Another chapter from a different POV. Many thanks to Batwings who took a break from her own writing to give me suggestions to clarify things. Thank you for your reviews to let me know whether I stay in character or not. I'm enjoying playing with these different perspectives.

Disclaimer: Don't own them or receive any compensation from writing about them.

Isobel glanced down at the watch pinned to her apron. He would be here in five minutes. That much was a certainty. With a rueful smile, she thought she might do better to set her watch by his arrival instead of checking his arrival by her watch. She wished some of the probationers she had trained over the years were as punctual.

Mr. Carson had watched his wife's dressing being changed on the first day following surgery and then insisted that since he would be the one with this duty when she returned home that he should do all future dressing changes. After that he had arrived punctually at 2:15pm every day to perform that task.

Moving to Mrs. Carson's bedside, she offered to help her out of bed which Mrs. Carson accepted gratefully. She knew what to expect as well. As Isobel helped her up and into her robe, Mrs. Carson spoke softly, "Mrs. Crawley, I must tell you how much Mr. Carson and I appreciate your attentions. We know that this is not your usual position."

She brushed off the gratitude with a slight shake of her head, "It is nice to be a bit more hands on every once in a while. I'm surprised that it all came back to me so easily." As a favor to her cousins, she had volunteered to work at the hospital for the week that would be necessary to start their much appreciated housekeeper on her way to recovery.

Mrs. Carson smiled at her in agreement, "I believe I understand what you mean. It's been ages since I made a bed but it seems like yesterday that I could make ten in a morning." She paused for a moment before continuing in a quieter voice, "Thank you for the medication as well. It troubles him to see me in pain, and I'm afraid I find it difficult to hide when he's changing the dressing."

Isobel nodded. That much was obvious; the image of the staid butler's white face when she had first shown him how to change the dressing and pack the wound was still fresh in her mind. When he'd seen the pain in his wife's eyes, his hand had instantly found hers to squeeze it reassuringly. That touching gesture had earned him a sharp rebuke. While Isobel appreciated his need to comfort his wife, it was even more important that the wound be kept clean. Infection was their worst enemy now. It would be of no use to have a successful surgery and lose the patient to complications. To his credit, she'd only had to tell him once, and he carefully kept his hands fixed on the wound now. In an effort to reduce her patient's discomfort, she now ensured that she had a dose of medication prior to the butler's visits. The stubborn woman refused to take medication at any other time. Isobel thought she and the butler were certainly well matched in that regard.

She had just run the brush through Mrs. Carson's hair when the butler arrived on the ward. As he had done every day for the past three days, he nodded in her direction, hung his hat and overcoat beside the door and then walked over to greet his wife, laying the book that he always brought on her bedside table. After a few moments of conversation, he held his arm out to her and offered to take her on a short walk. Isobel smiled to herself. He always made it sound as though he was going to take her on a stroll in the gardens rather than exactly two and one half turns around the hospital ward.

As they walked, Isobel laid out the necessary items for the dressing change on a metal table she'd brought over for that purpose. She could hear snippets of conversation as they passed.

"I hate this dratted braid."

"I prefer your hair down, but you always look lovely."

"Lady Sybil is here and safe, thank God."

"Every man makes mistakes, Charles. You should walk a mile in his shoes."

"…no man should abandon his wife."

When she had finished laying out the items for the dressing change, she drew the curtains on the two sides of the bed. That was the signal for them to finish their walk and come back so that Mr. Carson could accomplish his task. She watched as he took her robe from her as formally as though it were the coat of the finest lady arriving at a dinner party. He carefully hung it on the hook by her bed while she lay down. Isobel drew the curtains at the foot of the bed but remained just inside so that she could observe the wound and Mr. Carson's technique, although she knew it would be flawless. As he rolled up his sleeves, his wife turned down the sheet and unlaced the top of her nightgown to reveal the neat dressing underneath. Isobel smiled when she saw Carson glance around quickly to ensure himself that the curtains were drawn tight around the sides of the bed. Only he would be anxious for his wife's modesty on a women's ward nearly devoid of patients at the moment.

Isobel drew close so that she could observe the wound when he removed the old dressing. She nodded approvingly, "Looking much better, almost no drainage at all. It's up to Dr. Clarkson, of course, but I see no reason why you could not go home tomorrow."

They spoke nearly in unison, "I would enjoy that very much indeed." "Very good news"

After sharing a warm smile with his wife, Carson moved to wash his hands carefully. Then Isobel watched with approval while he poured carbolic acid over them and shook them to remove the excess. She moved as far away from her charge's bed as possible while still remaining within the confines of the curtains. She regretted that she could not leave them entirely alone, but it was her duty to see that this was done properly. After his first anxious day, Carson had taken to murmuring softly while he cleaned and dressed the wound in an apparent effort to distract his wife's attention. He sat down on the edge of her bed with his thigh pressed against hers and drew the table with the bandages close.

Despite her attempt to give them privacy, Isobel could still pick up on snatches of their quiet conversation.

