A/N: Dedicated to two of the loveliest people in fandom; my partner in crime, Scarlet Secret, and the greediest fic-reader I have ever known; This is the Bear.
A fortnight had passed; at least Cora thought it had been that long. It had been difficult to keep track: sleepless nights had flowed into miserable days and she'd passed each of them in a sort of stupor. Everything hurt, her body and her heart, and no matter how hard she tried to be brave for the girls she found herself quickly crumbling.
Had it really been that long? It seemed like only yesterday they were all cloistered in the library with Sybil performing some little ditty she had picked up from the governess. Mary and Edith had been, for once in their lives, blissfully quiet, and she and Robert had sat side by side, his hand in hers and their eyes meeting occasionally in the comfortable, affectionate sort of silence that only existed between lovers. There was pride in his smile, and love too, and in that moment Cora had never imagined anything could come between them.
And now Robert was dead.
The telegram still sat on her vanity table, its words cold and sterile and devoid of any feeling. He was one of many fallen soldiers, or so the papers said, killed not by a bullet or bayonet, but by disease. It was terribly unfair, but then death always was, and now she was left alone, a Dowager Countess at the age of thirty-two and with three young girls with no idea what was going on and no heir.
"Mama!"
Cora closed her eyes. Was an hour of solitude really too much to ask for?
"Mary, please," Cora sighed, watching as Edith pulled her arm sharply away from her giggling sister.
"I didn't do anything, Mama. It's all Edith's fault," Mary sneered.
"Is not! Mary—"
"Edith!"
Cora inwardly cursed herself for the sharpness of her voice. It wasn't Edith's fault that her mother was so exhausted she could barely stand and so miserable she would stay in bed all day if she didn't have so much to do, and she certainly hadn't been responsible for this particular argument. The painful looking spot of pink on Edith's arm attested to that fact.
She let out a heavy sigh, fighting the urge to rub at her temples to release some of the damned pressure, but nothing seemed to help. Certainly not sleep, but these days sleep was a luxury. "Please girls. Would you argue so appalling in front of Papa—?"
Cora broke off, her voice choking at the look on the girls' faces. It was impossible to explain it to the girls. They were all too young, even Mary, no matter how worldly the nine year old considered herself to be, to understand that their Papa would never be coming back.
Cora had never been an especially fervent believer. She had always preferred to stay home and attend to the household duties rather than attend church with her family. Her Papa had once said if there really was a god, a supreme, benevolent being up above with ultimate power over life and death, then why was there so much suffering in the world? The sentiment had stayed with Cora for the rest of her life and still lingered now, but lately, when she told her children that Papa was in heaven and watching over all of them, she couldn't help but want to believe it too.
"Please," she repeated after a long, mournful pause, and this time the children listened. The look on her own face was no doubt enough to persuade them this was neither the time nor the place for a sibling squabble, and after a moment she felt Edith's arms wrap tentatively around as much of her waist as they could manage. Blinking back tears, Cora looked down to Edith's soft red curls that were soon joined by a dark sheen of hair that nearly reached her chest. Mary had grown so much, but still had such a long way to go and Robert would miss it all now.
"My lady?" There was a tentative knock at the door, followed in quick succession by a head of dark, slicked back hair and the kindly face of Mr. Carson. "I apologise for disturbing you."
Cora shook her head, smiling with all the warmth she could muster and granting her children a final hug before disentangling them from her arms. Mary scampered quickly in the direction of the door – she always had bigger and better things to be doing – but Edith lingered for a moment, watching her mother with wisdom far beyond her years and Cora caved, leaning to press her lips to her forehead and not caring whether Carson saw. She and Robert had never hid their affection from the servant's and she refused to begin now. There was already enough misery in this house.
"Go and find your sister, darling," she whispered, kissing her one last time before Edith pulled back of her own accord and followed Mary's trail out of the room. It took Cora a moment to compose herself enough to face the no doubt mountain of sympathy in Carson's eyes, but if there was one thing her Mama had taught her it was how to remain composed, even when crumbling from the inside out.
