Cora stared down into her mother's carry-on, wide-eyed. "Mother! What on earth are you doing with all these in your hand-luggage?"
Shrugging, Martha simply continued to hang her clothes in the closet of one of Downton's most comfortable guest rooms. "I couldn't trust the airline not to lose my suitcases. Clothes I can easily replace – and who wouldn't want an excuse for a shopping spree in London? But those…." She shook her head.
Her daughter lifted one of the slender purple boxes out of the bag and began to giggle. "Why do you even have them? There must be at least five in here!"
"Gifts, Cora! It's Christmas! I couldn't be certain that you and Rosamund had a decent adult store around here." She had stopped slipping dresses onto hangers and stared at Cora as if this should be obvious.
Unable to stop giggling, Cora dropped the box back into the carry-on. "Mother, there are adult stores in England. But, I would have paid good money to see the TSA agent who scanned your bag."
Martha beckoned her over to help her unpack her suitcases and laughed. "It's better than that. He insisted on opening it. You'd have thought he'd never seen a vibrator before in his life." She rolled her eyes and opened a bureau drawer, transferring nightgowns into it. "I had to give him my card to get him to let me go. I think his eyebrows might be permanently stuck half-way up his forehead now. He'll be able to get a job as a Muppet. Of course, your father was highly amused by the whole incident. He is just lucky that they didn't open his carry-on."
"Why?" Cora paused in unfolding a silk blouse, not sure she actually wanted to know the answer.
"He had the sex books in his."
Cora groaned dramatically. "Bloody hell, Mother, you two are going to completely mortify me in front of Robert's family, aren't you?"
Martha stepped closer to her daughter and took her chin between her thumb and fingers. She grinned. "Of course we are, Cora. That's what parents are for." Winking, she released Cora's chin and moved to put her toiletry bag in the bathroom. "And what's with the 'bloody hell' business?" She called from the guest bath. "Every time I talk to you, you've picked up another English phrase."
"What did you expect, Momma? I live in England. You know, surrounded by English people?"
Reappearing, Martha unzipped one of her husband's suitcases and pulled out shirts, shaking out the wrinkles. "What? Don't English people let loose with a 'fuck' now and then? You haven't said that in ages."
"Not in this house," Cora muttered. She watched her mother unpack several sweater vests and sport coats. "Daddy did bring a good suit, didn't he? Dining here is quite a lot more formal than it is at home."
"Of course he did, Cora." She rolled her eyes again. "You reminded the two of us at least ten times."
Cora sank down onto the bed next to her mother's suitcase. "I'm sorry, Momma. I've already got so many strikes against me, especially with Violet. Things are very strained between us. Even more than usual."
Dropping a pair of trousers back into the suitcase, Martha stood in front of her daughter in concern. "Cora, what's going on?"
Shaking her head, Cora put on a smile. "It's nothing. I – I don't want to talk about it."
Martha's eyebrow rose, but she didn't press her daughter for more. She would find out eventually. Instead, she went back to unpacking. "So, what was so important to Patrick and Robert that they had to drag your father out as soon as we walked in the door?"
"Papa said he was running out of pipe tobacco and wanted to take Daddy with them to the shop so he could be sure to get his favorite cigars. You know how much Robert's father has been looking forward to your visit for the holidays." Cora plucked at one of her mother's dresses and smiled. Then she stood and began putting garments away once more. "He said three years was too long between visits, and he missed his 'mate Issi'."
"Well, I always did like Patrick." Martha chuckled. "And Empress Violet? Where is she this afternoon?"
"Mother, please don't call her that. And she's most likely supervising the maid preparing the guest room for Rosamund and Marmaduke."
"You mean bullying?"
"No, I mean supervising. She's not a bully."
"She's not? She could have fooled me."
Cora sighed and fixed her eyes on her mother. "You and Daddy will be here for almost two weeks. I wish you would try to get along with Violet."
"Do you think I'll get the same consideration from her?" At her daughter's expression of entreaty, Martha huffed. "Fine. I'll try to get along with her." She patted Cora's cheek and smiled. "For you."
"Thank you, Momma." She returned the smile and closed Martha's now empty suitcase. "What else is there to unpack? Did you bring a dress bag?" Cora glanced around her.
Martha inclined her head toward the closet. "Already hanging up. But you could take the dresses out if you like. Help me figure out what to wear to dinner? I don't want to scare your brother-in-law, since he's never met us. You said they'd arrive in time to change for dinner, right?"
