself and leaned back against the pillows, turning her eyes to him.
Dr. Clarkson dragged a chair over to the side of the bed, so he could make sure she fell asleep. But as he was about to sit upon it, she shook her head. "Will you put your arms round me again?" she asked.
He gaped at her, wanting so desperately to comfort her, but suddenly becoming very confused. He stood there a moment, watching her stretch out her hand to him. The need to console her won out, and he gingerly climbed upon the bed, leaving his feet over the side, keeping himself carefully on top of the blanket she'd put over herself. She lifted herself up a little so he could slide an arm beneath her shoulders. Holding her against him, breathing in the scent of her soap – realizing that it truly was a familiar scent and so much a part of her – he allowed himself the impertinence of caressing her cheek.
Feeling safer with him there, it was not long before Isobel had fallen into blessed black oblivion.
At a knock on the door, Isobel started. "Mrs. Crawley," Lily was calling through the door.
It was pitch black and Isobel sharply drew in her breath to perceive that she wasn't alone in her bed. Then she remembered, and it was enough to make her want to crawl under the covers and never come out.
But Lily kept knocking and this woke Dr. Clarkson. He rubbed his eyes as Isobel leaned over to flick on a lamp. He glanced at the clock. Two in the morning.
They looked at one another, Isobel's expression drawn. She called out, "Lily, what is it?"
"Please, ma'am, Lord Grantham is on the telephone, and he said he thought Dr. Clarkson might be here. He needs to speak with him right away. What do I say?" She sounded a bit panicked.
Dr. Clarkson nodded, indicating he'd go to the telephone, no matter the repercussions of acknowledging that he was there.
"Lily, go tell Lord Grantham that Dr. Clarkson will be at the telephone shortly. I'll go to the guest room and wake him now."
As the maid called through to her, "Yes, Mrs. Crawley," Dr. Clarkson looked at Isobel in some gratitude. It wasn't necessarily his own reputation about which he was concerned, however. It was hers.
Isobel sat up and threw the blanket off, getting out of bed and putting her shoes on, straightening her dress. In a similar manner, he got up and smoothed his wrinkled jacket and shirt, shaking his trousers a little. She opened the door a crack and peeked out to make sure Lily had gone downstairs, then turned and nodded at him, gesturing for him to follow her.
Dr. Clarkson picked up the receiver. "Lord Grantham?" Isobel listened to the very short conversation, holding her breath for when Robert might inquire as to why Dr. Clarkson was not in his own home or at the hospital, but instead at her house still. But he didn't. Apparently Robert was too upset about something that was happening to his wife.
As he replaced the receiver, Dr. Clarkson glanced at Isobel, not wanting to leave her this way, but knowing he had to. Isobel shook her head. "Go."
"I'll come back, if you'd like me to, as soon as I make sure all is well at Downton." He wanted to touch her cheek, but Lily stood at the other side of the entry-way.
Nodding, close to tears, Isobel simply repeated, "Go." Then she watched him leave. "Lily," she said, staring at the closed door, "go back to bed."
"But – Mrs. Crawley – you haven't had dinner, and you didn't touch your tea. What's happened?" Lily took a step forward.
Isobel put a hand over her mouth and bowed her head, tears escaping her closed eyes. She couldn't even bear to say it. In a few moments, she got up enough strength to murmur, "I'll tell you tomorrow, Lily. For now, please, go back to bed."
She felt the maid leave her presence finally, even as she felt her hesitation to leave her thus. Isobel made her way down the hall to her sitting room, one hand still over her mouth and grasping at furniture for support as she went, unable to check her tears. With trembling hands she poured another brandy and drank it nearly in one, sputtering a bit, but thankful for the fire spreading down her throat and into the rest of her. Then she went and stretched out on the settee, cocooning herself in a blanket Ethel had made and sent to her from her new position – a position she'd taken to be closer to her own son.
Her entire body shaking with sobs now, Isobel lay there and waited for him. For Dr. Clarkson – or for Matthew – she really couldn't say.
When Carson let him in, relieving him of his coat and hat, Dr. Clarkson rushed toward Cora's bedroom, taking the stairs two at a time. He knocked on the door, and Hazel opened it, ushering him in. Cora sat up on the bed, looking thoroughly frightened, and Robert sat beside her, holding her hand and not looking much better.
"Clarkson, thank God," Robert said, jumping up and wringing his hand briefly.
