Robert blinked open his eyes a while later, yawning and frowning. As he attempted to shake away the cobwebs of sleep, one phrase kept circling around his mind: True love's kiss always wakes the princess.
After a moment, he recognized that the phrase was voiced by his father. And he remembered afternoons spent in his and Rosamund's nursery when they were children. Violet did not indulge in fairy tales, and she rarely visited their nursery, but Patrick made it a regular habit. Rosamund would beg him to read to her from her fairy tale books, and, although Robert always protested, he grudgingly listened to them too, secretly impressed by their papa's storytelling skills. His sister would sit there, enraptured, and always asked the same question at the end of a story.
"Why is it a kiss that wakes Snow White and Sleeping Beauty and transforms the Beast back to a Prince?" she inquired.
Patrick bent down close to his daughter and smiled. "Because love – the true kind – is the most powerful magic there is. It changes things, wakes them up. It makes people see past everything else – the Beast isn't transformed; her way of seeing him is. And love is symbolized by a kiss." Here he would kiss her forehead. "True love's kiss always wakes the princess."
Robert held his head in his hand. "No, not always," he mumbled to himself. Not that he'd ever really believed in fairy tales.
Unfolding his body, he stood, realizing it was nearly time for the dressing gong. He wondered if Cora would feel like coming down to dinner. He turned and raised his hand to open the door, not wanting to wake her if she slept, but he paused, staring at the panel. Clenching his hand into a fist, he closed his eyes and rapped his knuckles upon the door.
The last thing he expected was for her to come to the door. She stood there in front of him, her body rigid and her chin raised defiantly, as if challenging him to try to touch her again. "Yes?"
No light shone from her eyes, and Robert's heart gave a painful lurch. "I simply wondered, Miss Levinson," he said, trying to do as she requested, "if you were going down for dinner tonight." He knew he looked frightful with his hair disheveled and his suit wrinkled, and hated that he even thought about that when it was her – his Cora – standing over the threshold from him, but he recognized he was a stranger to her and that she might care.
She crossed her arms in front of her chest, her face still set stubbornly. "I'm supposed to be resting in my room, Mr. Crawley. At least, that is what the doctor told me."
"Please, I wish you would call me Robert." He knew his visage must be as pathetic as he felt.
Cora's blue eyes flashed. "I won't. I may be American, but I do know proper manners."
Robert drew himself up straighter, endeavoring to appear indifferent. Fine, he thought. If that's how she wants it, that's how it will be. "It's Lord Downton, actually, then 'my lord.' You are properly Lady Downton, but I won't insist upon calling you that since you don't remember." The dressing gong sounded. "I will be going down to dinner tonight, as I haven't had a full meal since our accident, and I don't think you appreciate my company right now. I'll make sure Banks brings a tray to you, as you haven't had a meal in as long. I'll bid you goodnight, Miss Levinson."
Her face contorted with bafflement at the sudden alteration in his attitude toward her. "Goodnight, Lord Downton," she said with a slight nod before quietly closing the door.
Exhaling deeply, Robert did his best to compose himself before Masterman would show to dress him for dinner. He did not feel like going to dinner, but he could not stay here either. Not like this.
Patrick smiled wearily at his son when he entered the library. Getting out of his chair, he came over to clap Robert on the back. "It's nice to have you join us, son. Scotch?"
"Yes, please, Papa." He passed his hand over his forehead as his father went to pour it.
"Your mother will be along in a bit. She had a new dress arrive today that she ordered weeks ago, and she couldn't wait to wear it. So, of course, Kendrick is going to have a time learning exactly how Violet wants it arranged." He handed Robert the drink.
Robert nodded vaguely, downing half the drink in one gulp.
"Robert?" Patrick asked hesitantly. "Do you – I mean, one of your bruises – the one on your left cheek? I don't remember that one."
Draining the rest of the glass, Robert raised his eyebrows and looked at his father. "That's because it wasn't there until a few hours ago. Cora struck me," he said matter-of-factly.