"Nonsense Carson, what can I do for you?"
"It's Mr. and Mrs. Bates, your ladyship."
Cora wracked her brains for a moment before she remembered John Bates' placid, un-extraordinary face and frowned in confusion. "What do they want- Oh."
The will. Goodness, she had only sent the telegram two days ago and here they were, in person, probably on the first train they could catch! She didn't know why she was so surprised; there was money involved, after all. The cynical, snobbish part of her sneered at the desperation of it, but whatever was left of the real Cora didn't blame them. She had a rather generous inheritance and an estate outside Ripon to keep her comfortable. John Bates was out of work and out of pocket and her husband had been fond of him. A little charity wouldn't kill her.
"Tell them I'll be right down," she said.
Carson nodded, leaving her alone, and she took the opportunity to smooth down her skirts, checking herself briefly in the mirror and winced at what she saw. She had lost her maid three weeks ago – the poor woman had lost her husband too – and it certainly showed. Her hair was askew, not at all how she usually liked it, and it was impossible to miss the shadows under her eyes. Sighing, she resigned herself to her wretched appearance and set off in the direction of the drawing room. Descending the stairs, she could already hear low mumbling from the couple, and soon spotted them standing stiffly in the middle of the room, the husband's hand clasped tightly around his cane and the wife's anywhere but supporting her husband. The tension in the room was obvious and the wife's irritation palpable, but Cora soldiered on. After this, all Robert's assets would be divided between family, and she would rather deal with Rosamund than two perfect strangers who had blatantly being arguing only a moment ago.
She straightened her back, clearing her throat imperiously and did her best to smile as the couple turned to face her. "Mr. and Mrs. Bates?"
"Yes, m'lady," Bates said immediately, practically standing to attention and offering his hand and Cora shook it reservedly. "John Bates."
Cora nodded. She remembered the man well enough from Robert's last visit to the house, but he hadn't had the cane then. Her eyes briefly darted to his leg before meeting Bates' earnest gaze. "I remember you, Mr. Bates. And your wife…"
She turned her attention to the wife and was momentarily surprised by the sharpness of the other woman's face. Mrs. Bates was undoubtedly quicker than her husband, she could tell that much already. Robert would have immediately assessed the woman as trouble but Cora couldn't help but be intrigued.
"Vera, m'lady," he responded.
Cora forced a tight smile. "Vera. Welcome to Downton."
There was a painfully awkward silence Cora didn't know quite how to fill. She would usually have no problem – she was a consummate hostess – but now there seemed no point in keeping up appearances or tiptoeing around the real reason John and Vera Bates were here.
"Shall we get on with it?"
Bates' nod was all she needed, and she quickly led the couple up to her husband's dressing room, avoiding the sight of the freshly pressed sheets that would never be disturbed again and instead took the opportunity to assess her companions. The husband looked harmless enough, sympathetic and respectful but the wife was altogether different and Cora quickly looked away as Vera met her gaze.
She cleared her throat. "Over here."
Leading the couple over to the cabinet by the window, the contents stared back at her almost tauntingly. She had never been particularly fond of Robert's snuff boxes but she hated them now, absolutely hated them, and the sooner they were out of the house the better. Still, she was releasing a part of him into the hands of utter strangers, one of whom seemed to be on the verge of committing some sort of atrocity.
She forced a smile. "I've never liked them myself but Robert was so fond of collecting the dreadful things, and I seem to remember your admiring them on your leave."
Bates blinked back at her in obvious confusion and Cora quickly put him out of his misery. There was no point in beating about the bush; the sooner this was over the sooner the Bates' would leave and right now she wantedthat even more than she wanted her husband back.
"He would have wanted you to have them. I have no use for them myself."
"You mean you're givin' them to us?"