"You said she felt contractions?" he asked, getting right to the heart of the matter.
"Yes, they woke her. Please, please tell me she isn't going into labor," Robert begged, running his hand back through his hair, his eyes taking on a wild aspect.
"Well, I won't know for sure until I've examined her. You can stay here or wait in the hall." Dr. Clarkson went to the bed and took his stethoscope out of his medical bag.
Robert and Cora exchanged a glance, and Robert nodded, turning to go into the hall, knowing that Hazel would come get him the moment Cora needed him for anything.
Dr. Clarkson asked Cora some questions and then slipped into the washroom to wash his hands before giving her a quick exam. Cora closed her eyes and grasped Hazel's hand while he did this, attempting to relax. Once he'd checked the few things he needed to, he put the covers back over her belly and smiled at her.
"Lady Grantham, there's nothing to worry about. It's something called false labor. Did you ever have it with your other pregnancies?" he asked.
Cora shook her head. "No, not that I remember, Doctor."
"Well, you're going to be just fine."
Cora's expression transformed into one of relief as she let out a long breath and squeezed Hazel's hand.
When Dr. Clarkson went back into the hallway, carrying his medical bag with him, Robert came up to him. He'd been pacing and his hair was completely disheveled. "Is she alright? And the baby?" His eyes were wide.
It felt nice to be able to deliver some good news today. "Yes, they're both fine. It's false labor, and many women have it. Especially in times of great stress." Dr. Clarkson sighed. "It's no wonder it came upon her, after today."
"But – but she'll be fine. The baby will be fine." They were less questions than statements that Robert desperately needed affirmed. He'd admit he'd had his doubts about Clarkson over the years, but after Sybil…. He would never go against his wife's choice of physician again. Even if, yes, he had insisted she get a second opinion on his previous diagnosis of menopause for her. And he did give Clarkson this: he always admitted when he'd been wrong and took it gracefully.
"Yes, Lord Grantham. I'll come check on her again in a day or two, unless her ladyship feels I should come sooner, of course. But I've explained to her the differences between false and true labor, the signs of each. She may have it again, especially as one of the ways to alleviate false labor pains is to avoid stress." He shook his head. "I know that in the coming weeks she won't be able to avoid it completely. But, Lord Grantham, be sure she gets a great deal of rest and drinks plenty of fluids. This will help too." He paused, watching Robert nod at this. He looked as if he hadn't slept at all. "How is Lady Mary?"
Robert rubbed his forehead. "I suppose she's as you'd expect, Clarkson. She recovered from the faint well enough, only to spend most of the afternoon and evening crying. She let her mother give her some tea, but she won't eat anything. Edith stayed with her, and last I checked, Mary was sleeping – thank the Lord."
Dr. Clarkson nodded. "Yes, it's good that she's being looked after, but she does need to eat something tomorrow, and fluids are even more important. If she gets too dehydrated, I'll have to insist she come to the hospital. I'll come and check on her tomorrow for sure."
"Yes, we'll do our best." Robert put his hand down and then looked at him quizzically. "Is Isobel alright? I mean – did something happen to her for you to still be there?"
His eyes softened a trifle and his countenance drooped. He shrugged. "She's completely heart-broken, Lord Grantham. I couldn't leave her there alone," he said simply.
"No," Robert said, understanding in his face. "I'm glad you didn't."
He had a feeling she'd left the door unlocked for him. So Dr. Clarkson tried the door handle, not wanting to disturb anyone if he didn't have to, hoping Isobel had gone back to sleep. It opened.
Noticing light coming from the sitting room, he went there and found her as he had hoped, asleep. Her hair had become loosened and a lock of it had fallen across her face. He moved it back gently so as not to wake her, then left the room to make his way down to the kitchen.
When he came back up, he set the tray on a table, then sat on the edge of the settee, stroking her cheek with the backs of his fingers. Isobel opened her eyes and looked up at him, but she didn't move.
"Isobel, you should eat something." He wanted to call her "dear" or "darling" or "sweetheart," but he knew it wasn't time for that. For now he would savor her first name upon his tongue, not having had the freedom to call her that before today.
She shook her head, not hungry.
Dr. Clarkson gave her an imploring gaze. "Please, Isobel. If you were the nurse in charge, what would you tell yourself?" He prevailed upon her medical training and her professional self, hoping that it would do the trick.