Patrick opened and closed his mouth several times before sputtering, "Why would she do that?"
Walking over to the drinks cabinet, Robert poured himself a second Scotch and countered with a question of his own. "What did the doctor tell you when he came downstairs, Papa?" He took another drink, staring at the wall over the cabinet.
"Well, that she had wakened and seemed on the road to recovery. Apart from a little memory loss."
Robert turned, tapping the edge of the glass with his forefinger, one of his brows raised. He fastened his eyes upon his father's deep brown ones, which were now all concern. "Yes. Her memory loss is me. Our life here together. She remembers nothing of the past two and a half years, nothing of England or Downton or us. Of me. I knew this, and I tried to kiss her, and she, very rightly, slapped me."
"Oh, son, no." Patrick sighed. "What's to be done?"
Shrugging, Robert nursed his drink, his eyes lowering to the amber liquid. "I don't know. The doctor is supposed to return sometime this evening to tell me what he finds out. The condition isn't very familiar to him."
Patrick finished his Scotch and put the glass on the table beside him. "Are you alright, Robert?" he inquired in a low voice.
"No. No, I'm not alright." He had a large swallow of the alcohol and then continued to peer into the glass, avoiding his father's eyes. He knew if he saw his papa's sympathy, it would be too much and he would break down in the middle of the library. "I thought that if she woke up, everything would be fine." He shook his head. "Nothing is fine. Instead, everything is wrong."
"Robert, the doctor may have good news. Don't despair yet."
He understood his papa's motives, but Robert couldn't help his frustration. His eyes snapped up. "Papa, Cora struck me!" he snarled. "My own wife, the woman I love more than life itself. I kissed her, and she struck me! She doesn't know me! How am I supposed to keep from despair?" He panted with anger and with the effort of keeping back tears.
Patrick's eyes softened. He recognized his son's pain and remained silent.
Throwing back the rest of his whiskey, Robert set the glass down on the cabinet and drew his hand over his eyes, wiping the moisture away as best he could. "Perhaps it was a bad idea to come down to dinner," he said in a much calmer voice.
"No, I think it was good. Son, I can take your exasperation, and perhaps it needs to be expressed. Now, you may want to withhold it from your mother…." He raised an eyebrow.
Robert nodded seriously. "Yes, I know."
"You know to withhold what, Robert?" came his mother's voice from the doorway.
Patrick gave his son a small wink before approaching his wife with a smile. "Don't worry about that, darling. Don't you look beautiful tonight! The dress suits you perfectly." He kissed Violet's cheek, causing her to smile back.
Passing a hand over his eyes once more, Robert turned to pour another drink. His parents' happiness shouldn't have added to his misery, but it did. How he longed for Cora to sashay through the door in a new dress – or an old favorite – and look at him the way his mother looked at his father just then. He could feel his heart breaking all over again.
Dinner was a largely quiet affair. Violet and Patrick exchanged endearments in low voices, and Robert avoided their glances, applying himself to his meal, surprised to be as hungry as he'd told Cora earlier.
After Robert and Patrick shared a silent smoke - Robert a cigar and Patrick his pipe - in the dining room, Violet having gone through, the three reconvened in the drawing room, Robert requesting the footman to bring him something stronger than tea. He brought a tray with two Scotches within a few moments, Patrick's Scotch being a customary postprandial beverage in the drawing room.
Robert had gotten halfway through his drink when the butler entered the room. "The doctor is here, Lord Grantham. May I show him in?"
"Yes, yes, please, Thompson." Patrick stood, ignoring Violet's perplexed countenance and "But, Patrick!"
The doctor entered, bowing slightly to the three Crawleys. "Lord Grantham, Lady Grantham, Lord Downton, allow me to apologize for the late hour of my visit, but I did give my word to Lord Downton that I would report back today with any news on Lady Downton's condition."
Violet sputtered, "What condition? What's going on – Patrick? Robert?"
They continued to ignore her. "Please, come in and sit down, doctor. Might you have a drink?" Patrick indicated a chair.
