Golly, What A Night

Chapter 2

Soon, the next morning came and Bates woke him up, punctual as ever. His head still felt twice its normal size, he could feel the throbbing intensify even before he had opened his eyes, but his hand felt even worse. Just trying to lower the duvet covering him was linked to a sharp pain stabbing at his hand and his face pulled into a tight grimace, his jaw clenching tightly.

"Good morning, milord. It's half seven, like you requested," said his valet upon drawing back the curtains in the quaint room.

Robert wanted to say something, but couldn't think of what to say without possibly groaning in pain, his jaw still clenched tightly to keep the noises from coming out.

"Are you alright, my lord?" asked Bates, his brow furrowed.

After some time, and only when finally sitting up on the edge of the bed, Robert replied: "I will be if you can get me something for this blasted headache, I think, and something for my hand as well."

Bates, ever the dutiful man, knew better than to ask questions and instead just set about getting his employer dressed for the day, being extra careful with his hand, which was looking rather bruised.

"I will bring you something for the headache at breakfast and a bandage for the hand to stabilise it, which should help with some of the pain. But maybe you should see Dr Clarkson, my lord. It really looks quite bad."

Robert nodded curtly at his valet and old friend through the mirror he was standing in front of, while Bates brushed his suit down and gave him one last look over.

He was the first down that day and started eating his breakfast in solitude, which he was thankful for. He was not sure he would be able to stand much small talk, he never even touched his newspaper, which surprised even Carson. The butler, however, stayed put in his place and only raised one of his impressively bushy eyebrows when Bates entered with some powder and a bandage he then tightly wound around the earl's hand, mostly hiding the bruises that had intensified immensely over night.

The powder Bates had brought did help and so Robert was able to go about his business in the library and later on out on the estate. It wasn't a pleasant day at all outside, and usually that would put Robert off, but his mission that day was to stay out of his wife's reach. He did not know how to interact with her, so he preferred wrapping his coat tightly around him, putting the collar up and pulling his hat lower than usual, while braving the relentless rain. There was no direct sunlight reaching through the thick, grey clouds above him and he couldn't help but think that it all seemed to reflect his mood so perfectly.

He was angry at her, he was angry that she had let Bricker go this far, that she hadn't told him off when he interfered with them having a nice evening out in London - no, she had defended him even. She had always allowed that scumbag to come back to Downton, even when there was no reason, just because he asked. She must have wanted him back here, why on earth would she have allowed it otherwise.

As angry as he was at the horrid art historian, he couldn't blame him for thinking she would want him in her bedroom, for taking the wrong cues, for trying to step into his place, just like that, and he had tried to blame it all on him. Robert had really tried hard. She had led him on, even if she had not meant it. He gave her that benefit of a doubt, she had looked too uncomfortable the night before with Bricker in the room. He was, however, angry at the sheer audacity of this man, asking himself back again and again, lodging here at the estate just to openly flirt with his wife. He did not even stop when they were at the dinner table, and he did it in front of him and her daughters, no less.

He was also angry at himself, so very, very angry. Why on earth did he allow it to keep going on? Why did he leave his house the night that man would be here, just because some old general had insisted on hosting a dinner for old time's sake? And why had he got so blinded by rage that he kept punching that man? He had almost knocked him out with his first punch alone. Robert was not a brutal man, he was not one to pick a fight without reason, least of all physically. Sure, he endorsed one or the other heated argument over the years, but punching someone? He had never done that, it was not what he was raised to do.