Isobel closed her eyes, inhaling deeply and then letting out a long breath through her nose. When she opened them again, she nodded, knowing he was right.
He helped her to sit up and set the tray over her lap. He'd heated up some chicken broth he'd found, and he'd made a pot of tea for her. He took the closest chair to the settee and watched as she began to eat.
Isobel had to admit she was hungrier than she'd thought and sipped at the broth gratefully. "Is Cora alright?" she asked, sounding somewhat hoarse.
"Yes, she's fine. False labor."
Nodding knowingly, Isobel kept sipping, her eyes on her soup dish. "Not surprising, given –" she choked on even these words – "given the events of the day."
Dr. Clarkson hoped that she could at least finish the broth before breaking down again. Then she'd have a little more strength.
"And Mary?" She met his eyes now.
"Lord Grantham said she was highly upset, but that she was sleeping, and Lady Edith was staying with her. Isobel, she fainted when I told her."
Isobel stared at him with tears in her eyes. "But," she whispered, "she recovered and she's resting?"
He could see this was important to her. "Yes. She's fine." As fine as she can be, being made a widow so young, he thought.
Nodding again, Isobel returned to her broth. "I'll have her visit here tomorrow."
"Isobel, why don't you go there, be with your family?"
Now she shook her head. "No, no, I can't go there. Not – not yet."
Dr. Clarkson sat in silence until she finished her broth and drank several cups of tea. Then he asked, "I know this is an impertinent question, and will possibly get me thrown out of your sitting room, but I have to ask: does it have to do with Lady Grantham?" She didn't look at him. "I ask only because you said something earlier, about her flaunting her pregnancy…."
Isobel shut her eyes tightly. "It was unkind of me to say that, and I'm sorry for it. Because, she doesn't, you know. She's so happy that she glows, but it's not a reason to be resentful." She turned to face him, her eyes once more brimming with tears. "I know she's lost a child. Two, in fact. And I saw, both times, how very deeply it affected her. She is a good mother, and a caring one, even if we don't always see eye to eye on how best to care for our children." She took a deep breath. "And I know how horribly unfair it is for any of us to have to see any of our children go before we do."
He fixed his eyes on hers, wondering that she could keep her voice so steady, even as her entire form trembled and her tears fell fast.
"I don't wish any ill on Cora or Robert or their baby. I am, truly, happy for them. But, even in their losses, they've still had Mary and Edith and each other, and then Sybbie and now even a new child. But I have no one, Richard. No one. Matthew was everything to me, you see. And now he's gone." She looked down at the empty soup bowl. "So perhaps you understand why I can't go there."
Dr. Clarkson heaved a deep sigh. He thought he did actually understand why. It was why he knew he needed to stay with her. The reality of the sudden loss of the only person she had left in the world who was truly hers threatened to engulf her entirely.
Isobel saw that he was taking the tray from her and setting it back on the table. Then he knelt in front of her and slid his hands under hers. "Isobel, is there anything at all I can do?"
She met his eyes, and, realizing that the very way he said her name was a caress, she gave him the tiniest of smiles, the first time he'd seen her smile since that afternoon. "Richard, you're already doing everything I need." Then – whether from exhaustion or gratitude or the need to be close to someone or simply the way he was looking at her – she bent down and kissed him.
This time he didn't stop it.
Mary slid out of bed very early. She didn't ring for Anna, but got herself dressed as best she could. She watched Edith sleep, her heart suddenly welling up with gratitude for how her sister had stayed by her, despite how things had been between them, especially since the servants' ball. Her mind went back to Edith's words then: If you don't wish to accept my friendship, fine. But don't come knocking on my door if things go truly sour for you.
But the thing was, Mary hadn't had to knock. Edith had simply been there, no questions asked.
So when Mary had finished dressing and gathered her coat, hat and handbag, she touched her sister's cheek lightly, then departed.
It was not long until Mary was ringing the bell of Crawley House. Isobel had been awake for some time, having seen Richard off about an hour before, as he needed to get home and change to get to the hospital. She hated to see him go – for a number of reasons, some of which made complete sense to her and some of which made absolutely no sense at all. But that was the fact of the matter: she hated to see him go.
Mary was shown in by Lily, who looked at her sympathetically. So the household knows, Mary thought, hanging up her coat and hat and placing her handbag on the entry-way table. Her reflection was frightening, and Mary barely recognized the woman in the mirror as herself. Of course, she thought, I won't really ever be the same again.