"It will be good to have you where you belong."

"In your bed?"

"Minx. Yes, you do belong there now, don't you?"

She gasped.

"I'm sorry, love, but it has to be very clean."

Mrs. Carson gave her worried husband a tight smile, "Perhaps I was gasping at the thought of being in your bed. Go on. It's a small bed. Will we both fit?""

He rolled his eyes at her but continued.

"I shall hold you tight so that you won't fall out."

"Such a sacrifice for you, Mr. Carson."

"Not as much as you might think, Mrs. Carson. I might, perhaps have a slightly larger bed now."

"Why you?"

"After much discussion, Lady Grantham, the Dowager Lady Grantham, and Lady Mary thought it inappropriate that I be on the ladies' side of the hall. I suppose I might threaten their virtue."

"They don't think I am a threat then?"

"To me or to the lads?"

"Oh!"

"I'm sorry dear. It's the packing. Does it hurt very much?"

"Not very much. Go on with it."

"I can't hold your hand, but perhaps you should squeeze my knee when it hurts."

"That's a likely line, Charles Carson. You'd do anything to get me to touch you."

"That I would, dear. You have seen right through me."

"It's lucky for you that I don't mind touching you at all."

"None of that for now. You need your rest."

"Never let it be said that I passed up a chance."

"Never, but I'll not risk your health for a few moments' pleasure."

"I'd not risk it for a few moments either, but surely you could offer more than that."

"Elsie!"

"Charles!"

"There. Finished. Did it hurt very much?"

"Not very much," Mrs. Carson lied unashamedly to her husband. "Will you do up the laces?"

"Only if you assure me that my virtue is safe," he answered gruffly while he drew the front of her gown together and tightened the laces. "Would you like another chapter today?"

"Please," she answered, settling back on the bed. "Nurse Crawley," she indicated Isobel with a nod of her head,"insists that I rest after you change the dressing, and I'll not get to sleep any other way."

Carson grumbled under his breath, "I don't know that I should be flattered that my voice puts you to sleep."

Isobel left the curtains closed on the sides of the bed, but pulled back the one at the foot. She discarded the dirty dressing and moved away to give the couple a bit more privacy. Carson picked up the book that he'd brought and took his wife's hand. He read for several minutes until he looked up and saw that she'd already dosed off. Isobel watched him sit quietly watching his wife for another few moments before he sighed and extricated his hand so that he could rise. While he rolled his sleeves down and pulled his coat on, he looked down at the sleeping woman with his eyebrows drawn tightly together. Bending over her, he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead before straightening and striding over to where Isobel was standing and trying not to watch.

"Mrs. Crawley, might I have a word with you?" he asked, just as he'd asked every one of the past four days. She wondered what he would do if she said no. Would it throw him so off balance that he would be left dumbstruck? But instead she said the same thing she always said, "Of course, Mr. Carson. How may I help you?"

"I just wanted to thank you again for taking care of Mrs. Carson so well," he said gravely, "I know that you are doing this as a favor for the family, but we do appreciate it."

"As I told Mrs. Carson when she said the same, I am happy to be of some help. It is good to feel useful," she said brightly.

He nodded, obviously wanting to bring up other topics but hesitant. "Have you spoken with Dr. Clarkson today?"

"I have," she said, "but if you are asking whether he has any news from the specialist, I am afraid he does not."

"Why does it take so long?" he almost growled in frustration, "I could have taken it to Glasgow myself and waited for the answer by now. Can they not just look at it and give us a final answer?"

"Dr. Clarkson seemed sure that everything was clear," she reassured him, "Surely you want the specialist to be certain of his diagnosis?"

"Yes, of course," he answered, "I just hoped to know before we went home. You really feel that she is ready?" He watched her steadily.

"Yes, I do," she nodded without any hesitation, "And you will do very well taking care of her. I have no doubt she would likely sleep better in her own bed."

"Of course," his cheeks tinted faintly and when she remembered the conversation he'd had while changing the dressing her cheeks heated as well.

"You are making sure that she takes medication for the pain before I change the bandage, aren't you?" he asked anxiously. "She doesn't want me to know how much it hurts, but I can see that it is terribly painful."

"I am," she answered, glad for attention to be turned away from the Carsons' marriage bed. "It is the only time she will agree to take it, however."

"Stubborn woman," he said almost under his breath as he glanced back at the bed.

"Then she is likely a good match for you Mr. Carson," Isobel answered, feeling the need to defend her patient.

If she didn't know Carson better, she would have been sure his lip quirked up into a half smile, "She is. Good day, Mrs. Crawley. I will call again tomorrow to fetch my wife."

"I have no doubt she will be waiting to be fetched," Isobel returned the smile she thought she'd seen.

As she watched him leave, she thought that if she didn't know better she would think the couple had been married for a dozen years instead of just over a dozen days. Unfortunately, tragedy could sometimes bring feelings into sharp focus, and it had obviously done so for them. She heartily wished them the years together that they deserved.

Reviews are welcome as always.