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Clara was determined to discover the truth as she knew her father was hiding something. He avoided questions regarding his well-being and it was getting on her nerves. If he wasn't going to tell her, then perhaps she could get information from the Doctor.
Whenever she asked him a question, he simply changes the subject, and her mind came up with new ones. Had he been sick for a while now? If so, how long? How serious is it? Will he live for long? There were so many questions running through her mind and it was driving her mad. Even her nan couldn't get her father to reveal the truth.
Clara's decision was final – she was going to travel to the Doctor's home and get the truth from him.
She marched down the stairs, mindful not to trip before striding to the stables, in search of Mr Rentford. She found him right where she thought he would be, tending one of the horses.
"Mr Rentford," she called.
Henry stopped brushing the horse's hair and turned around, smiling at her. "Yes, Clara."
"Could you take me to the Doctor?" she whispered with pleading eyes.
He simply nodded, setting the brush aside. "Of course, I will get the horses and carriage ready."
John Foreman smiled fondly at Idris as he watched her run around the barren field. He knew she was upset he hadn't spent as much time with her as he usually does and so he decided to let her run around on her own for the day.
John hadn't been able to stop thinking about Clara, their dance, and that maybe he had competition. As far as he was aware and told, Clara wasn't being sought after by another man, but he couldn't help but feel a bit jealous when he saw her dancing with John Smith.
Maybe it was the way they had looked at each other that caused the green-eyed monster to surface. Regardless, he was determined not to give up easily.
"I see you're up early," a voice commented.
John resisted the urge to roll his eyes and turned around to face his cousin. "You sound happy this morning."
"Is being happy now against the law?" Harold retorted, standing next to his relative as he took in the fresh morning air.
John arched a brow. "You weren't particularly ecstatic for the past few days."
Harold decided to change the subject before his cousin became suspicious of his cheerful mood. His face became serious. "I have some news, concerning the Oswalds."
He immediately gave his full attention. "Is something wrong?"
"Stop looking as if your future wife just got kidnapped or something – it's her father – he suffered a stroke yesterday."
John finally relaxed a bit. "I see, how is Mr Oswald? How's Clara?"
Harold stuffed his hands into the pockets of his trousers. "Dave's fine – no permanent damage to any of his vital organs but the girl is shaken up – you should visit them."
"I'd rather give them some space for now."
Harold glanced at his cousin. "Trust me, it's going to give a good impression."
John really hated taking orders. "I will visit them when the time is right and today is not it – Clara would surely need time to reflect."
"Come along, Idris," he called out and the horse immediately ran to him.
Dave Oswald felt restless. He had been bedridden for less than two days and he was already feeling as if he would die if he did nothing for much longer. Surely two days of rest would be sufficient for his body to recover. Yes, he will return to work tomorrow.
His train of thought was interrupted when he heard a soft knock and a moment later, it slowly creaked opened as his mother stepped in.
"How are you feeling today?" she asked, taking a seat by the bed.
"A bit restless, if I'm quite honest," he replied.
The silence was unbearable. There was an elephant in the room and her son refused to address it. Well, she would wait no longer.
"Why didn't you tell me you were sick?"
He wasn't in the mood to be questioned, let alone by his own flesh and blood.
Dave sighed. "I… I didn't want anyone to worry – like the doctor said, I've been under a lot of stress-"
"David Oswald," Clarice cut in sharply, "If anyone is heading to their grave, it should be me – I'm your mother for God's sake. The last thing I want to hear is that my son died of a stroke."
He was lost for words. It wasn't as if he had planned any of this to happen. What was he supposed to say?
"Promise me something, David," she murmured, patting her son's hand. "Don't go before me."
"Mother-"
"No!"
He nodded silently in defeat.
"Is this why you've been wanting Clara to get married? So she wouldn't be alone?"
Dave stared at his mother. "I want her to have someone to support her when… well, when the day comes – I was there when Elena passed away, I was there to support Clara… who's going to take care of her when I'm gone? I don't want her to go through the pain alone."
Clarice looked away, she couldn't tell her son that his daughter already has someone who loves. She was damn sure the two were hugging in the hallway yesterday.
"It's why I'm certain the Foreman boy is the right man for her – he lost his mother at a young age, too. He understands."
Clara had been knocking for the fourth time now and there was still no answer. She turned around to look at Mr Rentford, who was waiting by the carriage, who merely shrugged, just as confused as she was.
She decided to try and twist the doorknob and to her surprise, it wasn't locked. Slowly, she pushed the door and walked inside. "Doctor?" she called, looking into the empty hallway before her eyes caught sight of a pair of long legs in the living room. She immediately dashed to his side.
"Doctor!" she screamed, as she saw him lying on the ground, face down. She immediately lifted his head and let it rest on her lap, letting out a gasp, as she saw the cuts and bruises that decorated his face. He was still breathing which is always a good sign, but she wasn't sure how long he had been unconscious.
"Doctor, can you hear me?"
He didn't respond much aside from groaning. She said his name again and this time, she heard him faintly saying, "Clara."
She never felt so relieved to hear her name.
"Doctor," she whispered, caressing his face gently before she yelled for Mr Rentford.
Seconds later, he rushed inside and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the Doctor. "Good lord! What on earth happened to him?"
Clara didn't hear a single word Henry had said. "Help me carry him to the sofa."
They both lifted him up carefully before setting him down on the sofa, his legs dangling at one end of the armrest.