"Mrs. Crawley is in the sitting room, Lady Mary," Lily said, gesturing for her to follow.
Mary nodded curtly and let herself be ushered to the room.
"Lady Mary, ma'am," Lily said, stepping aside for her to enter.
Isobel got up from her place at the desk and looked at her daughter-in-law as Mary said, weakly, "I'm sorry for coming this early, but…." Mary had managed to keep her composure since waking, but when she saw how Isobel's eyes turned tender, how pinched her face was, how black the circles under her eyes, she couldn't do it any longer. Mary went to her and pulled her into a tight embrace, tears soaking into Isobel's blouse. "Oh, Isobel."
"I know, Mary." Isobel's tears had been used up the night before. She was completely wrung, empty. So she held her daughter-in-law and wondered how the two of them would recover. Because, in spite of everything, they would recover. Matthew would want them to go on.
A few hours later, Mary was back in her own room, Anna packing a case for her. Mary went through some of Matthew's things, putting some of them in a box. Cora came through the open door, then stared around, a puzzled look on her face.
"Mary, what are you doing?"
Mary didn't look up from Matthew's bedside table drawer. "I'm going to stay with Isobel for a while."
Cora lowered herself into a chair. "Anna? Might you be a dear and go get us some tea?"
Anna nodded and left, closing the door behind her, knowing this was a signal that Cora wanted some privacy with her daughter.
"You didn't have to send her away, Mama."
Ignoring this, Cora smoothed her hands over her belly and watched her daughter. "Mary, I know you're upset, but that's exactly why you should stay here with us. We're your family."
Mary continued to put various things into the box. "I'm not going forever. Just for a week or so. Perhaps two. Isobel shouldn't be alone."
"Then why don't you ask her to come here?" Mary's calm demeanor disturbed Cora.
"I did. She won't come." Mary paused, a small stuffed animal in her hands. She swallowed hard and put this aside, her hand staying on it for a moment before taking a deep breath and going back to the drawer.
"Whyever not? We're her family too, and we care about her." Cora's voice caught as she spoke her next words. "She would have the empathy of another mother who'd lost a child."
Mary thought back to the conversation she'd had with Isobel earlier that morning. She thought she understood why it would be too difficult for Isobel to be there – particularly with her mama – just yet. She finally tore her eyes from the drawer and fixed them on her mother's. "Mama, I don't think you realize that, yes, you've lost a grown-up child too, but you have the rest of us. You have Papa. Isobel lost not just a child yesterday – she lost her whole world." She watched as her mama's visage became pained. "I don't say this to be insensitive, Mama. I know your heart hurts – for both of us – but it's just not the same. And, to be honest, I'm afraid for her. I don't want her to fall ill from grief. Someone needs to take care of her."
Two great tears slid down Cora's cheeks. "Baby," she whispered, "who will take care of you?"
"Mama, I can't worry about me. I need to focus on something else, to take care of someone, because if I don't –" now she faltered, "if I don't, I'm not sure I'll ever be able to get out of bed again." She bowed her head.
Cora hoisted herself from the chair and crossed over to her daughter, putting her arms around her. "Darling, you do what you have to. But, please, please, do something for me?"
"What's that, Mama?" she whispered into her mother's collar bone.
"Take care of yourself too. I am your mother, and I love you, and I'll worry. Telephone or come visit. Every day. I need to make sure you're alright, too." Cora kissed her hair. "Will you do that for me, Mary?"
Mary sighed deeply, inhaling the smell of her mother's perfume. "Yes, Mama. I promise."
Robert had a quiet dinner with Edith and Tom. Their faces were etched with grief and exhaustion. Cora had had a tray sent up to her room.
"I saw that Mary was settled in at Crawley House. But I didn't see Isobel at all. She doesn't want to see anyone but Mary –" He almost added "and Dr. Clarkson" but found it unnecessary that anyone else should know.
"And Granny?" Edith asked. She barely touched her food.
"She's a bit upset, as can be imagined, but took it just like I thought she would." Robert rubbed his forehead and had a long drink of wine. "At least she had the grace not to mention the question of an heir. Yet." He looked as close to tears as Edith and Tom had seen him since Sybil's passing.