The doctor waved a hand dismissively as he sat. "No, thank you, my lord. I simply want to report my findings."
Robert cleared his throat. "Yes, I'd like to know what you've found, doctor."
Extricating a sheaf of notes from his medical bag, the doctor straightened his tie and consulted them before raising his eyes to Robert. "From what I can ascertain, Lady Downton suffers from a form of amnesia that surrounds certain events. She cannot remember coming to England or getting married. I do not know why, but I do know that trying to force her into memories she does not have will not work. She will react negatively to any such attempts."
Unable to contain a snort, Robert had another sip of his drink, thinking of how Cora had slapped him.
"What is this?" Violet asked.
Patrick took her hand. "Violet, when Cora woke today, she didn't know Robert. She couldn't remember anything of coming to England."
Violet's eyes widened. "Nothing?"
Shaking his head, Patrick turned to the doctor. "Please continue."
"There is a good chance that Lady Downton will fully recover from this, but it may take a good deal of time. Right now, she's probably resisting her circumstances, and it may be that the best way to help her recover her memories would be to remove her to more familiar surroundings." He paused.
Robert nearly choked on his Scotch. "Do you mean take her back to America?" He stared at the doctor.
"Short of bringing her parents here –"
"But they're on their way now," Violet piped up.
"What?" Robert and Patrick rounded on her together.
Violet shrugged. "There was a telegram this morning, in response to ours about the accident and Cora's condition at the time. Mr. Levinson and that woman boarded the first ship into Liverpool. They should be here within a week and a half."
Robert, impetuously, left his Scotch on a table and went to give a one-armed hug to his mother.
"Robert! I beg you will leave off such a display this instant!" she shrieked.
He backed away, but his eyes held the first hint of sparkle they'd had in days. "But, Mama, that's such brilliant news. I can't have her going to America. She still needs rest, and if she goes, she – she might not –" Robert couldn't finish the sentence. He didn't even want to utter the words – that she might not recover her memory and want to come home to him again. The last thing he wanted was for her to leave the country.
The doctor had followed this conversation with some fascination. "Now, Lord Downton, having her parents here will help, but, I repeat, you cannot insist upon any memories that she does not have. Including yourself. I know this is difficult, my lord, but she honestly has no recollection of her life here. As such, she will be most likely afraid and distrustful. It might be different if she woke up in America, but, here…." He shrugged. "I'm sorry I cannot be more precise. All I can recommend is that you make her feel as comfortable as possible. Only under these circumstances have the patients in the case studies recovered fully."
"I understand, doctor." Robert nodded. He heaved a sad sigh. "There's nothing you can give her – a medicine or a tonic?" He grasped at anything at this point.
"No, I'm sorry, my lord," the doctor said. "She has to come back on her own."
"Is it certain that she will?" Patrick queried.
The doctor studied him a few seconds before shaking his head. "No. There is a chance she'll never remember the past two years."
Robert's head dropped onto his chest. He wasn't certain he could bear this.
"Thank you, doctor," Patrick said softly, glancing toward his son.
The man stood, preparing to depart. "Please call upon me whenever you need. But, my best advice, from what I've read, is to take her lead. If she insists upon something, even if it isn't true, believe her. Otherwise, she'll simply continue to resist the memories that lie beneath the surface. They aren't gone – at least, I don't believe they are. But they'll take a while for her to recall again."
Robert stepped forward, wringing the doctor's hand. "Thank you, truly. We'll try to abide by what you've said."
The doctor nodded and left.
Violet opened her mouth, but Patrick lifted his hand. "I beg you won't say a word, Violet, unless it is good news."
Scowling at him slightly, Violet spoke anyway. "I just want to know what is happening. Cora has amnesia?"
Robert nodded. "Yes." He couldn't seem to utter anything further.
"Well, we have to make sure the Levinsons know as soon as they get here," she said.
Patrick took her hand. "We do, but we can't let them take her away again." He glanced at his son.
