Part 2: Tom and Cora
She couldn't find him.
Cora had gone in search of her son-in-law, heading to the one place she was sure to find him, only to hear from the night nurse that Tom had stopped by and kissed his daughter goodnight and left. That had surprised her, and left her feeling rather anxious. She knew his nightly routine had become about his baby girl. He was the one who rocked her to sleep, sang the last lullaby of the day to her, and watched over her. He was the one that slept in the spare bed, who walked the floor with her at night, only waking the nurse when it was time for a feed. No one said anything, no one commented, she and her daughters kept his secret. It wasn't acceptable, a father was meant to kiss the cheek and pat the head at the end of the day, ensure the nurse or nanny was providing proper care, then smile in farewell until the next day. But Cora was coming to accept it, even appreciate it.
The house was quiet as she continued her search for him, a heavy feeling in her stomach. Her gentle knock on the bedroom that had been made up for him the night Sybil had given birth went unanswered. He had moved in there completely.
Her head turned, glancing to the room across the hall, the room whose door had remained firmly closed. She moved slowly, her hand hesitating at the knob. Her delicate fingers wrapped around the cold metal. She hadn't been in this room since that night.
"Come on, come on breathe love, come on. Listen, it's me, my darling, all you need to do is breathe, right now."
Her hand fell away without turning. She knew he wasn't in there. It made no sense, it had no reason, but she knew, just as she knew she needed to find him, she knew that he too was not ready to cross the threshold to this room.
"Please wake up love. Please don't leave me."
It haunted her. It would forever haunt her.
Instead she turned and headed to the staircase. Every room she thought to check was dark and empty. Panic began to take root. The part of her heart she had buried and locked away since that night began to ache, demanding attention.
Urgency propelled her through the house, unmindful of her state of undress, as her dressing gown billowed about her legs. Her child needed her, and truthfully, she needed him.
"Mama…will you help me…"
The quiet plea, always so gentle and now so painful.
She wouldn't fail her, not again. Her mind raced as she pleaded wordlessly for guidance.
"Oh darling, no, oh God, no."
She felt overwhelmed as emotions battled against each other, fighting for dominance; anger, grief, frustrations, fear, pain. With each fruitless step, growing more desperate as images of that night played.
"It's a girl!" Cora beamed, "Oh my darling, you have a daughter."
Sybil collapsed back against the pillows, sweat and tears rolling together.
"A fine, healthy baby girl," Sir Philip confirmed, cutting the chord and handing the screaming baby to the nurse.
Mary and Edith huddled around the newborn, smiling and giggling, but Cora couldn't take her eyes of her own baby. As Sir Philip continued his work, Cora took her youngest's hand.
Sybil's blue eyes met her own.
"Is she alright?" her raspy voice pleaded to know.
"Of course she is," Cora cooed, knowing the worry that entered a new mother's mind. "You both did wonderfully."
Sybil could only nod, her head falling back once more, eyes closed, her breathing harsh as she fought to catch her breath after the excursion of giving birth.
Cora began wiping her child's brow and face, washing away the hours of pain, her relief so powerful she couldn't stop the tears that escaped down her own cheeks.
Mary moved to her sister, bringing a small wrapped bundle.
"Sybil," she called, her love and affection for her sibling ringing clear.
Sybil's eyes flew open, and her face lit up with the smile that Cora adored; her happy baby, always so sweet and beautiful, now happy with her own baby.
She watched as Mary gently placed the baby in Sybil's arms, watched as love, so often so hard to detect, radiated between mother and child. A shaking finger delicately caressed a pinking cheek, and Cora's breath caught as she witnessed the moment her daughter's life changed forever.
They all stood silent, wrapped in a timeless moment.
"Tom," Sybil whispered and glancing up, said, "Please, someone go find Tom."
Then, with a whispered impression, she knew. Her body froze, logic shouting down the possibility, but as a slow warmth spread through her, she couldn't deny her heart.
Turning abruptly, she headed for the door and out into the night.
Cora gave little heed to the hard press of the gravel against her feet, the thin material of her slippers offering no real protection against the harsh edges of the tiny rocks, but simply pressed on, on through the damp grass and brown mud, on through the inky darkness, on until she reached her destination.
The Countess of Grantham had very little occasion to walk this path, unbefitting of one of her station, but as she took the last few steps she realized for the first time that she was walking a path her daughter had walked countless times.
One of the large gray doors stood ajar, a low light coming from inside the garage, allowing Lady Grantham to slip in soundlessly. The smell of dust and petrol assailed her senses; the summer day's heat still trapped within the walls.
Despite the light from the single lamp on the wall, it was still difficult to see, the giant shapes of the cars were easily distinguishable, but shadows painted the corners. As Lady of the house she should feel free to go about as she pleased, however, here, it was some how different. Here she felt like she was intruding, intruding on a secret that she was never meant to be privy to.
She squinted, peering around the garage, willing her eyes to adjust quickly, her ears alert to the smallest sounds, but there was nothing.
She began to doubt, to question.