Tom put his serviette aside, not having much appetite himself. "Surely all that can wait, Robert. I think she knows that too."
"Does she? Sometimes I'm not so sure. It didn't take her long when Patrick and James died." Unmindful of his dining room manners in his distress, he put his elbows on the table and held his head in his hands, deeply tired. "Is Sybbie alright?"
"She knows something is very wrong, Robert. It's upsetting her, but I haven't told her yet. I'm not sure how."
"It might be prudent to tell her sooner, rather than later, Tom. Children tend to be more resilient than their elders." He didn't lift his head from his hands.
Tom nodded. "You're right, Robert, of course."
Edith turned to him. "I could be there too, if you like, Tom. It might be easier."
"Thank you, Edith. I think I'll take you up on that offer. Tomorrow?"
"Yes, tomorrow." She had the last of her wine and pushed her plate back. "I'm going up to bed now, I think. Goodnight." A footman held her chair for her and she stood, placing a hand on Tom's shoulder as she walked by, then leaning down to kiss her papa's cheek. "I love you, Papa," she whispered as she straighted back up, somehow knowing he needed to hear it.
Hazel met Robert as he came up from the dining room, both he and Tom deciding upon an early night as well. She wrung her hands in front of her.
"Perkins? Is her ladyship alright?" He stood in front of the tiny woman, looking down at her in deep concern.
"Your lordship," she said in a whisper, "she won't get in the bath. I didn't say anything last night because I thought she was simply that tired, but – she flatly refused tonight. And the doctor said it would help her – warm baths – with the false labor."
Robert closed his eyes. "I thought we'd gotten past this. She was doing so well, as long as one of us was at least in the bedroom…." He opened his eyes and looked at her. "Leave it to me, Perkins. You can tell Bates he can go home now. I'll look after myself tonight."
"Yes, my lord," she said, looking more at ease to put the problem into his hands, knowing he'd find a way to convince her.
"Thank you, Perkins. Goodnight." He gave her a weak smile and then opened the bedroom door. "Cora?" he said, closing the door behind him.
Cora blinked open her eyes and smiled to see him. "Is everyone alright?"
"Yes, darling. Just very tired." He sat on the bed beside where she reclined and took her hand. "But I'm more worried about you."
"Robert, I'm fine. Dr. Clarkson said –"
Robert was shaking his head. "Clarkson told you that warm baths were good for you, did he not?"
Her face fell. "Hazel said something to you, didn't she?" She closed her eyes in shame and sadness.
Touching her face, Robert said softly, "Cora, what's brought this on? I don't understand."
"Robert, it's just – there's been too much pain and suffering in this house. Too much loss. I can't help remembering the last time." She looked at him now, almost imploringly, stroking her hand protectively over her belly.
Leaning closer to her, Robert lifted her hand and kissed it. "Do you remember several months ago, when you had this feeling before, and what you said to me?"
Cora took a deep breath and nodded, whispering, "I told you that I didn't want our child having a fearful mother."
He gazed at her and brushed her hair back from her face, then rested it next to hers on her baby bump. "And now?"
Her lashes grew wet. "Now either."
Kissing her hand again, he got up and went into the washroom, turning on the tap and putting the plug in the drain of the bath. Then he came back into the bedroom and began tugging at his clothes, pulling them off and laying them neatly over the back of a chair.
"What are you doing?" Cora asked, perplexed.
"I'm rather exhausted and in need of relaxation myself. I thought I'd have a bath with my wife, if she'll join me." He slid his braces down his arms and unbuttoned his trousers.
"Robert…." She didn't know what to say to this.
He shrugged a bit. "It's truly up to you, Cora. I'm not going to make you have a bath, not knowing how it makes you feel, not in your condition. I'm simply giving you an option. I'll be with you the whole time." He stood there in his underthings, then walked into the washroom to check on the water. He poured in some of her favorite lavender oil and spread dry towels over the floor as they'd been doing for months.
As he turned off the tap, he looked around and saw her standing in the doorway. "My back has been hurting," she said.
Robert gave her a tender glance and moved forward to take her hand, then lift her night dress over her head and help her with her undergarments. Removing his own underthings, he helped his trembling wife into the bath then slid in behind her, water sloshing over the sides. Robert wrapped his arms around Cora's middle, resting his hands on her baby bump, hoping she wouldn't insist they both stay in forever as the floor might now be slippery.