"Is there anything else I can do, Clara?" Henry asked. The Doctor obviously needed a doctor. "Should I fetch a doctor?"
"Yes, yes, please do that," she murmured, placing a hand on John's cheek. "I will check the kitchen and see if I can find… something to clean his face."
Clara rose from the floor but before she even had the chance to move, she felt a hand grabbing her arm.
"No doctor," John said slowly, eyes half-opened.
"Are you bonkers?" she argued. "You need medical attention!"
"Yes and no," he answered with a hoarse voice. "I'm a doctor, remember?"
Clara and Mr Rentford exchanged looks before John reassured them both. "As far as I'm aware, nothing is broken."
He tried getting up but was immediately told lie down by Clara. "Are you sure you do not need a doctor?"
"Yes, I'm certain."
Clara didn't say another word as she strode into the kitchen and returned minutes later with a bowl of hot water and a cloth.
"I should have some antiseptic in my office, cabinet next to the door – top shelf," John explained.
Mr Rentford immediately left the room to give the two a private moment.
Clara dipped the cloth into the hot water before pressing it gently against his right cheekbone. He winced involuntarily. "You're an idiot."
"Nothing's broken, Clara," he repeated to assure her he was fine, shifting a bit so he could face her properly.
"What happened?" she questioned, cleaning off the dried blood from his face.
John tried to think of an explanation – he remembered the thugs warning him to 'stay away from the girl' which they could only mean Clara but what good would be telling her the truth do? It was bad enough she recently found out her father was sick and now this. "I… I'm not sure."
Before Clara had the chance to tell him to elaborate, Mr Rentford returned empty-handed. "I'm sorry Doctor, but I found the antiseptic bottle and it was empty – I'll be back shortly," he explained running out of the house to the carriage.
They said nothing as Clara continued to clean the right side of his face, one hand holding the cloth while the other caressing his curly silver hair. His eyes were getting heavier by the second and if she didn't stop what she was doing, he might fall asleep.
His eyes shot open when he couldn't feel her touch anymore and the next thing he knew, his head was resting on her lap. "Sorry, I couldn't see the other side of your face properly."
John's face became scarlet red as soon as he realised the current position he was in.
"Clara," he murmured, staring at the woman who was currently cleaning his wounds. "Thank you."
He grabbed the hand which was stroking his hair with both his hands and placed a gentle kiss on the back. To a stranger, it would look as if they were a married couple, more in love than ever before. A loving wife tending to her husband's wounds. That was how Henry Rentford would describe it when returned, both Clara and John unaware of his presence, so he decided to leave it that way, preferring to let them indulge in their private moment a bit longer.
An hour later, John Smith woke in a startle when he heard the sound of a horse neighing. A hand was immediately placed on his cheek. "Sorry, that was Mr Rentford trying to get one of the horses to behave," Clara explained.
"Did I – did I fall asleep?" he asked, blinking several times.
"You did, for almost an hour," she replied. "And I have to leave soon."
John cleared his throat and forced himself to sit up, placing a hand on his burning ribcage before turning around to look at Clara. "Sorry for keeping you occupied."
"Are you sure nothing is broken?"
He chuckled, "Yes, I am absolutely sure – it's most likely just a bruise but thank you for your concern."
She eyed him carefully before deciding to let it go. "Alright, but I will be back tomorrow to check up on you."
"Yes, boss," he grumbled, yet unable to hide his smile.
"And don't get up," she murmured before leaning in and placing a gentle kiss on his cheek.
As soon as he heard the door close, John finally lets out a sigh of relief, groaning as he placed a hand back on his left ribcage. It was without a doubt, broken.
He slowly got up with the support of the armrest before he heard a knock coming from the front door. He stood still, wondering if Clara had left something behind but before he could even move, he heard the door unlocking.
"You-hoo! John!" sang a cheerful Scottish voice.
John Smith's eyes widened in panic. If his sister saw him in his current state, all hell would break loose and she would find out everything.
"You know, there is such a thing called being polite and answering the door," Missy commented as she entered the living room. Her grin immediately disappeared. It was replaced with a calm expression. "Care to explain why your face is battered and why," she said, before poking his broken ribcage, causing him to tense. "-your ribcage is broken."
John glared at his sister before she broke eye contact. "Oh, forget about it, you'll spill the beans once I'm done fixing that broken rib of yours."
"I can take care of myself."
Missy's sharp eyes caught sight of the bowl of water on the floor. It had a red tint. "Would you like me to explain what happened?"
He opened his mouth, but she immediately cut him. "You got beaten up, obviously, why – you'll tell me and then Miss Oswald found you in your current state, cleaned your wounds, gave you some tender, loving care – probably doesn't know you have a broken bone or two and she left, I'm guessing, twenty minutes ago."
His sister was good. Too good.
"How did you know Clara was here?" the Doctor asked, impressed.
Missy merely smiled at him. "John, I'm your sister – I know everything and," she said, pulling out a compact mirror before pointing it at his right cheek which had a lipstick mark. "-that too which can only come from one woman."
He said nothing as he sank back down on the sofa.
"Right, take off your shirt," she instructed, causing her brother to blush. "I'll be back with bandages and what not."
"I told you, Missy – I can take care of myself."
If he was completely honest, John would rather just die as he knew Missy wouldn't be gentle at all and that was when she will most likely interrogate him.
His sister rolled her eyes. "Look, I've seen you naked since the day you were born so shut up, man up and pray that I don't decide to bleach my eyes after this," she explained with a sarcastic smile.