"Of course not!" Violet expostulated. "But, from what the doctor said, perhaps they can take her to London. They can use Grantham House. Might that be a neutral space, if none of us are there?"
Robert's head snapped up. "Oh, Mama, that's excellent!" He took a deep breath. "Not that I want her to be away from Downton, but that's much better than going to America. And we met in London – perhaps it will help her memory." He beamed at his mother.
She glared at him. "Stop that, Robert. I am trying to do what is best for everyone – what the doctor said would be best."
"And I thank you for it, Mama." He came over and lifted her hand to kiss the back of her glove warmly.
Violet huffed. "It is no secret to either of you that I am not Cora's greatest supporter. But we could have lost you both in that accident. We didn't; however, if Cora doesn't regain her memory, we may as well have lost her." Just as Robert was marveling over this unlikely speech, his mother pursed her lips and added, "Besides, I won't hear of spending two years preparing your wife to be the Countess of Grantham only to have it go to waste. It would be extremely vexing."
Robert surprised even himself with a chuckle. "Mama, you are incorrigible."
Having instructed Thompson to inform the servants that they were to address Lady Downton as "Miss Levinson" for the foreseeable future, Robert ascended the stairs, exhausted and in a considerable state of mental turmoil. He felt as if he were in a nightmare from which he longed to wake.
He wasn't prepared to arrive at his door to the sound of his wife's raised voice. His instincts taking over, he flew through his dressing room and jerked open the dividing door with an apprehensive "Cora?"
"What are you doing?" she squawked, her eyes wide and the flush already present upon her face deepening. She stood stark naked in front of her lady's maid who held up a fresh nightdress. Cora snatched the garment from her and shielded herself with it.
Robert's mouth fell open, but no words came out. He spun around upon his heel and faced the opposite wall. "I heard you shouting, Cor– er, Miss Levinson, and I wanted to make sure you were alright." He heard the rustling of linen and cotton behind him, followed by the sliding of silk against these.
"As noble as that may be, Lord Downton, I request that next time you knock instead of bursting into my room." Her annoyed tone made him flinch.
Looking down at the floor now, he said, "I beg your pardon." He paused, then asked, "Why were you yelling?"
"Because, this person refuses to call me by the name I asked her to. She insists upon this ladyship nonsense." The swish of silk against silk accompanied the staccato of her voice, indicating that she was tying her dressing gown closed in great frustration. This operation, which Robert had seen often, when she was put out with him, might have made him smile if her words didn't weigh so heavily upon him.
He sighed and turned around slowly, not wanting to alarm her. "Banks, might I have a word?" Pointing to his dressing room door with his free hand, he followed the woman into the room, stopping briefly to say to his wife, "I'll have your maid returned to you in a few moments to dress your hair and take your tray." His eyes flickered to the tray, relieved to see that she had eaten something, if not the entire meal.
Banks stood in wait as he closed the door. She was not used to being confused by her mistress.
Robert explained to her in a low voice, "I know she summoned you before Thompson had a chance to tell you, but Lady Downton has some memory loss. In fact, she doesn't remember moving to England or marrying me." He rubbed his eyes before fixing them upon the maid again. "The doctor said she should be recovered physically with a few days of rest, but he isn't sure when – or if – she'll get her memory back." He swallowed hard, hating that he had to use the word "if." "Banks, I am counting on you to help me here. We have to make her ladyship as comfortable as possible, to keep her from being anxious or frightened. Please do as she asks and don't make her upset. If she says something strange, don't question her. And if you need any help – any at all – or think something is very strange, come to me." He remembered the immediate reason for pulling her aside. "And do call her 'Miss Levinson,' not Lady Downton, or my lady, or ladyship, or anything like that. Just until all this passes."
The maid's impassive stare remained firmly in place throughout this speech. Robert knew that one of the reasons Cora liked Banks was because the woman was virtually unflappable. "Yes, my lord. I understand."
"Thank you, Banks. You can go back to helping her get ready for bed."
