Alright so, there's not a lot in terms of plot progression in this update. But I just needed to get something down to give me the forward momentum to keep going with this story. I appreciate everyone's words of encouragement thus far, it really does mean a lot! And I do plan on finishing this (and my other DA fics), life is just crazy hectic at present and this story is kind of emotionally taxing to write. Anyway, enough of my rambles...enjoy & if you have any questions, comments (both positive and/or constructive), I always love to hear them! xoxo, Lynnie
Their shoulders bumped intermittently as they crammed together in the back of the motorcar that was rattling onward to Levinson Manor. Robert's knees braced against the back seat, trying to still the jarring motion of his body that clumsily knocked into his wife's. He sunk down a bit in his seat, his shoulders rounding. This act in itself, caught Cora's eye.
She quirked a questioning brow at him, but the slight curve to her lips told him she was more amused with his odd behavior than annoyed.
A surge of relief coursed through him, and he flashed a momentary smile before lowering his gaze. "Sorry," He murmured before the driver took a sharp turn, and Robert's arm reached out to brace himself from crushing Cora against the door. "For goodness sake, be careful man!" Robert shouted, knocking on the glass once things had settled.
The driver waved and nodded at him, muttering something incoherently from behind the partition that separated them.
Robert's brow knit together and he frowned, shooting a look at Cora, he wondered, "What did he say?"
She shrugged and answered uncertainly, "Something about the conditions being rough."
"Well I suppose that's one way of looking at it," Robert remarked wryly, tilting his head from one side to the other. "But the conditions aren't the only thing that's rough about this ride."
A ghost of a smile floated across her lips, and she placed a gloved hand atop his thigh before casting a glance outside her window.
Robert's heart fluttered a bit from the contact, and his hand covered hers, their fingers instinctively curling around one another's. He left her to her thoughts, not wanting to disturb the momentary peace they found between them since that night on the ship.
She apologized profusely for being so harsh, clinging tightly to him, her tears dampening the front of his grey suit. And he likewise sought her forgiveness for the words he bitterly regretted, stroking her windswept hair and pressing soft kisses among the dark tresses.
Like always, they found their way passed the troubles that separated them, and back to one another. For no spat, no matter how dreadful-no circumstance, no matter how dark-could extinguish the burning glow of the love that still beat fiercely in their hearts for one another. And although the fire had grown dim over the course of some troubling years, they always came up with a way to fan the flames so they shone even brighter than before.
This wasn't quite as dire as one of those times. But as Robert learned with the Bricker business, just as Cora had with Jane, when neglected, the fire could be more easily put out than whenever it was tended to. And they both silently vowed to leave it unattended again.
His thumb lightly caressed the back of her gloved hand. He was grateful things were, at the very least, good between them. As for anything else, he couldn't be certain, nor could she. But Cora's grip pulsated in mute response to his wordless gesture, making him believe that she was glad they were once more at peace as well. And for now, that meant everything.
Robert eyed the snow covered roads that stretched out before them, seeing the wheel slip through the driver's hands far more easily than he would have liked. So he decided to focus his attention on the scenery that jostled passed them.
The brown stone faced buildings looked more grey among the cloudy, snow filled skies where thick flakes of white showered down on those hustling in and out of shops that lined both sides of the street. The shops were dressed in their yuletide finery as electric lights brightened up shop windows, where carefully crafted displays called attention to those passing by.
Women in smart wool coats with fur trimmed collars and muffs, linked arms with handsome men in tall hats. Children ambled ahead of their parents, not bothering to heed their warning calls of, Be careful! or Watch out for the cars! However, the youngster's desire to press their mitten covered hands and pink noises against frosted windows where the toys were displayed overpowered any cries for safety.
And even though the shop faces had changed (or so, he thought from his limited memory of Newport), and the tall iron lamp posts that were once powered by gas now gave off the brilliant glare created by electric current, he was comforted in knowing that the same spirited children remained with their worried parents trailing languidly behind them.
