"...if you can honestly say you have never let a flirtation get out of hand since we married, never given a woman the wrong impression, by all means stay away. Otherwise, I expect you back in my room tonight." A 'what if' exploring how the narrative might have changed had Robert NOT gone back to Cora's bedroom at the end of Episode 6.
Chapter 1
"...if you can honestly say you have never let a flirtation get out of hand since we married, never given a woman the wrong impression, by all means stay away. Otherwise, I expect you back in my room tonight."
Cora held her breath, each muscle clenched as she sat rigidly on her mattress, waiting. She closed her eyes, silently willing the door to open, but it remained stubbornly shut. The seconds passed, changing to minutes, and the air in her lungs struggled for release, the burn building uncomfortably. Her heart thumped so loudly she was sure it could be heard in the next room. Cora exhaled in a rush of pain and disappointment. Wounded. She felt wounded, as if Robert had literally pierced some vital organ. Could he really not be coming in? Her ultimatum hadn't been made lightly. She had eyes, she had a brain. Did he think she was still the naive nineteen year old girl he had married who would believe he'd never had an indiscretion?
"Perhaps I am," Cora lamented into the dark, quietly, sadly, as she stood, suddenly feeling much older than her age.
With effort, she peeled away the layers that swaddled her; house coat, slippers, and unfolded the perfectly tucked blankets of her bed. Robert's side was still, not a wrinkle marring the pristine surface. It had remained that way for days. A shiver ran across her shoulders and burrowed behind her breast bone, spreading through the rest of her body. Cora reached for the bell pull just as the first of her tears stung her eyes. She had been able to push them away up until now, thinking that Robert only needed some time, but they could no longer be contained.
Cora let go of the tassel and crawled into bed, not wanting Baxter to witness her breakdown, no matter how much she wished the fire to be relit. Crossing her arms tightly around herself, Cora drew her knees up. The dampened pillow under her head only exacerbated the chill she felt. Now that she was allowing herself a good cry, her tears brought with them a storm of feelings that tossed and banged inside of her. Anger, fear, despair...regret.
Simon had scared her. The trembling had begun once Robert left her room and hadn't stopped all night, keeping her awake and squinting into the dark, never looking away from the door. Would he come back? Would he dare with Robert in the next room? Cora had stayed vigilant until the first light of morning crept through the windows, and only then did some of the fear release her into sleep, only for her to be confronted by Mr. Bricker in her dreams. Dreams where Robert never came home and Mr. Bricker ignored her cries.
She was so very angry at Robert for not believing her, for thinking the worst. Didn't he know her at all? Didn't the constant love and loyalty she showed him the last thirty-plus years afford her his in return? Cora understood the immediate rage, but for it to turn into the hard distance that he now treated her with was devastating, and unfair. It was worse than their first year of marriage, when at least he was polite, when at least his behavior could be blamed on the newness of their acquaintance.
Cora was furious with herself most of all. She had done this, all of it. Her hand cupped over her mouth as she tried to push the sound of her sorrow back down into the shelter of her body. It had all seemed harmless but she had known her flirtation was affecting Robert. It was never meant to go as far as it did. She never thought Bricker would take her seriously! His attention had been welcomed and she had enjoyed their discussions, the way he held her eyes the whole time she talked, how he didn't rush to finish her sentences or overrule her ideas. It was refreshing, it was novel...it made her lonely for Robert. His jealousy had only driven a deeper wedge between them and now, well now Cora had no idea how to fix the damage. Nothing was working and her latest attempt was all she had left, there was nothing else she could think of to bring Robert around to her side once again.
The back of Cora's throat tickled as a wave of nausea overtook her. She slid out of bed and hurried into the washroom. The feeling of sickness passed as her bare feet fell on the cold marble and she went over to the sink, turning on the tap. Bending down, Cora splashed warm water onto her face, then filled her hands up with more and submersed her face again. She repeated the motion over and over, the cleansing rhythm distracting her from the fresh tears that mingled with the water.
The collar of her nightdress pressed against her chest, sticky and wet, and Cora finally shut off the sink. Her hands shook as she reached for the small towel and patted her face dry. Closing her eyes she nestled into the soft fibers and her chin quivered violently. She looked at herself in the mirror, her pale and sagging reflection stared back.