It was the first thing the woman had said since the couple first got here, and that piqued Cora's curiosity, but only for a moment. Mrs. Bates had a pretty voice, almost lyrical albeit with a distinctly odd undercurrent, but the longer the couple stayed here the longer she would have to look at John Bates and his damned leg and remember how little he had suffered in comparison with her husband. Mrs. Bates was barely looking at hers.
"That's what I said, Mrs. Bates. You can take them today or I'll have them delivered to your home…" she paused. "Wherever that might be. Either way they're yours."
"And there's no catch?"
Cora got the feeling there was very little this woman had been given in life without having to give something in return and she was impossibly rather glad to give her this one little thing, whether or not she looked like she might stab her at any moment.
"None."
The other woman assessed her for the moment with cold, keen eyes and Cora fought the urge to shift uncomfortably on the spot.
"I don't want snuff boxes," Vera said finally. "I want somethin' else."
Cora arched her brow. She found it remarkably generous Robert had written his batman into his will at all, but now his wife wanted something else? Regardless, she couldn't deny she was curious. Part of her was even amused and she bit back the sardonic smile she could feel tugging at her lips. "Go on."
"I want a job. You're obviously in need of a lady's maid and 'm qualified and," she smirked slightly, "no offense m'lady, but you look like you need some help."
There was no doubt in Cora's mind that this woman was mad, and for that reason alone her first instinct was to send her packing and without the snuff boxes, but something persuaded her to stop. She would be terrible with the children; she could already see her girls, all grown up and traumatised and turning to some experimental psychologist to rid them of the emotional scars of being raised by a woman like Vera Bates, but perhaps she was judging her too harshly? There was a spark of something in the other woman that Cora couldn't help but like and Vera was right. She did need a lady's maid, now that Moneypenny was gone.
"And Mr. Bates?"
She directed the question at the man by Vera's side, but she couldn't help but note the look of alarm on the wife's face and she nearly winced at her mistake. Was Vera trying to get away from her husband? She hadn't looked at him once in the last twenty minutes and there was so much distance between their bodies they would need more than just a bridge to bring them back together. The Bates' marriage was truthfully nothing to do with the widow of an Earl but Cora felt the sudden urge to do something to keep them together. Vera Bates might not like her husband very much right now, but what if he had died instead of Robert?
"I won't be staying at Downton Abbey," she continued. "Lord Grantham's cousin will be in charge of the estate until his son Patrick comes of age and our butler will be remaining here."
She looked briefly to the man's leg. It would be a hindrance, no doubt, but Newby Hall was considerably smaller than Downton Abbey and with nowhere near as many stairs. He would manage, with his wife's help.
"I'll need someone to run the house and Lord Grantham—" she broke off for a moment as her voice trembled traitorously. She straightened her shoulders, stiffening her back and avoided Vera's eyes, but she could feel them on her all the same. "Lord Grantham trusted you."
"How old are you?" Vera asked suddenly and Cora looked up, momentarily taken aback.
"Excuse me?"
"I said; how old are you m'lady?"
The woman's voice bordered on insolent, and her husband clearly agreed, interjecting with a hiss of her name, but Cora quickly intervened. The initial shock of the question had passed – it would have been a different story if it had been asked of Rosamund – and only curiosity remained.
"No, I don't mind," she murmured, measuring up the other woman before granting her an answer. "Thirty-two."
Vera nodded, looking thoughtful for a moment. "Too young to be a widow."
Cora sucked in a quiet breath. The words punctured through her defences and this time she couldn't prevent a tear from falling free. She wiped it hurriedly away but the damage had been done, but oddly enough there was nothing but sympathy in the other woman's eyes.
"Did you want the position or not, Mr. Bates?"
Bates' eyes darted briefly to Vera and Cora's eyes followed suit. There was no doubt the latter wore the pants in this particular marriage and Cora couldn't help but smirk, genuinely for the first time since she'd lifted her head from the pillow this morning.
"As long as you leave the snuff boxes here." Vera met Cora's eyes, and for a moment they shared a companionable smirk: the first of many perhaps, but only time would tell. "They're bloody hideous."
It was the most sensible thing anybody had said in days.