After Banks left, Robert slumped down onto the small bed. He glanced around, hating that he would have to sleep in his dressing room, for there was no way Cora would let him sleep with her. He picked up a large framed photograph from his bedside table. One of their wedding portraits. It had been a happy day for them both. Despite Robert's feelings for Cora being unrealized at that time, he'd known then just as strongly as he knew now that marrying her had been the best decision he'd ever made.
He wouldn't let her go without a fight. And if it meant he had to suppress his feelings for Cora, then he would do his level best to do just that. But it wouldn't be easy. Once he'd told her he loved her over a year ago, he had never had to hold back – and had never wanted to. But now….
Setting down the frame, Robert rose, judging that enough time had passed for Banks to have finished with Cora. He tapped lightly upon the dividing door. "Miss Levinson," he called out, the name tasting sour on his tongue, "I'd like to speak to you, if you don't mind."
After a short wait, he heard her say, "Come in."
Cora sat up in bed, pillows behind her back, her dressing gown tightly closed and her arms crossed over herself, frowning. Robert kept his hand on the doorknob, endeavoring to put her more at ease. "I wanted to apologize again for walking in earlier. I should have knocked."
She appeared to think about this a minute, studying his expression. "Apology accepted."
Robert took a deep breath before continuing, "And I would like to apologize for, well, for the kiss." He didn't offer any explanation, just the apology.
Cora nodded. "I accept that one as well." Then she uncrossed her arms, placing her hands down at her lap and looking at them. "I am sorry for slapping you."
His breath caught in his throat. "No," he said softly. "You were right to slap me. I took a liberty. I – I deserved it." He bowed his head.
"If what you say is true, Lord Downton, then I do understand why." Her voice was as calm as he'd heard it since she'd woken earlier. He raised his head, meeting her cornflower blue eyes. She went on. "But I'm not sure you understand how I feel right now. It's as if I've been kidnapped and given a new name. I recognize some of my own things here – some of my clothes, jewelry, books, things that would be in my room at home." She cleared her throat, and Robert knew a lump had risen there. "But I don't recognize anyone, this place. I'm told I'm married and that I'm an ocean away from my home, my family. It's overwhelming." She cast her eyes down again. "Quite overwhelming," she whispered.
The urge to go to her, to comfort her became strong within him, but he grasped the doorknob as if for life. Struggling against his own swelling emotions, Robert said, "Yes, for you – and for me. The woman I have loved and lived with and shared everything with for two years sits across the room from me, but I am a stranger to her. I have to fight my own impulse to do what I always do when she is in distress – to take her in my arms and soothe her. I want to do that, with every fiber of my being, but I can't. And it breaks my heart." His eyes glistened with tears.
Cora lifted her head, inhaling deeply, her face streaked with her own tears. "I'm so sorry." She shook her head slowly. "I don't know what to say."
Robert released the doorknob, taking a few steps into the dressing room and picking up their wedding photo. He walked over to her bedside and offered her the frame. She took it, examining it in the light of the oil lamp, her eyes widening in disbelief. "There are probably letters, too, somewhere in here; I don't know where you keep them because you like to keep them safe with other letters, from other friends, your family. They are your sacred things, and I do not pry into things you like to have to yourself. You don't keep very much from me anyway, and everyone needs their secrets and privacy." Cora looked up at him. "The doctor said that you would probably resist things you don't remember, and I understand that. But, please, just say you won't resist too hard. I love my wife, very much, and I want her back." His face became wet with falling tears as well.
Without waiting for an answer, Robert turned and went back to the doorway. Then he remembered something. Spinning around, he noticed that her eyes had followed him. "Oh, and your parents are on their way here from Newport. They should arrive within a week and a half. They started out as soon as they got the telegram about the accident."
Cora nodded at him, her cheeks pink and shining as her tears continued to fall. She clutched the frame in her hands.
Blinking his eyes against more tears, he put his hand on the doorknob once more. "Goodnight, Miss Levinson. Sleep well." Robert closed the door silently, his heart remaining in the room behind him.