Guilt settled in her gut and Cora placed her hand on her belly, the bloat of this new feeling painful and unyielding.
The dish of strawberries and cream had begun to wilt, a milky pool forming in the bottom of the glass bowl. Robert tapped absently at one plump berry with his spoon, though he couldn't find the desire to eat it. Instead, he played with the food, flicking his eyes up to Cora when she wasn't looking.
She sat across from him, her stoic face blank, no clue written upon it of the turmoil between them, keeping up appearances just as she had been taught so long ago. Young Atticus's parents were nearby after all, but Robert could see the traces of misery others couldn't; the pinched skin on the bridge of her nose, the reddened eyes, the periodic wringing of her hands. Cora was miserable. She hadn't spoken to him at all since last night, hadn't even met his eyes, unlike all of the other days since the...incident, when she'd tried to joke, or beguile, or flatter her way back into his good graces. No, Cora had remained steadfastly and thoroughly silent, and her silence stretched to the rest of the family, as she barely uttered a word to anyone.
Perhaps he should have gone into her room. Once she had she left, Robert's first impulse was to brush away her silly words. What was she even- But then his heart had contracted, and then sped up spastically, the memory of Jane's lips bitter on his own. Could Cora really know?! He had swung his legs off the bed, ready to follow her with his pride squashed and an apology forming in his mouth. It was the thought of what he would say, how much he would reveal, that caused him pause. It wasn't just his past indiscretion that had him still sitting on his bed, thoughts swirling tumultously, but how his admittal would somehow absolve Cora's behavior. The situations between she and Bricker and he and Jane couldn't be compared! There was a war going on, for God's sake, a world war, and men were dying and Matthew was crippled and Mary was marrying a terrible man and he was...useless. In all of it he was unable to help anyone or anything, not his country, not his children, he was barely master of Downton.
Cora couldn't possibly know what it had felt like then for him. She couldn't understand how pointless his existence had seemed. She had flourished, she had been so full of purpose. As usual, she had adapted and he had floundered. No, her ridiculous behavior with Bricker was not born out of despair, as his mistake had been. Cora had been bored! And like a spoilt child, she had played with something she wasn't supposed to and did not want to reap the consequences.
Robert refused to be baited after that, tucking his blankets around himself. Of course Cora couldn't know. She had been assuming, and Robert had been equal parts irritated and relieved at the realization. He had crossed his arms and dug deeper into the discomfort of his dressing room bed, refusing to admit that maybe, upon deeper reflection, Cora's indiscretion had in fact not been as hurtful as his own. But then he waffled, recalling how many times he had warned her of Bricker's intent. No, Robert was not ready to forgive and move on.
Or so he had not been last night, but now, Mary saddling up to ride in the point-to-point, Cora looking so desperately unhappy, Robert's steadfast anger began to wither. Perhaps he was the cruel one. That wretched man's words came back to him, a haunting refrain that would whisper through his memory every now and then…you can't be surprised. When you chose to ignore a woman like Cora, you must have known not every man would be as blind as you. Even now the blood pulsed hotter in his veins just thinking of the gall of that...man. Those words had been more startling than the crush of his knuckles across Bricker's cheekbone.
Cora had not been ignored a day in their life together. He may have been awkwardly ill-equipped at being with her in the beginning, but ignored she never was. Was she?
Lifting his tea, Robert concentrated on the amber liquid before taking a long sip, thinking. Had he been ignoring her? The many tedious tasks of his day unfurled from his memory like a dusty scroll found in the attic. There was the Pimm's Corner question taking up most of his recent conversations, the Della Francesca, the fire and the clean up. Life had kept him busy, its business made him preoccupied, but so much so that Cora felt disregarded? Had she told that man this?
Venturing a look up at her again, any residual irritation unclenched his heart, leaving it bruised and achy. Cora was speaking to Isobel, looking up at her from her seated position, the spark gone from her dull and tired eyes. It took all of Robert's willpower not to reach across the table and clasp her hand.
Tonight, Robert thought, tonight I will make it right.