Well, this dinner had turned out to be close to a full-blown disaster, which was no surprise to the matriarch after her failed attempt to salvage her son's marriage prior to the vicar's arrival. After that, it only seemed to get worse and worse by the minute. Violet didn't want to know what Mister Travis thought of them now that this evening was finally over.
Tonight, none of them had shown their best manners in her opinion, the vicar included, and the discussions she witnessed mostly from the sidelines had left her feeling quite appalled. It had taken a lot of strength and restraint for her to keep her thoughts mostly to herself and not join in like the rest of them did. This situation they were in seemed to bring out the worst in them. Some of them, at least. For others, it was the opposite.
As unusual as it might have been, she took a weird sense of pride and joy at seeing Mary and Edith both butting in to aid Tom's side of the argument. Even Cousin Isobel's interference was not entirely unwelcome this time around; something Violet never thought she'd think when the former nurse and her son first arrived at Downton all those years ago now. It pained her to admit, but even she felt that Robert was wrong in trying to reach his agenda of getting young Sybil baptised Anglican instead of Catholic like her father.
It surprised her to think this, but the reality of her only great-granddaughter likely becoming a Catholic against tradition and what society dictated had not been the biggest shock for her that night. She had considered herself warned about this emotionally charged subject when Robert came to visit her, still fuming even half a day after he had been informed of the plans Tom had been making. Not only that, but she also had to give Branson credit for his behaviour. It would have been only far too understandable had he lashed out more at the vicar's admittedly quite insensitive comments all throughout the evening, but the Irishman remained calm and collected for the most part and kept his anger inside. He seemed to have far better manners than she had wanted to give him credit for before.
No, the most surprising thing for her was Cora's truly unusual behaviour that lasted the entire night, or at least as long as Robert was somewhere nearby. Violet had never heard her daughter-in-law disagree so openly, vehemently and vocally with anything Robert had said, especially when guests were present. This didn't even come close to Cora standing up for herself whenever she had been unreasonable in the past herself. This behaviour was simply unprecedented. Her heart ached to see them like this; her so up-in-arms while struggling to keep her grief at bay and him so heartbroken at every single rebuttal of hers.
This rift between her son and his wife ever since their beloved Sybil had died so prematurely turned out to be bigger than she ever could have fathomed. There had to be something she could do to help. But what?
Contemplating this she crossed the entrance hall and headed towards the grand wooden doors. "Goodnight, Carson," she said quietly and almost defeatedly when she passed the butler on her way as she headed towards the car parked outside, waiting to take her home.
"Granny!" she heard Mary call out from behind her. "Granny, wait just a second, please!"
Surprised by this, Violet stopped and turned around to look at her granddaughter walking quickly towards her, looking rather unladylike as she almost broke into a run at some point trying to catch up.
"Yes, dear?" Violet asked, sounding quite tired, and, most of all, defeated. She was not sure how much more talking she could endure for the night. All she wanted was to go home and go to bed. And maybe have another glass of something to help her forget this evening ever happened.
"You've seen the way they have behaved tonight, haven't you? How they don't agree with each other at all, evading each other's looks?" Mary asked quietly when she stood next to her at last. There was no use in overly explaining everything, her Granny would know well enough what — or rather who — she was referring to. "This is not good, this is not them. They're both suffering alone and they shouldnt. Do you have any idea what to do, Granny?"
She had seen that. Of course, she had. Everyone had seen it, and she was only glad that Mister Travis would be far too polite to ever mention what happened at tonight's dinner to anyone. Otherwise, they would be the talk of the town, and not in a positive way at all. They did not need that, not now. Not with everything else going on.
"Yes, I have. To be honest, my dear, I did not think it was this bad when Robert came to visit. I can see now that my assumption was wrong, and I agree. This is very much not like them," the elderly woman mused, looking off into the distance. There had to be something they could do. Something to bridge this fundamental misunderstanding; for that was all this was to Violet. She wished she knew more about everything that happened that night. After all, she only knew Roberts side of the story and she was not quite ready to accept that as the whole truth. Talking to Cora had not been any help at all, either. Shed have to talk to the only person who could tell her exactly what had happened.
While Mary still stood there expectantly, Violet finally looked at her again, still heavily leaning on her cane for support, and said: „I think I might know what to do."
Seeing her granddaughter's relieved face, she started to turn back towards the door, but not before muttering disheartened: "Even though I wish I did not have to."
The clock on her desk nearby chimed quietly, announcing the time while she patiently sat there, listening to the number of chimes as if she had not been watching the clock handles move agonisingly slowly for almost an hour now.
Quarter to 4. He'd be here soon, he was always on time as long as he could help it.
