NdA: Hello my dear Cobert friends! Here's the sequel of "Dangerous Games".
But first, a little guide (please do read n°2):
*1* Dangerous Games & 9 Steps:
For those who didn't read it or don't want to read the first story, let's say that something dark and evil came to the Abbey just to shakes things up.
We were left off with Robert and Cora fighting the demon with their family and eventually winning, with a big surprise as a reward.
Their future has the makings of a perfect, happy and peaceful life.. or not? 9 Steps' here to answer that question!
*2* How '9 Steps' is structured:
This story is divided into 9 chapter each of which has a small opening paraghraph temporally 'detachted' from the rest of the chapter itself - what those little paraghraphs are about, you're going to find out in the very final chapter, the 9th. In the meanwhile, just remember: 9 steps, 9 colours, 9 months.
Every chapter will be focused on a particular episode, during the infamous nine months, linked to a specific color; every chapter will leave equal space to the horror part & the fluff part, after all, they're Robert and Cora expecting their first child. It has to be fluffy.
*3* Last warings (I love you all):
That said, I'd like to thank from the bottom of my heart all the readers who reviewed, followed and favourited DG {witchoesed; Countess of Cobert; sinceyoufellinlovewithme; lulin; lazy-cheesecake; AllAboutTheAbbey; Aquila Lestrange; FilmFanatic32; StarGirl2242; thepuppiesinpink} I hope to find all of you here and entratain you (you, old and new ones) as best as I can!
I wish all of you a good reading and please remember I'm not English so forgive my mistakes!
If you'd like to help me, please report them in the review so I'll improve my skills! Thank you so much!
Enjoy!
One.
Cold stone beneath her feet. She couldn't feel it.
She balanced her weight, then she stopped.
The wind tossed her dark curls on her face, her nightgown got stuck to her body like a second skin, revealing her slim figure, long legs, the thin arms wide-open.
Her swollen stomach, evidence of her late pregnancy, appeared nearly odd upon the childish figure she carried.
Her eyes were closed and her lids suddenly trembled.
She was there and yet she was not. She was dreaming?
Black. All she could see: black.
⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓
Late May 1890
A couple of weeks had passed since the joyful new and now that they had been blessed, they almost forgot they'd been cursed too.
No one in the house could forget what they'd saw and at the same time no one of them spoke of the matter ever again: there was no reason why.
Slowly, everyone returned working like nothing happened, the wake-up call rang at six o'clock in the lower floors and around eight o'clock in the upper ones; like the flowers in the gardens outside, maids and valets rushed through the bright corridors and halls of the manor, spreading a gleeful feeling despite the hard work, like hundreds of persevering bees.
Robert smiled at the sight of the last maids rushing downstairs, hands full of brooms and dusters, in the latest attempt of hiding from his eyes.
"Good morning Milord."
"Good morning Carson." Robert smiled proudly, bowing a little at his mother's side, kissing her cheek. "Good morning mama, good morning papa." he walked to the other head of the table where his breakfast was served and bite a toast.
"Where's Cora?" his mother's voice was a mixture of disappointment and annoyance, tone he'd learned to know now that Violet Crawley had something to complain about without feeling guilty.
"Upstairs. She's still sleeping. Beside, mama.." he swallowed and started to drink his tea "It is a costume for the wife to have her breakfast in bed.. She told me so."
"Hear hear." Violet turned his head to her son with a shock glance. "She's turning American on you." she threatened Robert pointing her butter-knife toward him.
Robert laughed a little when he saw his father giggle.
"It's just one small tradition of hers, dear. Let it be." at the gentle scold of her husband, Violet fussed a little on her chair, then snorted to show her disapproval.
"And to be frank mama.. I want her to be happy and serene. After all we've been through." he emptied his cup and unfolded his paper. Violet faced again her son.
"You can be Frank, Charles or Roger as far as I'm concerned but I think it's quite odd. She always had breakfast with us." she looked around searching for agreement "It's not the first woman on earth to deliver a baby and she's just in her first month, already throwing tantrums here and there.. what shall she do on the months to come?"
"Mother." Robert took a deep breath before smiling, foretasting his winning "Doctor's orders to fulfil her wills. She's not asking much with having her breakfast in bed." he cut her off. Violet huffed.
