Neither slept well that night. Isobel's room was small and the roof was slanted at an angle yet it was private. She didn't have to share with anyone. There was a tiny window at the top of the wall almost where it met the ceiling. It was only when she was by the door that she could look out the window. The head of the bed was directly below it. She watched the different shadows and shapes that were created by the small window. The bed wasn't uncomfortable, the room wasn't too hot, she just missed Richard. She never really appreciated the amount of his presence in her life. On the nights that they slept in different beds they had still spent the day together.
As she traced patterns on the top of the blanket with a fingernail she imagined what their conversations would have been today. Or how he would come through the back gate in the garden during lunch time to see her. She missed her garden too! It had only been in the recent months that she had found an affinity for gardening. Her mother had bullied her into flowers and gardening when she was younger. As a child Isobel could name all the parts of a flower from pistol to stamen yet she had no enjoyment in planting and weeding. After all that had happened in her life from Reginald, Downton, Matthew and now. She had found a meditative quality in troweling dirt and planting bulbs. Watching the first tiny shoots emerge from the earth nearly had her in tears. Again it was due to Richard. After Matthew had been killed he had gently parroted her own advice back to her, "You need to find something to do."
Nursing was too raw for her in the first few months, being amongst the sick and dying was a reminder of Matthew. However, it was the patients that got better that Isobel found most cruel to deal with. She watched as patients entered the hospital broken and bleeding only to be healed from wounds and cured from sickness! It drove home the point that her son would never be healed that his body would be forever broken lying in a gilded coffin! Death was permanent.
On a whim she had gone outside and into the garden. While the house was directly behind her it was if she were in a vast desert with no landmarks. She had no clue as to what she was doing. Flowers? Those were bought in a shop and came wrapped in paper! She was wearing an old nursing apron to cover her clothes, she knew the names of tools but not what they were specifically for. A glance at the rose bushes had her thinking that perhaps they needed to be pruned? In the end she spent too long in the sun. Richard had come to the that night and found her slightly dehydrated, sunburnt and nursing blistered and cut hands.
Her hands and forearms were cut from the thorns from the roses. Her right hand had blister in the center of her palm. Salve was applied to the worst of the cuts, while the blister was kept clean. Finally he had lovingly dabbed aloe on her cheeks and nose in an attempt to soothe the burn inflicted by the sun. The next day she had a corking headache a result from her dehydration and sunburn. He stopped by Crawley House at intervals making sure she drank enough water. He had thought that would be an end to her gardening adventure but she had expressed her desire to go back out. Isobel Crawley was not going to be beaten by a rose bush!
He had bought her a gardening hat and gloves, that had been the catalyst for their blossoming relationship. On his next half day he came over to help. Rolling up his sleeves and employing a spade to loosen the soil in northeastern corner he worked efficiently. Isobel had been weeding and in frustration threw the clump of green and dirt over her shoulder instead of in the small basket.
She had no clue she had hit him until a something struck her shoulder, it was a clod of dirt. She had whirled around to see Richard smirking underneath a straw hat, the one he wore the cricket match. Standing she reached for the basket and strode over to him before dumping the basket over his head. Weeds tumbled down the front and inside of his shirt. He merely sighed before throwing down his spade, his hands were filthy. He grasped her shoulders and ran his hands down her arms. The move was intimate, erotic and also smeared dirt all over her blouse. At this Isobel laughed, truly laughed the first time she had felt genuinely happy since George had been born. She had leaned into his personal space and kissed his lips. Their hats collided the brim of hers folding against his providing a barrier to prying eyes. He kissed her back gently, letting her know with the pressure of his lips that her desire was returned. When she pulled away Richard could honestly say that she hadn't ever looked more beautiful. Others might have said she looked like a disintegrating Vampire with her face peeling beneath a wide brimmed hat and her clothes smeared with dirt. However, it was the fact that she had laughed with him, been comfortable enough to chuck dirt at him and brave enough to kiss him that had him loving her more intensely.
Richard then shook out the weeds from his shirt and went back to work. Isobel gathered up her basket and also went back to her plot in the garden. After that weeding wasn't as bad a task as she thought.
Still tracing patterns Isobel wondered if perhaps she could procure a sundial whilst in London? This time thinking of Richard along with the garden had her falling asleep.