"Cora?"
Her eyes are soft and malleable, closed against the light. Her chest rises and falls perfectly, yet her exquisitely immaculate posture troubles him. She is too silent, too still. He gently pushes her, and she rocks on her back, a boat on a calm sea. However, he knows not of the storm raging inside her head, the impatience to wake up.
Wake up! Open your eyes! Wake up!
"Cora? Time to wake up," he whispers, brushing his fingers over her cheek. Nothing. Panic rises in him like a greyhound rushes from the slips. "Cora!" He shakes her, a jolting movement that makes her head loll and he stops, worried at her stillness. Turning, he tugs the bell pull several times, making Watson jump out of her skin in the servants hall, the table clattering as she rushes from her seat.
Just open your eyes. He's right there. He wants you to wake up!
But she cannot. Her face is serene and she could be merely dozing contently. But as much as he nudges, cajoles and rocks her, she does not speak, react or open her eyes.
"My lord? What on earth's the matter?"
Watson has arrived, her eyes wide in worry. She looks at Cora and her brow wrinkles. "What's happened?"
"She will not wake," he explains, tears forming in his eyes. The maid feels for His Lordship, a terrified notion rising similarly to Robert's inside her.
"I'm getting the doctor."