The friendly nurse from the front desk had shown them to the waiting room, assuring them that the doctor would soon call upon them. Cora looked around the room, inspecting it to keep her mind occupied.
The ceilings were quite high for such a London house and made it possible to use such imposing chandeliers as the one that lit up the otherwise cold entryway. The walls were all painted white, and the black and white tiles beneath their feet were highly polished. Together with the equally as polished and sparsely situated furniture, it made for an overall unwelcoming atmosphere. It all felt sterile and cold, but then again, this was a doctor's practice — such were not really supposed to make one feel very welcome, Cora supposed as she took her surroundings in.
They sat on two of the rather uncomfortable dark chairs that were lining two of the walls, her hand held firmly in his while they waited patiently to be called upon.
Had Robert not been there, she might have decided to simply get up and leave the practice again without ever talking to the doctor they had been sent to.
But he was. Robert was there with her, sitting next to her. He was holding her hand firmly in his to keep her from fidgeting with the rings on it. And maybe, she thought, he was also stopping himself from tapping his fingers on his leg, which was one of his nervous habits that usually had a way of driving her crazy as time went on and he kept on tapping away.
She felt uncomfortable, so very uncomfortable in this seat. She was shivering, her hands and feet feeling insanely cold despite the heater standing merely more than an arm's length away. Her heart was beating in her throat and she could feel the blood rushing through her veins noisily. Had she not known better, she might have thought that Robert could hear the drumming, rushing sound that filled her ears. If they left them waiting there for even just another minute, she might as well get up and run as far away as she possibly could, even despite Robert's reassuring and calming presence next to her.
A nurse suddenly appeared out of seemingly nowhere somewhere to their left, and said quietly: "Lady Grantham? The doctor is ready to see you now". Having a closer look at where the nurse was standing, Cora saw the nondescript door behind the young woman that must surely lead to the doctor's examination room.
Cora closed her eyes tightly for a second, concentrating on her beating heart. Then, she put on a brave face, managing a small smile, and she replied: "Thank you".
Robert, who was sitting stiffly next to her, drew in a deep breath, trying to steel himself for the ordeal that he knew was to follow. He could not help but admire Cora for her ability to hide behind a brave face.
"You can stay here if you want. I don't think it will take too long," Cora whispered softly, squeezing his bigger hand.
"No, darling. No matter how hard you try. I will not leave you to your own devices," he said, getting up from the chair and straightening his tie before extending his hand for her to take and get up herself.
Doctor Wallsom was young, certainly younger than Robert and Cora had expected. He was maybe in his early thirties and seemed a rather bright young chap to the Earl, judging by the way he stood behind his grand wooden desk and motioned towards the two leather chairs as he welcomed them: "Lady Grantham, Lord Grantham. Please, come in and take a seat."
The doctor wasn't among the tallest men they had ever met — he was even shorter than Cora, actually — and his hairline was already receding considerably. However, he had exceptionally good posture and looked quite well-kept without trying to show off as much as Sir Philip Tapsell had. It wouldn't surprise Robert if he found the name Wallsom somewhere in Burke's peerage, even if it was just the extended family of the young doctor.
Doctor Wallsom certainly seemed respectable and knowledgeable. His calm demeanour as he simply stood there behind the grand wooden desk alone eased some of Robert's discomfort. Ever since that awfully horrible night he had listened to Sir Philip Tapsell instead of trusting Doctor Clarkson, he had been more than weary of doctors who had their practices on Harley Street and did not know their family's medical history.
Just when Cora and Robert had taken the offered seats in front of the doctor's wooden desk, the door that had just closed behind them was opened yet again. Panting heavily, Richard Clarkson entered the spacious room, clutching his black medical bag to his chest.
"I am incredibly sorry for being late, the train had trouble running consistently with all the snow gathering on the tracks. I am sure it won't be long now until they can't run at all if the snow keeps on falling at this rate."
"Ah, Doctor Clarkson, do not worry. We haven't started yet. Just come in and join us," Albert Wallsom said, pushing his round glasses back up his slightly crooked nose.
Turning to the Crawleys, he said: "I hope I won't insult you by saying that I was more than a little surprised when your cable reached me, asking for an appointment today. Doctor Clarkson told me that you did not wish to receive any treatment, Lady Grantham, just a few weeks ago. That was a misinformation then, I take it?"
Smiling shyly and looking slightly embarrassed as her gaze settled on a few documents on the table before her, Cora replied: "No, not at all. Or at least it was not at the time."
Both doctors looked at her with quizzical expressions on their faces from behind the desk, silently urging the Countess of Grantham to elaborate on that statement. Richard Clarkson had his back half turned towards them, having interrupted his previous task of putting his heavy and wet coat on the coat hanger there.
"I had decided against treatment, that much is certainly true. But since then, I have had more than enough time on my hands to think on this matter with a bit more clarity and distance, and I discussed it at length with my husband — and I have changed my mind. We came here today to discuss the treatment plan you came up with for me."