"For now." she had to had the last word, even if she'd lost the argument. Of course, the first months were the most dangerous ones and the last thing she wanted was to put at risk her daughter-in-law and unborn grandchild. Yet, she felt her duty was to complain.. at least on something: was she or was she not the grandmother to be?
"Can I come in?" Robert voice was soft thorough the slim cranny of the open door. Of course he couldn't see his wife if she was still dressing, it was the rule.
"Not yet." he heard the answer. He closed the door again, putting his arms behind his back and waited patiently.
"How was your meal?" he asked, raising a little his voice to chat with her despite the wood between them.
"Very good, thanks." her voice was absent. He paused, then heard a soft thump.
"Are you all right?" he asked concerned, grasping the handle ready to intervene.
"Yes." she was giggling. Robert relaxed. "I dropped the canvas."
"Oh." he'd heard right? "The canvas?" he leaned his ear to the wood, trying to listen to the multiple soft laughs he still could hear. "Darling? What's going on?"
"Just a second."
He sighed.
A couple of minute later, Cora's maid bumped right into him.
"I beg your pardon, Milord." her wide smile died in an instant. Robert tried to peek into the room in the meantime, of course he wasn't angry with her.
"No need, O'Connor." he stepped forward "May I go in?" the maid blushed a little and nodded.
"Yes, Milord. Milady asked if you could please close your eyes before entering." she bowed a little, then rushed into the corridor and down the stairs.
Robert shook his head and smiled.
His wife surprised him with a bunch of things in the last week: she'd got the rocking horse repaired, she'd bought a small white cradle for their room, she even received with her mail several magazines filled with items for babies, strolls, toys, clothes.. Now he could only imagine what he would've found inside that room.
"What have you come up with, this time, uh?" he opened the door with one hand on his own eyes and the other tended before him not to bump into something alien. Soon enough he felt his wife's tiny hand grasp his.
"Do not peek!" oh he loved when Cora was happy. He could see her sweet smile through her words.
"I won't" he replied chuckling. She guided him cross the room and to stop him from walking she pressed he palm on his chest.
"Now. Look." his wife was standing beside a wooden easel and a white square canvas. He was truly speechless.
"..Wonderful!" He was using his fake-happy voice. Cora made a face, crossing her arms on her chest.
"Your mother wants me to do something ladylike. I can't go riding, I can't go swimming and God saves me from going to tea parties all the time.. I'm going to practise needlework, I swear, but.. ta-da!" she smiled once again.
Ah! Now he got it.
"That's a brilliant idea, my darling!" he closed the distance between them and held her tight "I'm going to hang your paintings all around the house." Robert kissed her cheek and a tiny peep escaped her lips.
"Are you sure your ancestors won't mind?" their laughters joint a second later.
"I think we should worry about mama more."
"Darling it's almost dinner time and it's getting cold. Why don't you come inside?" Robert leaned a blanket on his wife's shoulder, then he sat into the grass beside her, his back on their favourite oak's trunk.
Cora was sitting upon a small chair in front of her canvas, her hands and face soiled by paint, her fair blue eyes focused and determined. She was beautiful.
"It's almost done, darling." she replied.
Robert stayed still watching her wife painting with delicate hand. He already loved that picture: there was a great green hill, the manor on the back, a magnificent orange and pink sunset, their oak, and now she was carefully drawing two figures under the branches.
"That's us?" he teased, pointing out, almost touching the surface.
She got angry and hit his hand with the paintbrush, moving her chair so he couldn't see her masterpiece anymore. "Ouch" he whined.
"You can't touch the fresh paint, Robert." she scolded. He chuckled and stood up, kissing her cheek when he realized the paint was over.
"Voilà." she said happily. "Yes, that's us and no, you can't touch it yet." she lifted onto her toes and brushed her lips against his. "Will you help me carry it inside?" Robert nodded.
"Of course. You get inside and get ready for dinner, I'll collect all this stuff. I'll leave it in the library to let it dry." Cora smiled in agreement and headed to the manor, clasping her fingers on the blanket so she wouldn't lose it on the way home.
