Blessed in War
Cora paused outside the door, listening to the hum of a familiar lullaby, the sounds of a mother soothing her child. She smiled, then knocked softly.
"Come in." The invitation was quietly given, almost a whisper. Cora gingerly opened the door and looked upon the scene inside.
Edith sat in a rocking chair holding Marigold, the light from the fireplace reflecting off the apricot colored walls, bathing the room is a soft, golden glow. Marigold was snuggled up against her mother, clutching her Teddy bear, eyes closed in a fretful sleep. Cora noted with dismay the tearstains on her cheeks.
"She couldn't settle, poor darling," Edith whispered, almost apologetically. She caressed the toddler's downy curls, rocking her gently. "I can understand why, the way I've upended her world. She must be so confused…" Was that guilt in her voice? Remorse? Cora gazed at her daughter's face, saw her lip tremble, the uncertainty in her eyes. "I told Nanny I would keep her here with me. Just until…" Edith's voice trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished. She hugged Marigold a little tighter.
Cora hesitated, unsure of how to give voice to the troubling thought in her head. "You don't regret bringing Marigold here, do you?" She wished the words back immediately.
Edith's reaction was swift, defensive, accusatory. "Of course I don't! How can you say such a thing? Perhaps you're having second thought about her being here? Maybe…" She stopped abruptly as the baby in her arms whimpered. Edith realized her hold on Marigold had tightened considerably – she took a deep breath and forced herself to relax.
As did Cora. Why? She asked herself for what seemed like the thousandth time. Why was every question to her middle daughter met as a challenge? Why did she act like every conversation was an inquisition? Did Edith truly believe that there was some veiled agenda behind her mother's words? Cora couldn't quite manage to block the exasperated sigh.
"I'm sorry, Mama. That was unkind. You've been so very good to me and Marigold, and I want you to know how grateful I am. I'm…I guess I'm more tired than I thought. Please forgive me."
Cora recognized the polite dismissal, and was having none of it. She didn't want a showdown, but she had had more than enough of secrecy and evasions and condescension recently. From Edith, from Rosamund. Violet and Robert. Even Baxter and Barrow. And Mary wore her superiority like a badge of honor. Enough. No more.
"Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you give me a chance to help you? Why?" The questions continued unabated. Cora was only vaguely aware of Edith's expression, of the walls being put up. "Was I not to be trusted? Did you think I would turn my back on you, my own daughter?"
Edith stared steadily at her mother and answered, "Yes".
Cora was dumbstruck, the injustice of the indictment resonating throughout her body. Whatever response she had been expecting, that was not it. A hundred angry retorts scrambled in formation on her tongue, ready to be launched into battle.
She stopped short as she caught sight of Marigold. Yes, she would do battle with Edith, but her grand-daughter would not be caught in the crossfire.
"I think you're right; you are very tired. Get some sleep. We'll continue this tomorrow." Cora rose from the bed and made her way to the door, pausing at the threshold. She turned. "And Edith? Don't think I'll forget. We will discuss this tomorrow."
"M'lady?"
Baxter stood behind Cora at the dressing table, hairbrush raised in mid-stroke. Cora realized she hadn't been listening to a single word her maid had said. "Is everything all right, m'lady?" Baxter asked again.
Cora put on a tired smile and played the distracted card. "Oh, yes. Golly, what a night!"
"Yes, m'lady, the servants' hall was full of talk of it. We all feel quite bad for Mrs. Crawley, to be put down like that." Baxter had been asking about a frock for tomorrow, but played along with her mistress. Something was apparently on her mind and, although not usually prone to gossip, Baxter seized the most obvious thing she could. "We all hope she and Lord Merton work it out."
Cora began applying lotion to her elbows with a distracted vengeance. "Yes, well, how a gentleman like Dickie Merton managed to raise a total schmuck of a son like Larry I'll never understand," she muttered, more to herself than her maid. "When I think…" she broke off at the look of confusion on Baxter's face.
"Schmuck, milady?"
"Just something my father used to say. Thank you, Baxter. That will be all."
Cora waited until the door had closed, then dropped her head into her hands. After a moment, she lifted her face and caught her tear-filled reflection in the mirror.
"Something else my father used to say. 'Gam zu l'tova. This too is for the good.'" Cora allowed herself a small smile. This would work out – Edith, Marigold, everything. It would work out for the good. She would make sure of it.