It was wrong of her, but what was she supposed to do? She couldn't let things go on as they were, or else they could easily spiral far more out of control than they were already anyway. It was her duty to the whole family to see that the rough seas they were sailing would smoothen again. Cora and Robert needed a little push to find their way back together. That's what Violet kept telling herself, at least. Right now, this interference on her part was probably the best way to help them; the only way she knew.
With another fifteen minutes to spare until he would arrive, she sighed and returned her focus to the correspondence on the desk in front of her. Unscrewing the pen's cap with slightly shaky hands, she decided to politely decline another invitation to visit Rosamund in London. Her daughter kept asking her to visit her in London — to get away from it all, she said — but Violet found she couldn't leave things as they were and just go to London on a whim. Even though she thought a change of scenery would do her good and she might actually enjoy all the hustle and bustle of the big city for once.
Before she knew it, time had flown by as she finished writing the letter and Spratt let him in after knocking curtly and announcing the guest she had been expecting.
"You wanted to speak to me, Lady Grantham," he said, sounding far more surprised than he had intended.
Indeed, he had been very surprised when the note had reached him at the hospital that morning, cryptic as it was. When he walked up to the Dower house that afternoon, he had almost expected to be led up to her bedroom to examine an ailing elderly woman but a shadow of her usual self, bedridden by a mysterious illness he would have to find the cure to. But no, Violet Crawley seemed to be in quite good health sitting there at her desk as far as he could tell from afar. That only confused the doctor even more, and it made him feel like a student waiting for a scolding from the schoolmaster that was long overdue. The only other thing he could think of that would require him to talk to her privately had to do with the death of young Sybil Branson, and he'd rather not be reminded of that horrible night and everything that went wrong.
Slowly, Violet turned around to face the guest. The clock had just tolled again, indicating that he was prompt, as she had expected. "Yes. On a melancholy matter, I am afraid," she said, putting the cap back onto her fountain pen. Then, she motioned towards the chair already turned to face her desk near the fireplace. "Please."
Rather awkwardly, Richard Clarkson walked over and sat down as instructed. Not knowing what this peculiar visit of his would bring unnerved the usually steadfast man more than he'd care to admit and so he caught himself shifting in the chair almost as soon as he had sat down.
"I want to talk a little more about the death of my granddaughter."
Ah. So his second instinct had been right, this was indeed about the elderly woman's youngest granddaughter. He still wished there had been something he could have done to save her life that night, truly, but by the time they had finally listened to him it had simply been too late. He had rarely felt so helpless as he had done that night, trying to do whatever he could to get them to listen, to persuade them to trust him on this and not that knighted quack of a doctor. Just the mere thought of the entitled, stuck-up man with his Harley Streets practice made his blood boil again, but it wouldn't do to voice that anger now. So instead, he said the only thing he knew for certain described the events of that night. "A terrible, terrible tragedy."
Gesturing around with her pen held in hand, she replied: "But now I am concerned beyond that."
"Oh? Are you worried for the child?"
Violet seemed slightly caught off-guard by this question. Her eyebrows raised in surprise, she looked at the doctor and said truthfully: "No. Not especially. No, she seems quite a tough little thing."
To say he was relieved to hear that would be an understatement. He did not know what he would have done had the poor little girl suffered health problems now, he was not sure he would have been the right doctor for that given everything that had transpired. It slightly calmed his nerves to hear that she was indeed quite a fighter. She would have to be one in this world. Trying to come up with a suitable reply, he smiled softly. However, such a reply was not needed, for Violet turned to face him more almost instantly. She seemed almost restless as she did so, unsure of how to word things properly and diplomatically. The last thing she wanted was to step on anyone's toes when she was asking for their help.
It took a lot not to let herself be overcome by her emotions as she thought back to the dinner the night before and how hopeless it all seemed sitting there next to her son and having to watch the icy stares fired across the table. And she was still rather unsure about how to say what was on her mind, but nevertheless, she stated: "Dr Clarkson, my daughter-in-law is quite convinced you could have saved Sybil, had you been allowed to."
It was a big if, she knew that. She had asked herself countless times already if there truly had not been anything they could have done to spare Sybil's life. There were all these what-ifs, but ultimately they could not change anything about it all now. All they could do was to be there for Tom and the baby and try to ease at least some of the pain that came from this loss; they were all hurting so badly, each in their own way. Cora and Robert even in more ways than one. Violet needed to know the answer to the possibility Cora was avidly insisting had been there since it all happened, over and over again according to Robert, it was a vital piece in her plan to help them along.
"Well," Clarkson started, trying to buy himself some time as he shifted uncomfortably in the chair one more. How much did she know, what had they told her about that night? Was she aware of the arguments that had been made, and the role her son and that quack had played in the dismissal of his professional opinions? He should not disclose too much, he did not want to bring more discomfort to any of the Crawleys, least of all in these trying times. Trying to stay as diplomatic as possible, he simply stated: "One can never speak of these things with any certainty."