It reminded him of times gone by. Of the last time they had brought the girls to Newport for the holidays. And he smiled, allowing his gaze to pull away from the present for just a moment.
"I thought you'd be too old for hot cocoa," He teased lightly as his eldest daughter took a long sip from the steaming cup pressed between her kidskin gloves.
"Well if you aren't, than I can't be," She retorted in like, the edges of her mouth curling into a slight smile. "Besides," Mary took the front edges of her wool coat, pulling them closer together, "It's freezing here. How else am I to keep warm?"
"Ask that McKinney boy from the other night," Sybil suddenly appeared behind her, her eyes shimmering with mischief, "I'm sure he'd be able to give you some advice on the matter."
"Sybil!" Mary hissed, her cheeks instantly flushing as she pawed in her youngest sister's general direction.
But Sybil, just turned fourteen, darted swiftly away, giggling in delight at being privileged to know such intimate information.
"What did she mean by that?" Robert wondered, scrunching his brow. He had to ask, but he wasn't sure he wanted to know.
"Oh nothing," Mary rolled her eyes, flipping an indifferent hand.
She strode away from the street vendor with his steaming tureens of hot cocoa, and towards her sisters who were clustered on either side of their mother. Edith's nose was buried in a book she couldn't put down for a second, not even for an afternoon stroll in the village. And Sybil held onto Cora's hands, jabbering and giggling as she usually did, Cora indulging her every whim by hanging onto each word.
He moved to following Mary, rejoining the group. His shoes crunched beneath the white layer of snow that blanketed the sidewalk. He felt the bitter sting of winter at the tips of his ears and nose, and took another sip of hot cocoa.
"Shall we start back?" He looked at Cora, who in turn, focused her attention on him. "I'm sure we've given your Mother sufficient time for her last minute gift wrapping," He decided, wanting nothing more than to get out of the cold.
"Very well," Cora agreed with a slight smile.
And they were off. Mary leading the pack, Sybil trailing after her, pestering her every now and then with remarks that were only carried to Robert's ears when the wind mercilessly shrieked. And Edith was somewhere in between them and her sisters, not really paying attention to her immediate surroundings, but rather immersed in some faraway place that was no doubt warmer and more inviting than Newport in the heart of December.
And then there was Cora's arm, looped tightly through his, her cheek pressing into the side of his shoulder as she shivered against the cold. He rubbed his free hand along her arm, trying to create some friction. A poor attempt indeed at keeping her warm, but it wasn't a gesture that went unnoticed.
She leaned away, took a final sip from his cup of cocoa that she procured somewhere along the way before tossing it in a nearby wastebasket.
"Thank you, darling." She smiled appreciatively at him before re affixing her gaze back on the girls, still trailing ahead of them.
"It's not much, but hopefully it's enough to keep you warm," He returned with a slight shrug. "At least, until we can get you in front of the fire," He offered with an inviting curve to his lips, and she merely rolled her eyes at him giggled softly.
"I think we'll all be in front of the fire, else someone's bound to get pneumonia as an early Christmas gift."
He chuckled a bit at her smart remark.
There was a pause in which all they could hear was the crunching of boots and the occasional clips of conversation while people passed them by. And then that name again, flying on the wings of the bitter wind in Sybil's singsong voice: Thomas McKinney!
And now, he felt the need to know. It wasn't nothing Sybil was talking about earlier. It was in fact something. This McKinney boy was in fact, something, something to his Mary. And he needed to know what that something was precisely.
He broke through the pause in conversation with his wife, "Cora?"
"Hm?" She turned her face up to find his.
The question tumbled out of his mouth without any real warning, "Who is that McKinney boy Sybil keeps mentioning?"
She smiled, lowering her eyes and then allowed a breath of amusement to pass her lips. "Just one of the young men whom Mary danced with at the Roanoke's party on Wednesday."
"Well I assumed as much but..."
Her head snapped up and she probed, "But what, darling?"
"Is that all he is?" Robert chanced a glance in her direction, lifting a brow as if to question the depth of her response.