Nodding, Cora extricated the dress bag from where it had gotten pushed to the back of the closet. "You didn't bring all plunging necklines, did you, Momma?"
"Don't make me keep rolling my eyes at you, Cora Catherine. I know what's what."
Cora slowly hung up the selection of dresses, eyeing them carefully. "I think this one for tonight." She held up a long-sleeved, purple dress with a modest neckline.
"Understated elegance." Martha chuckled. "Yes, that's my daughter alright."
"It's appropriate. Did you bring your green dress? That would be a nice one for Christmas Eve."
"Yes. I know it's your favorite." She remembered something. "Damn it. I forgot the necklace that goes with that dress."
Smiling, Cora closed her mother's half of the closet and held out her hands for some of her father's things to hang. "I have one that will be perfect. You can borrow it."
"Now, are there any three days before Christmas English traditions or family traditions I need to know about? So I don't inadvertently step my foot in and make fun of them?" Martha handed Cora an armful of shirts and turned back to fold Isidore's underwear and place them neatly in a drawer.
Cora laughed. "No. You have nothing to worry about there. Just concentrate on not embarrassing us all with your outspoken ideas about sex at the dinner table."
Martha shrugged. "Can I help it I make a living talking with people about sex? It's difficult to turn on and off, Cora. But I'll make the attempt."
"Daddy doesn't seem to have any trouble with not making inappropriate comments at the dinner table," Cora muttered under her breath.
"I heard that."
"Don't worry, Marmaduke. We got your favorite cigars too." Robert clapped his brother-in-law on the back as he entered the drawing room before dinner.
"Well, that's a relief then." He chuckled. "They're not down yet?"
Robert shook his head and sipped at his Scotch. "They should be at any minute though. Cora wanted to give them a once over before she allowed them to join us. She's ridiculously nervous about their being here. Especially her mother."
Chuckling again, Marmaduke said, "But I've heard all about them. I'm looking forward to meeting them, actually. Should be high entertainment if you ask me."
"As long as Mama behaves."
"Oh no, Robert. I think it will be more entertaining if she doesn't." He winked.
"Marmaduke, you're trying to make our life hell, aren't you?"
"Isn't that what holidays are for?"
Just then the Levinsons entered, and Marmaduke stepped closer, waiting to be introduced to Cora's parents.
"And this is Marmaduke Painswick." Cora presented him to her parents, smiling as they shook hands. "This is Martha Levinson, my mother, and Isidore Levinson, my father."
Isidore grinned at Marmaduke. "You can call me 'Issi' if you like."
"Certainly, Issi. What are you drinking, Martha, Issi?"
"Scotch, please," Martha said. Getting a nod from Isidore to make his a Scotch as well, Martha followed Marmaduke over to the liquor cabinet. "'Marmaduke' is quite a formal name, isn't it?"
"I suppose it is." He handed her a drink and prepared Isidore's.
"Don't you have a nickname?"
Marmaduke shook his head. "Not really. Unless you count Rosamund calling me 'devil.'" He grinned and laughed.
"Do you deserve such a nickname?" Martha trailed after him as he delivered Isidore's drink.
"Oh yes. I tease her mercilessly."
Martha smiled widely at him. "I'm sure she enjoys it."
"Thus the nickname. She says it in all affection, I assure you," Marmaduke explained, picking up his own Scotch and having a sip.
"Oh, I have no doubt of that, Marmaduke." Martha held up her glass, her eyes sparkling mischievously as he clinked his glass to hers.
After a while, the butler announced dinner, and Violet led everyone into the dining room. True to her word, Martha endeavored not to say anything embarrassing or to irritate Robert's mother.
Which meant she was largely silent.
She utilized the opportunity to study her dinner companions. Despite Cora's belief that she wasn't very perceptive, Martha had finely honed discernment skills. Their practice wouldn't have made enough for their daughter to buy her place in the Crawley family if they didn't have strong powers of observation.
It didn't take very long for Martha to sense something in the room. The tension was subtle, yet palpable to her. A dynamic – in fact, multiple dynamics – had changed in the family she'd met three years before.
Violet, as before, had an imposing, formidable presence. But the way she glanced at her daughter and Cora gave Martha the impression that Violet felt herself losing some of her control. Her glances to Robert and Marmaduke, as well as the two women, seemed almost angry at times. Then, at intervals, she would glare at Patrick for no reason that Martha could work out. No immediate reason, anyway.