"Well, this is the point. What was the likelihood of Sybil's survival?"
Violet was sure she was not at all prepared to hear the honest reply to this, for hearing it from a doctor's mouth would likely give the words even more gravitas. That would make it all more real. Just hearing the words wouldn't help her or anyone, words couldn't bring her granddaughter back to life. Nothing could. But maybe it could help bring all of them some closure at some point in the future. With that possibility and goal in mind, she knew she could bear it. For them all. Or at least she hoped so.
"Had we operated?" he asked then. Tentatively, Clarkson seemed to weigh his options as he swung his head left and right. The doctor thought of the articles he'd read not too long ago about the successes his colleagues in Sweden, Germany, France, and the Netherlands had recently had. He couldn't recall seeing news of great successes in England yet, but why should that be any different here? These were all women giving birth, no matter where they came from and who their doctors were.
"She might have lived. There are cases where an early Caesarian saved the mother after pre-eclampsia."
"How many cases?"
"Not many, I admit. I'd need to do some research."
Violet knew doctors and she knew how they preferred to deliver news to soften the blow. Something told her he was only sugar-coating the truth here. Chance was one thing, and clearly the odds had not been in their favour. Who was to say that the trauma from a Caesarean would have spared Sybil's life? He couldn't promise that, and she knew he wouldn't when it came to it. Decidedly, she replied: "I want you to tell Lord and Lady Grantham what you have almost admitted to me."
"But." It sounded almost petulant when he objected, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. The experienced doctor was aware that he was too uneducated on the subject matter to make decisive promises, but he should stick to his guns, shouldn't he? There truly had been a chance, why would they report positive results if there were none? He had some knowledge on the matter, certainly more than that disgrace of a doctor he had been up against. "But there was a chance."
"Dr Clarkson," Violet warned, her voice low and intimidating in the small sitting room they were in. She saw how torn he was inside, she noticed the lack of confidence in his replies. In a last attempt to get him to conceit, she decided to appeal to his emotional conscience. If she couldn't persuade the professional side of him, then maybe an appeal aimed at the private person he was after hours could do the trick. "You have created a division between my son and his wife," she said, her voice laced with all the emotions she kept bottled up for the most part. There was the heaviness of grief and profound heartbreak there, but also the warmth of deep love. "When the only way they can conceivably bear their grief is if they face it together."
To say he was appalled by what she insinuated he do would be quite an understatement and he couldn't help but let his hurt honour shine through when he exclaimed: "So you want me to lie to them and say there was no chance at all?"
A look of desperation and disappointment spread across her face at this response. She truly hoped and expected this to do the trick. "Lie… is so unmusical a word." Perhaps she did not even notice, but subconsciously she had been toying with the pen she still held firmly in her hands. It steadied her for some odd reason and kept her hands occupied, as well as her mind. "I want you to review the evidence honestly and without bias."
What did she mean by that — honestly and without bias? He just told her that there had been a chance. Did she think that was a biased opinion? He couldn't pretend not to be hurt by that, and that showed clearly in his voice. "Even to ease suffering, I could never justify telling an outright lie."
"Have we nothing in common?", she sighed frustratedly as she finally admitted defeat.
Following an uncomfortable silence stretching between the two headstrong people, Richard Clarkson stood up from his chair. Sounding equally as defeated, he sighed and said: "Fine, I will review the studies I have come across and try to break down the facts to weigh whether Lady Sybil ever stood a fighting chance that night or not."
At that, Violet's head spun up again to look at him in surprise. "That is all I want, Doctor Clarkson. Thank you."
He nodded curtly and it cost him greatly to even manage that after his admission.
"When do you think you will have some answers?"
"Give me two days, I will have done enough research by then and I shall return in the afternoon to report my findings to you."
Benevolently, Violet nodded and smiled. Then, she stretched out her hand for the small silver bell sitting next to the clock and rang for Spratt. "Thank you, Doctor Clarkson."
The doctor nodded curtly again, this time in greeting before turning to the door that opened behind him to reveal the butler waiting with his hat and overcoat.
After he had left, Violet couldn't help but smile almost triumphantly. She had succeeded after all, he would review the data and she was most certain that he would not find enough evidence to back his claim of Sybil ever having stood a fighting chance. It hurt to think like that, but it would certainly help Cora and Robert to find their way to the other again. It would help them get over their joint grief in time, she was sure. It was the only way for them.
Without much haste, she wrote a note to Cora that she'd have delivered up to the house the day Clarkson would return with his findings. They should hear it from him personally.