When a Good Woman Goes to War
Part 1: Cora & Robert
By: piperholmes
A/N: I can't tell you how many times I started writing this, only to delete it. I'm still not sure how I feel about it, but I had to start somewhere. There were a lot of tears shed, trying to get this out, so I apologize if it is choppy. I'm not quite ready to try a S/T story yet, but hopefully this is the first stepping stone. Unbeta'd.
"Will you help me do battle, for Tom and the baby, if the time comes?"
The time had come.
Lady Grantham watched stoically as O'Brien's reflection tied off the long braid. There was no talk tonight, no words of comfort from maid to master. Those words were all dried up, their meanings exhausted into nothingness. And when the words are gone, all that's left is the emotion.
"Thank you, O'Brien," her cool crisp American voice stated, "I'll continue on from here."
O'Brien's eyes snapped up to the blue in the mirror. "Are you sure m'lady?"
Lady Grantham spared a smile. "Quite sure."
The lady's maid merely nodded, slipping soundlessly out of the room.
With shaking fingers, Cora reached out for her lotion, mindlessly going through the motions as she worked the sweet smelling concoction into her skin. Anger simmered dangerously just below the surface. Anger, mixed with grief, mixed with conviction, mixed with love; a volatile combination that grew more potent as the night's events played over in her mind.
"And what exactly does this business consist of?" Lord Grantham inquired, never one to hide his contempt.
Kieran Branson shifted uncomfortably in his chair at the dinner table, as Tom's face adopted the hard, blank stare she'd seen so frequently the last few weeks. It was clear the older Branson resented being here, sitting at this table with an imperious English Lord. Yet he answered with aplomb.
"Automobile refurbishment."
"He means car repairs," Tom offered, his voice on edge.
"I see," Lord Grantham responded, though Cora doubted he did. "And you'd live nearby?"
"We've rooms above the garage," Kieran stated, not missing a beat, "We can get one of the cousins over to help out with little Sybbie," he glanced awkwardly around the table then offered, "There's a bit of a park nearby."
Tom winced.
It all sounded so sad, so lame.
"Don't suppose you have any beer?" Kieran ventured.
"Haven't you had enough?" Tom snapped.
Cora shook her head, a knot in her stomach. She had tried to keep the peace, help Tom keep cool. It wasn't his brother's fault, yet he'd been willing to take it out on him. She didn't know Tom well, but she knew enough to know this wasn't him. He knew better than anyone what it was like to sit at that table, feeling their stares, their condescension, their magnanimous tolerance, yet he'd been so closed up, so bottled in this house that he had lashed out at the one person he didn't have to pretend with.
And Tom needed people in his corner. Tonight proved that.
"This is the life you plan to provide for her?" Robert accused, his voice dripping with incredulity.
Tom bristled.
"We don't need to discuss this yet," Cora interjected kindly. "Nothing has to be decided right now." She sent her husband a pointed glare, which he ignored.
Tom closed his eyes for a moment, then with a sad sigh he said, "I'm afraid, Lady Grantham, it does have to be decided right now. My brother has been kind enough to speak on my behalf to his employers, but they won't be able to hold the position long."
Kieran nodded. "They've been very understanding, but they expect him to start next week."
"So soon?" Lady Grantham frowned. "The poor man's only just lost his wife."
Kieran looked confused, and blinked at his brother.
Cora watched as the brothers shared a thought, and to her surprise she knew the silent message. 'It is a different world for them.'
Tom glanced down at his still untouched plate of food before explaining, "If this had happened in Dublin, if I had lost her there, I would've been expected to be back at work the day after the funeral."
"This is ridiculous," Mary spoke up. "Tom should be allowed to stay here for as long as he needs."
With a firm resolve, Cora rose from her vanity and pulled on her dressing gown and slippers. As armor went, it wasn't very protective, but rather strategic. After all, this wasn't about her, it was about her baby.
"I think that Papa might see it as some kind of answer…"
The words swept around in her mind. How perceptive her youngest had been. How sensitive and understanding.
Lord Grantham bullied forward, "If Tom feels it is right to move on, find a job, then I must say I agree. We can't expect him to wallow around here forever."
"To wallow arou…really Robert," Cora chastised, her eyes moving from her husband to her young son-in-law. The later seemed not to care much, as if numbed to the implications.
Giving no heed to his wife's warning, the Earl continued, "Only I think we should all think about what's right for the baby, and I think perhaps, when Tom leaves, he should strongly consider leaving her here."
The sound of the fork clattering to the plate exploded around the room, Tom was on his feet, his chair shoved back, and for a moment Cora saw him, really saw him. His shoulders tight, his fist clenched, his eyes blazing; this was the man Sybil had seen when everyone else had been so blinded—the passion, the fight.
She saw her daughter standing there.
Silence gripped the room, squeezing, daring, challenging. The Irishman glared at her husband, his jaw working. Her husband glowered back. In a moment of sheer lunacy the Countess felt the desire to laugh. Why had she not listened to her daughter? This boy, who stood up to the king, was never a chauffer. In truth, he was more like the Earl than either wanted to admit; not in station, not in politics, but in strength, in conviction, in love.
"Sybil stays with me," Tom finally said, his voice calm, but firm.
"Mama…"A remembered whisper, an entreaty.