It wasn't until she moved further into the building that she saw him, half hidden in the darkness as he sat on the dirty floor, knees up, leaning against the wall. Still dressed in his shirt and trousers from dinner, but his jacket was gone, his tie hanging loosely around his neck, just as it had that night.
She carefully made her way towards him, noting how his red rimmed eyed gazed out, unseeing. He gave no indication he knew she was there. She could only assume that as he looked out it was the past he watched, playing memories, his only way to see her now.
In her expensive nightwear she knelt beside him, tentatively reaching out, resting a hand on his arm.
He didn't jump or startle, merely turned to look at her, blinking, exhausted.
"I didn't…" he started, his accent think, "I didn't know where to go."
Her brow lowered, concerned he was still truly unaware that she was there. "Tom?"
"I was tired, and I just…I didn't think, and I started to look for her," he explained in a rush, his voice breaking. "I…when I realized what I was doing, I couldn't…I couldn't stay in the house, but I didn't know where to go, so I came here."
Cora's heart began to bleed anew.
He had been too controlled, too quiet, too stoic.
He was buckling.
"She's so beautiful," Tom gushed, emotions strong as he looked upon his family. "Oh my darling, I do love you so much."
Cora watched as the new father and mother smiled at each other, he pressed a loving kiss against her skin, their fingers entwined as they held their child together for the first time.
The only time.
His resolved deserted him and his face crumpled as a sob escaped his lips.
All hesitation was lost at the sound of his tortured cry, and Cora wrapped her arms around him, bringing his head to her bosom, rocking and shushing with practiced ease.
Her own eyes filled but she refused them. It's what a mother does. She would weep alone, but for him, right now, she would be strong. It didn't matter how difficult it was, or how painful, she would not break when holding him up.
Time had no place here, and she would never know how long he cried, or how long after he fell silent they sat there, clinging to each other. It just was.
When he finally pulled away he looked up at her, loss a devastation etched on his face, but not embarrassment, for which Cora was grateful, and in that moment she knew that one day she would love him for him and not just for her daughter.
"I don't know how I'm supposed to live without her."
His sudden confession was rough and honest, rubbing raw the wound.
She had no answer for him.
His hand moved to his chest, the pain becoming physical. "How can I live when she took my heart with her? I worry…what if I can't love my daughter as I'm suppose to? What kind of life can I give her when so much of me is gone?"
Cora frowned. She understood his fear, his concern, but she knew he already loved his baby as a father should. He already cherished her as she should be cherished. He was blinded by his grief, unable to see and understand what was so obvious.
She had never been a romantic, rather more prosaic, which she knew her mother-in-law would never believe. But despite what she knew was considered her wild American upbringing, Cora had never gone much for the poetry and song. She had married a man she loved but who did not marry her. That was as romantic as her life had ever gotten. Robert grew to love her, passion, happiness and adoration coming into their marriage. Practicality had helped her survive the derisions of her English aristocratic family.
Yet she could see that was not the case with her daughter and son-in-law. They had burned bright and hot, their hands always seeking each other out. It was different from her own love, but no less important, just a challenge at times to understand, but despite that, she believed him. She believed her daughter took his heart, and she would not scoff.
"But Tom, you must let that be the best part of you," she began, her thoughts a jumbled mess, so unfamiliar to such prose leaving her lips. "You loved each other so completely, that she had your heart, but you have hers. It's the only way you two were able to survive the obstacles in your way, the only way you were able to stand up for each other. I see her in you. Parts of you are gone with her, but parts of her are here with you."
Tom's brow lowered in uncertainty.
"You already love your daughter Tom," Cora stated simply, "You love her with a mother's heart."
Tom said nothing, but she saw a fleeting moment of hope flash in his eyes.
It was something, and she wasn't going to give up.
"Now," She said, straightening, her voice a manifestation of her years as countess, "you will come with me. You will go to bed, and sleep. You're no good to anyone so exhausted."
His eyebrows went up and she could see the argument beginning.
She waved a hand, cutting off his attempts to speak, "I will stay with the baby tonight. And in the morning we can start to talk about what you want to do. I won't let you throw your life away because you feel so lost and desperate. You will stay here, with us, for as long as you need, so you can make the best decisions for your family and I will support you," she promised.
Tom sighed, "It's not that easy Lady Grantham. I don't think Lord Grantham wants that, and I don't know if I can handle much more of his disapproving stares and glares."
A moment of shame struck at her. "Cora and Robert, Tom, please call me Cora. And things will change," she swore. "I wish…well, it doesn't matter what I wish, what matters is what I do now. You are not alone here Tom."
Cora stood, her legs feeling wobbly from being crouched for so long. Tom followed dutifully suit.
"Lady…Cora," Tom called, stopping her as she turned to head back to the big house.
She looked at him expectantly.
A ghost of a sad smile played at the corners of his mouth. "I just wanted to say that I see her in you too."
"Will you help me do battle, for Tom and the baby, if the time comes?"
"Of course," Cora smiled at her child, reassuring. "Now sleep darling."
The end
Thank you so much for reading. I'm sorry if this feels very dense and heavy—not just in terms of the emotions. This is rather raw, and I just wrote until I felt done. And again it's unbeta'd.