He was surprised when he felt her relax in his embrace and heard her chuckle, saying, "There's hardly room for water in here, Robert, between you and my belly."
Reaching up to push her hair aside, he pressed a soft kiss to her neck. "I love your belly. And you, my beautiful and brave wife." Robert cradled her to him, her back smooth against his chest.
"You make me brave," Cora whispered, taking his hands and lacing her fingers through his. "Your arms around me gives me strength."
Mary had gone up to bed after making sure that Isobel had eaten something, being an example for her in eating as much of her own dinner as she could herself. But then she'd felt rather ill. Not wanting Isobel to worry unnecessarily, Mary pleaded a headache – not that she would have needed to plead anything with her mother-in-law, as weary as she looked – and went to her room.
Isobel curled up on the settee, hoping Mary would be alright, and lost in other thoughts as well. Just as she'd decided to go up to bed herself – knowing she wouldn't sleep – Lily's head appeared in the doorway.
"Mrs. Crawley, you have a visitor, if you don't mind having one at this hour. He said if you were too tired, he'd leave."
The leap that her heart made was quite unexpected, taking her by surprise. "Who?"
"It's Dr. Clarkson, ma'am. Shall I tell him to call back tomorrow?"
Isobel couldn't keep a blush from creeping into her cheeks. She hoped Lily couldn't see it in the dimness of the room, Isobel having only the light of the fire in the sitting room tonight. "No, Lily, you may show him in. And then you can go to bed. I'll show him out when he's ready to leave."
"Yes, Mrs. Crawley," she said, withdrawing her head.
Isobel clasped her hands together in her lap nervously. He had said that he would come by to see her that evening, but now that Mary was staying with her, she hadn't been sure he still would.
Dr. Clarkson stepped into the darkened room, thankful to find Isobel alone. However, the transformation that grief had already wrought over her features in little over twenty-four hours – which he could see even by the light cast by the fire – caused him deep concern. He remained standing, unsure how she would receive him. "How are you?"
"About as well as could be expected, I suppose," she replied. Then, in a softer voice, she said, "Relieved to see you again, Richard."
"And Lady Mary?" He was reassured a trifle by her tone, but still uncertain.
Isobel looked down. "The poor child has lost her husband. But she's Mary." A wry smile appeared on her face. "She's decided to bury her grief by taking care of me." She lifted her eyes to him again. "But I know better. On the inside she feels her heart will never beat again. It's how I felt when Matthew's father – " She stopped herself, lowering her head, not wishing to speak of it anymore.
Dr. Clarkson simply nodded.
"Well," Isobel said, sighing, "It suits me well, because I can keep an eye on her too. Not that she wouldn't get care at home, but I think, in a way, she wanted to be close to the other person in his life who knew him best." She tried to smile, but it turned into a grimace. Somehow, with Mary, she could hold herself together. Perhaps it was for Mary's sake that she did. But in front of him – she knew she didn't have to. She pulled out a handkerchief and wiped her eyes. "I'm sorry, I'm being a dreadful hostess."
"Don't apo–"
She cut him off with a wave of her hand. "Please sit down, Richard. Here next to me, if you don't mind. And can I offer you a drink or – oh. Well, I dismissed Lily for the night but I could go down and make us some tea…."
While she nervously went on, Dr. Clarkson had taken his place next to her and put a hand over hers. "Isobel. Stop. You don't have to be that way, not with me." She looked at him. "Now, I'll have a drink, if you have one with me, and if you let me serve you."
Her eyes still bright with tears, she inclined her head, assenting. Feeling bolder now, he kissed her cheek before he got up to pour two sherries. He handed her one before sitting beside her again, sliding an arm around her shoulders and pulling her to his side.
"Thank you, Richard," she said, softly. She tilted her face up at him. "I don't know how to tell you how much –"
"Shhh, Isobel," he told her, kissing her forehead. "Let's just rest here together a while, mayn't we?"
Blinking back grateful tears, Isobel nodded, then faced the fireplace again, resting her head back in the crook of his arm, sipping her sherry. She knew that he understood that she didn't yet have the words to tell him how she felt. That she didn't even know how she felt exactly, that it was still all a dark mystery to her. Her grief was profound and true, but somehow, he'd given her something to cling to, whether ephemeral or not. Right here, right now, it was exactly what she needed.
Black: "fear, sadness, mourning, death"