Richard Clarkson was at a loss for words. Sure, he had hoped the Countess might change her mind about her refusal of treatment. A big part of him believed she never would, especially not after he had learnt that she had asked her husband to take her to America to say her goodbyes. After all, she had been very adamant when she refused the offered treatment a bit more than a month ago. She had appeared to have been calm and collected when they talked about it last, which was rare in these situations, very much so. She had even told him that she had been thinking very clearly on the matter, however much he had doubted that back then. He could only imagine the lively discussions the Earl and Countess must have had on their journey if they brought the Earl and Countess to Harley Street that day.
"Well, I am pleased you came to that decision, Lady Grantham, though I can't pretend to not be more than a little surprised by this turn of events," he said.
"So am I. We will have to alter the original plan you are already familiar with, and we will have to run the tests again to get a more accurate picture of your illness in its current state before we can begin to treat it. That should not be a problem, though, right, Doctor Clarkson?" the younger doctor added, smiling encouragingly at Cora and then Robert before turning to his colleague.
The elderly Scottish doctor merely nodded his approval curtly before rummaging through his briefcase. Before searching for too long, he held several sheets of paper in his hands that Robert only knew too well.
He remembered how awful he had felt the last time he had seen them, and how his world had started to crumble around him much faster than he had anticipated at the time.
This time around, however, seeing the various sheets of paper put him more at ease. They were familiar to him, he knew what the words written by a nurse on an old typewriter said. Those words were Cora's chance at life. Written on those pages were the answers to his prayers for at least a chance at more time with her. And more time with his darling wife was truly all he wanted.
While Robert was busy looking at Richard Clarkson who set about spreading the pages out on the desktop, Doctor Wallsom had stood up from his desk again and walked to a cupboard near him. He went through various drawers in the cupboard standing to the side of his ginormous desk, taking out several syringes and other medical equipment Robert did not even dare to try to analyse according to their possible purpose, or else he might actually have got sick. And he had had his fair share of feeling and being sick in the last week they spent on that blasted ship.
"Now, if I may draw some blood to start the row of tests, Lady Grantham?" Doctor Wallsom asked, already walking towards the white dividing screen, waiting for Cora to follow him.
"What is your plan, Doctor?" Robert asked, decidedly turning his back on the scene — he already felt queasy enough without having to see his wife getting stuck with needles, even if it was merely blood being drawn behind a curtain.
"As Doctor Wallsom said, we will run the tests again to determine the best possible course of treatment. Then, I suspect, we will start first with radiation on the diseased spot, followed soon by an operation. The road to recovery will be long and hard, I'll not deny it, and there are still no promises to be made. But I will say that this is the best chance and I am relieved you came here."
Robert nodded, gulping at the mention of Cora having to undergo surgery and this radiation therapy he was still very unsure of. For all he knew, it was a relatively new treatment option, and he did not want to know more about it as long as it helped Cora if he was being completely honest.
"That is right. We will start with the treatment as soon as the results are in. Although I suspect that you would rather we only start after Christmas is over?" Doctor Wallsom added, returning to the desk with Cora in tow.
Cora slowly walked to her seat and carefully sat back down next to him, replied: "That would be very nice. Is it advisable though to wait longer after I have already stalled for a month?"
"I highly doubt that the results will be here more than a few days ahead of Christmas, and I believe we can spare two or three days until everything is over. We should begin right afterwards, though, and not put it off any longer."
The elderly couple nodded almost solemnly in agreement, Cora reaching her hand out to Robert. Just knowing that he was sitting there beside her was not enough. No, she needed to feel him near.
Their hands intertwined, almost on their own accord, as if it was the most natural thing for them to do. Cora sensed that he was nervous, felt his hands trembling just as much as hers.
Cora had this odd feeling in her stomach, like a complicated knot had formed and she had no way of untying it. It had appeared out of nowhere when she had heard Doctor Clarkson mention an operation to her husband. She had read about those. Horrible operations. But at least it would be a much more controlled operation than the one Robert had to undergo after his ulcer burst, which calmed her nerves just slightly. He was sitting next to her, after all.
She was looking at how his hand firmly held onto hers, how their hands rested on his knee. She had never realised just how pale she was compared to him before — her hand was as white as the sheets of paper on the desk, while he had still retained the tan from the summer spent in France.
The doctor's calm voice called her back to reality. "I am afraid I have another appointment in a few minutes, but please do not hesitate to telephone should any further questions arise. I will contact Doctor Clarkson as soon as we are ready to fully start putting the revised treatment plan to work. He can also explain the different procedures more in-depth if you so wish."
The young doctor straightened his back behind his desk, smiling warmly at them. Of course, he had noticed their joined hands, how could he not?
It was good to know that the Countess sitting in his office on this cold and snowy winter day seemed to have ample support from her husband. That was not often the case. In fact, most patients who came to see him came alone. And support from family played just as vital a part in the treatment process as the treatments themselves, or so he had found.