"Of course she will," Cora replied quickly, "Lord Grantham…" she hesitated, and corrected, "Your father-in-law should not have suggested otherwise."
This time she ignored the outraged look from her spouse and the raised eyebrow from her own in-law, and instead focused on their visitor, "Now, Mr. Branson, what brought you to Liverpool?"
To his credit the man looked to his brother, concern clear, only turning to answer once his younger brother nodded and slowly took his seat.
That was it. The conversation was over. The meal would continue, as it always did.
Except this time.
This time she would not stand idly by.
"We'll look after them. We'll look after them both."
Those words, choked out through shock and grief, now gave her power, control. Without hesitation, she knocked on her husband's dressing room door, not waiting for a reply she pushed through.
A startled Mr. Bates looked at her, hand frozen in air as he was brushing out his Lordship's dinner jacket.
Her husband, however, seemed completely unsurprised.
No words passed between the couple, prompting Mr. Bates to say, "I can finish this downstairs m'lord. Is there anything else I can do for you?"
"No, thank you, that'll be all," Lord Grantham conceded.
The pair remained silent as the newly returned servant gathered the jacket and departed from the room, closing the door behind him.
"How could you Robert?"
He stiffened, indignant. "I suppose you are referring to the suggestion that Tom leave the baby here?"
"Don't take that tone with me," she accused, "You don't get to be so glib."
He raised an eyebrow.
"And yes, I'm talking about your deplorable behavior at dinner."
"Deplorable?" Robert demanded, unbelievingly, "Is it so deplorable to want the best for Sybil's child?"
Her eyes narrowed. "You mean your grandchild, right?"
Lord Grantham gave her an incredulous look, but she saw the way his jaw tightened, she knew him too well.
"Yes, she's Sybil's child," she continued, "but she's also Tom's child, your grandchild, but I don't think you've accepted that yet."
"Don't be ridiculous," he snapped. "Of course I know who she is."
"Do you?"
The question hung in the air. And from the years of marriage, raising three daughters, the loss of a much desired son, a great war, and now another lost child, with moments of great love and great heartache in between, they both knew what she was asking.
"Can you know her when you seem so set on forgetting who her mother was?"
He turned from her, affronted at the suggestion that he didn't know his own daughter, but really it wasn't the accusation, rather the truth behind it that ate at him.
She stared at his back, refusing the impulse to reach out to him. This wasn't something she could let go, not when there was so much depending on her.
After a moment, his shoulders slumped slightly, and still not looking at her, he confessed, "I resent him."
She said nothing, how could she? This is what she wanted, to hear him finally speak.
"If he had remembered his place," Robert insisted, turning to her directly, "If he hadn't been so arrogant, so inappropriate—"
"Then we wouldn't have the beautiful granddaughter that we have now," Cora interrupted gently, pleadingly, "And Sybil wouldn't have been happy."
Grantham scoffed angrily. "He stole her from me from us."
She felt weary, beaten. There was too much broken, too many layers to fight through, too much hurt on both sides. Her own heart ached, deep and unforgiving.
"It wouldn't be right for him. He needs to move forward."
Oh how her daughter had loved her husband. Hours of difficult labor, exhausted, and…dying…still she thought of him.
Tears glistened in her blue eyes, and her throat felt as if it were trying to close shut. She had spent so long being critical, being merely accepting, and she was ashamed to have missed something so beautiful.
"No Robert," she rasped, "She ran to him."
At her words, her husband's face hardened.
A tear escaped down her soft, smooth cheek, but still she spoke, a labored whisper the best she could manage. "And she was happy. I know you don't want to admit it, but she was. It was there, in all the letters you refused to read. It was in the way she looked at him, fought for him. It was in the way she touched him. It radiated off of her."
Robert shook his head, refusing.
"Yes," she stated firmly, wiping quickly at the wet paths down her face. "And we missed too much of her life, too much of her. Tom and Sybil are our remaining link to her. I will not allow you to drive them away."
"I can't hold him here against his will, Cora," he pointed out.
"No, but you need to recognize and accept that that boy is in so much pain he doesn't know which way is up. He is drowning in his grief and he is desperate to cling to anything that will keep his head above water, and the only reason he's even fighting is because of his little girl, and tonight you threatened to take her away from him."
"Cora—"
"No Robert," she cut him off. "We tried it your way, and we missed her wedding, we missed so many precious moments. Now we will do it my way. We will be his family, we will be what he clings to until he is strong enough on his own, and then we will always be there, ready to help in times of trouble or need."
His eyes were shattered. "I don't know if I can."
Cora nodded. "I understand. I truly do. I know you are struggling, but you will do this Robert, and I will help; every step I will help."
She reached out, taking his large hand in her small one. She gave comforting squeeze, knowing this was difficult for him. "And you'll start by going to the Christening and without complaint, because we aren't going to make the same mistakes with our granddaughter as we did with our daughter. And then we are going to do everything in our power to help our son to piece his life back together."
Robert looked ready to argue, but in the end, did not. He simply nodded.
"Good."
It was a start.
She pressed a small kiss against his cheek, a fleeting smile upon her lips. "Now, you head on to bed, and I'll be back with you in a moment."
"Where are you going so late?" he demanded.
"To keep a promise."
End of Part 1
Thank you for reading!
Part 2: Cora and Tom