Robert watched Cora all night. He was fascinated by her sight, he found her more beautiful by the minute.
He smiled when he noticed her appetite had grown considerably, since the last unpleasant events, while her figure remained fairly thin; Robert observed astonished when she chatted with his father and mother, answering politely to all her question about the baby, nodding gracefully when Violet suggested this or that just to make her feel slightly uncomfortable.
Cora had learned quickly how to deal with the countess, she was becoming perfect in every way.
"So, when will the baby be born, again?" Violet spoke even before arriving into the boudoir after dinner. Since Robert never left his wife's side, all four of them migrated from the dining room to the next room behind the older Lady Grantham.
She continued asking the same question from days now and Cora has started to wonder what was the reason.
"January, mama." she replied, sitting on the couch near to her husband.
She felt almost jealous at the arriving of Carson with the beverages, serving whisky and other liquors to all the family but her: she was left up to a boring, bitter, herbal tea to help her sleep. She would have asked for a sip from Robert's glass if she wasn't afraid she would cause Violet a heart attack and, of course, if she wasn't aware that it will probably hurt her baby.
"Yes, yes." the Countess muttered between sips "Late or early?"
"Middle or late I suppose." Cora forced herself to swallow that awful swill. "The doctor said so."
"So you finally found love out of blue times." Robert almost chocked, then cleared his throat when a satisfied Violet was giving him the winning look.
"I guess we do." Robert and Cora smiled tenderly at each other. "Well.. we better go to bed." Cora nodded: she was drowsy, she couldn't deny it.
Robert rose first, heading to the library to check on Cora's painting. If it was already dried out, he would have prepared her a surprise and hang it on her room for the first thing in the morning, when she was still sleeping.
He walked silently into the room, brightening his path with his candle and he stepped closer to the painting.
He swallowed.
Nothing of that reminded him of that beautiful masterpiece his wife made that very afternoon.
That painting gave him shivers now.
The beautiful sunset sky was covered harshly with grey paint, the oak by thin brushes of black and one branch reminded him maybe too much of a shapeless hanging rope.. but what upset him most was the two figures that once represented them: he was left alone, and beside him, where there was Cora, he could see a horrid breach on the canvas, like the colour was been scraped away; and another figure had appeared, awfully similar to the one Cora had drawn, on the top of the hill, long curls tossed by the wind, her arms wide open. It was almost like she was going to jump off..
"Robert?" his wife's thin voice made him startle. He hurried to put himself before the painting but he knew from her eyes it was too late.
"Wh-why did you change it? When-" he mumbled: yes, when? She had stayed to his side all the time.
"Robert, what happened to my painting?" her eyes was full of scare as they were full of tear. Robert closed the distance between them and buried her into his arms.
"I'm sorry darling.. I-I don't know-" he cooed, trying to calm her down.
"I do not like it anymore.." she stated to sob. Yes, that painting gave the creeps now.
Still, he couldn't give her a reasonable motivation.
"Don't worry, darling. Tomorrow you'll paint another one just as beautiful.. even more." Cora's eyes were fixed on her figure. Her sight was blurred due to her tears but she could swear her character turned her head, like she was facing her. That woman's face was completely black.
She let herself fall down, vanishing behind the hill's edge: she had jumped off.
Cora screamed into Robert's shoulder.
He held her close to him, blew on the candles and scooped her in his arms to carry her away from the library.
Robert rouse in the middle of the night. He'd heard some noises he couldn't recognise.
He strove to light up a candle and rubbed his eyes to cast away his sleep.
The first thing he checked was his wife: she was sleeping peacefully next to him, showing her back, her breath was calm and steady.
He sighed briefly, then moved the trembling light toward the room.
Nothing was misplaced from the door, the wardrobe, the settee and the table.. until the window.
The wooden tripod wasn't empty as it should have been.
He swallowed hard, jumping off the bed to step closer. It was the same ruined canvas that he left in the library and, once again, it had been changed.
This time, a rough splat of black covered it completely, the painting still hitting the carpet in slow drops of dark liquid.
It was just when he turned to Cora that he noticed her sleepy and smiling face soiled in black paint, the sheets ruined and the paintbrush loosen held in her hand tripping on the floor.