A/N: It's been great seeing all the feedback and hits for the story! Makes my day! As always, I own nothing. This chapter has been reposted because of all the typos. Sorry, my stuff is both unbata'd and written with my 6 month old son trying to see what I'm doing.

Spots

It all started when Sybbie broke out in spots one Thursday morning. By that afternoon, George and Marigold had them as well and the doctor was called. Mary, Robert and Edith were all in London for an assortment of meetings. Tom was needed at the estate to oversee the arrival of some new farming equipment which left Tom and Cora at Downton with the children.

"It's chicken pox," he declared as he closed his bag.

"That's none so bad; the girls had them when Lord Grantham was in South Africa," Cora explained.

"I had them as well," Tom nodded.

"Me too," Cora affirmed. "But the difficulty is that Lord Grantham has not."

"He hasn't?" Both men asked.

"He has not; this could prove to be very interesting."

OOO

Mary, Robert and Edith arrived home Saturday afternoon.

"Are you feeling alright, darling?" Cora asked as she touched her husband's face. He was pale and a bit sweaty.

"He was ill on the train." Edith informed. "Where are the children?"

"In bed, they have the chicken pox," Cora explained. "The doctor has been and Marigold is the least affected. George and Sybbie are pretty miserable though."

"I'm going up to check on her," Edith informed.

"I'm coming with. You better go to bed, Donk. You were playing with them every day for the past few weeks," Mary smiled, knowing full well how insufferable her father was then he was ill.

"Don't call me Donk," he groaned before starting to rub his eyes.

"You might want to ask Bates if he's had them. I'll wager £50 that he's covered in spots before sundown tomorrow," Mary smirked before walking upstairs.

"Come along darling, I'll play valet and run you a bath," Cora said as she took his hand and led him upstairs.

OOO

Sure enough, by Sunday afternoon, Dr. Clarkson had been called back to the Abbey and the Countess of Grantham's bedroom where the then diagnosed the same illness in Lord Grantham.

"I'm 55 years old, how does this happen?" he moaned.

"I'm not quite sure, Your Lordship. Most people don't make it to your age without having had them," the Scot smirked. "Same instructions as with the children; send for me if his fever gets very high." He left a miserable Robert and an amused Cora.

"Let's get you settled into a warm bath and I'll get your pajamas and let Bates know he won't be needed tonight."

"Alright," he mumbled pathetically.

OOO

Bates, sensibly, had the chicken pox at the ripe old age of 8 as Cora was to find out when she asked him that evening when he came to get up to Robert's room.

"His Lordship will be sleeping in my room so please tell Baxter to bring up two breakfast trays in the morning. I'll shoo his Lordship into his dressing room to get cleaned up and changed into fresh pajamas when she comes up to dress me. He won't be going down for dinner for a while or doing much of anything, really."

"I'll keep a fresh supply of books, newspapers and pajamas at the ready," Bates smiled.

"Thank you so much, Bates. His Lordship is more difficult than the three children put together when he's ill."

"I have no doubt, Your Ladyship."

OOO

Robert tossed and turned through the night. Cora would periodically check him for fever by gently placing a kiss on his head. He grumbled about the pain in his head. He complained about the itchy spots on his back, specifically those between his shoulder blades that he could not itch. He didn't want tea. He didn't want water. Then, he only wanted the sweet cold tea that Cora sometimes had made, iced tea, she called it. American, he groused. He did not want broth, he did not want a sandwich and was completely insulted when a bowl of porridge was placed in front of him.

"I'm not still in the nursery," he whined.

"Then stop acting like it," Cora grumbled under her breath. "I have a few errands to run in the village."

"Can't you send Baxter?" he complained with a pout on his face.

"I need a change of scenery," she said as she kissed his head. "Would you like anything?"

"A bag of licorice sticks and a copy of that new Sherlock Holmes book, if you can find it," he instructed.

"Alright my darling." She kissed his head and walked out of her room. She leaned up against the wall and let out an exasperated sigh.

"How is he?" Mary asked.

"I'm going to the village. If I stayed in that room another minute, I would have a meeting with the hangman."

"That well is he?"

"I wonder if Nanny will trade charges?"

"Not for all the money in the exchequer," Mary smiled.

"Now, if you will excuse me, His Lordship has requested licorice and a novel."

OOO

Robert fell asleep and when he awoke, he was not alone.

"Grandpapa ill?" little Marigold asked.

"Grandpapa is ill, yes my darling."

"Mari-gold make," she said as she held up a picture.

Robert took the picture and smiled. "What is it?"

He had learned long ago never to assume what a child was trying to represent in their artwork. It was terribly easy for one to guess wrong and tears would ensue.

"Flower n a doggy," the toddler explained while pointing to the yellow and red scribbles.

"I've never seen better," he said as he lifted her up on to the bed. He noticed a book under her little arm. "Would you like Grandpapa to read you a story?"

The little girl nodded and curled into her grandfather's arms. Robert gently tucked the little girl into the bed next to him and took the story book from her.

"The Collected Works of Beatrix Potter," he read the cover. "You know I used to read these stories to your mummy when she was small?"

Robert started with the story of Peter Rabbit and was partway through the tale of Benjamin Bunny when Cora arrived back armed with sweets, novel and a renewed patience for her husband. The scene melted her heart.

"Is there room for one more?" she called quietly from the door.

"Of course; now Marigold, I'll have you know that Granny Cora does the very best voices for Jemima Puddleduck. Let's make some room for her."

Cora crawled into the bed and handed the bag of sweets to her husband.

"Would you like a sweetie, Marigold?" Robert asked as he offered her one.

The little girl nodded vigorously, so much so her curls bobbed.

"Robert, she'll spoil her lunch," Cora scolded.

"I'm her grandfather, I can feed her sweets if I like," he scoffed. "Now Granny Cora, hadn't you better start reading?"