About halfway through the meal, Patrick glimpsed his wife's face and heaved a deep sigh, casting sympathetic looks to all the children and an apologetic one to Martha and Isidore. His demeanor struck Martha as far less jolly than it had been for Cora and Robert's wedding, even though at that time she knew he and Violet had disagreed – rather strongly – about the marriage. What could be worse?
Rosamund tended to be far quieter than her usual self, as Martha remembered her. She looked down at her plate, avoiding her mother's eye, and seemed almost depressed. Marmaduke kept looking over at her, as if making sure she was alright. Then he would redouble his efforts in the conversation, leaving Martha with the belief that he was attempting to cover Rosamund's reserve.
Even though she acknowledged that Robert had on his best behavior – to help his wife with her anxiety over her parents' visit – Martha could see through this to a layer of nerves that had nothing to do with having them as guests. She knew Robert better than the others – although not so well as she would have liked, as he was her daughter's husband – and, as she watched his interactions, with his mother especially, she suspected that something was amiss.
When she moved her attention to Cora, it became clear that her suspicions were true. Her daughter smiled in a pained manner most of the evening, even to Robert. And Cora's expressions of appreciation to her mother for behaving, when she pulled her aside as they all had drinks after dinner, were far more effusive than Martha's good conduct merited.
Something heavy weighed on Cora's mind. And if Martha knew her daughter, she recognized that she wouldn't say a word to her on the subject if she could avoid it. In fact, as Martha recalled their conversation from that afternoon, she realized that Cora had already shunted her inquiries aside once.
Somehow, Martha would have to get her daughter to talk to her.
"You were very quiet at dinner, Martha. Is something wrong? Or are you just worn out from the flight?" Isidore sat down and took off his shoes, shoving them under the bed.
"Don't put those under the bed, Issi. You and I both know you'll forget they're there, and you'll be moaning about it tomorrow night when you need them again." She bent down and snatched the shoes from under the bed and put them in the closet.
Isidore clasped her wrist as she tried to walk by him. "You didn't answer my question."
"Oh! No, nothing is wrong." She perched upon his lap and slid her arms around his neck. "At least – my quiet was because I was attempting not to mortify our daughter or annoy Empress Violet unnecessarily."
"And…?" He rested his hands on her hips, raising his brows in expectation. Isidore knew when his wife had something to say.
Martha rolled her eyes. "Every person in that room was fucking hiding something." She grinned at him. "Except us. Well, I hope not anyway. Are you?"
Isidore smirked at his wife. "Not a thing, my dear." He pressed his lips to hers.
After she deepened the kiss, Martha brought one hand around to cup his face. Breaking the kiss to catch her breath, she smiled. "Gin and cigars."
"I can go brush my teeth if it's too strong for you."
A low chuckle escaped Martha's throat. "No, it's fine." Her smile faltered a moment.
"Martha?" He slipped his hands to the small of her back, pulling her closer. "Are you sure you're alright? If you're tired –"
She shook her head emphatically. "No, it's not that. Just –" Her eyes fastened to his. "Will you do me a favor and watch Cora and Robert tomorrow? I think I see something, but I need your opinion before I say something to her."
"Of course I will." His brows drew together. "Anything in particular I should look for?"
"I don't want to direct you toward something specific. I want your professional observations, unadulterated."
Isidore's eyebrows climbed. "Professional? Or fatherly?"
"I suppose both would be useful, actually."
"You've got me worried, Martha." He shifted her a bit, as his leg had started to fall asleep.
"I don't think it's anything too troubling. I just think I'm picking up something, and I want to be sure I'm not seeing things that aren't there." Her fingers brushed over his cheek.
"Well, that's definitely prudent. You don't want to say something worrying to our daughter if there's nothing to be concerned about."
"Good. Now we've got that settled…. Where were we?" Martha ran her fingernails along the nape of his neck and grinned wickedly.
"I think we were about to go downstairs and invite everyone for a hand of poker –"
Isidore made as if to stand, and Martha punched him on the arm. "Isidore Levinson, I swear sometimes you drive me –"
His lips converging upon hers effectively silenced her. Leaning them both back upon the bed, Isidore reached one hand over to switch off the light.
A/N: The inspiration for this fic came from a tumblr anon who wrote to me saying, "So I love many things about your fan fiction, but one of my favorites is that one could group together "Open Your Eyes" and "Just Be" under the title "How the Levinsons Introduced Oral Sex to the Crawleys" or something of the sort." One idea lead to another in my brain, and voila - here we have chapter one of my modern day AU. Also, I've never done a modern day AU before, so do tell me if it's working!