"As far as I know," She shrugged. And then her face pinched out of uncertainty, and she went on curiously, "Why do you ask?"
"Oh..." He bristled a bit, not expecting her to wonder on the subject for far too long. Shrugging, he offered half heartedly, "No real reason,"
"Of course not." She endeavored to keep her tone light, but it was the glint of a knowing smile that sparkled in her eyes, giving her innocence away. Cora must have noticed he realized this, for she merely smirked, nudged him in the side, "Don't worry Robert, she's still keen on marrying Patrick."
He blinked back at her, "She's keen on the idea now?" Up until that point, Mary had accepted the idea, but no talk of her liking her intended ever reached his eyes.
"Well..." Cora looked ahead, amending in a neutral tone, "as keen as she can be with such an arrangement."
"He's not a terrible lad," Robert offered up a bit more defensively than usual.
He followed her eyes down the path, watching his daughter's weave in between other pedestrians braving the cold weather that afternoon.
They were still ignorant to the hard truths of their position in this world. They could still be carefree and laugh and, heaven help him, feel love for a boy. However, when he looked at Mary, he knew it would all be over soon. Her idealistic world would come crashing down upon realizing the full extent of her marriage to Patrick. And a part of him felt a pang of guilt at this thought.
So he cast his eyes to Cora, seeking some semblance of reassurance that he was making the right choice for them all, and not just for the sake of his duty to Downton. "James might be a bit...but Patrick's not...terrible...is he?"
"No," Cora's gaze flickered up to find his. "Patrick's not terrible. He's rather sweet, I think," The corners of her mouth flickered up at the ends.
He nodded, lowering his attention back down to the snow covered path, "I wonder... do you think she'll be happy?"
"I daresay she is happy, Robert. We'll get to keep Downton in the family. And she loves it just as much as you do."
Inclining his head again, they pressed onward against the cold with the promise of warmth not too faraway.
The sharp intake of breath from his left, brought him back. He glanced over at his wife, feeling his knuckles crunch beneath her tightening grip.
"Cora?" He broached cautiously, his nerves on edge from the tension that suddenly seized her and transferred into him. "What is it?"
"It looks so different," She breathed softly, swallowing back some emotion he couldn't quite understand, but one he would certainly try to.
"So different than I recall," She spoke again, her voice sounding as though it were miles and miles away from here.
And perhaps, in some way, she was. Just as he had been sheer seconds ago.
Had it been a whole year? Really, that long? She thought to herself as she took in the sight of Levinson Manor.
The generally pristinely white exterior, trimmed in a cheerful canary yellow looked almost stony grey to her now. The expertly manicured shrubbery and bright flowers were buried under drifts of snowy white. The trees once full of blossoms were bare.
It looked severe, and almost haunting. And it was the shock of it all, the contrast of what it last looked to her, that rattled her quite unexpectedly.
The last time she came things were in bloom. The windows were open and the sound of her mother's drawl as she ordered her staff about could be heard as Cora's shoes clipped against the cement drive.
However now, everything was still. The windows were tightly shut and frosted over with ice, and the curtains half drawn on the first floor drawing room.
Mother never kept those curtains drawn.
"Keep those open, Maggie," Martha barked from the settee in the front sitting room. "If I can't enjoy the first day of spring outside, at least let me see the sun."
Cora smiled over at the housemaid politely before sinking down in the adjacent armchair decorated with embroidered oriental print. She kept her hands neatly folded in her lap, grateful for the comfort the seat provided her aching legs from the long journey across.
"Really Cora," Martha let out a tired sigh once the maid left them alone in the room, "it was entirely unnecessary for you to come all this way over a sprained ankle." She shifted beneath the blankets, her one leg propped up on a pile of pillows jostling a bit from the motion. She winced, and Cora instinctively leaned forward, but Martha raised a halting hand and grumbled, "It's not as though I am dying."
Suppressing the urge to roll her eyes at this, Cora shifted back in the chair, remarking lightly, "I didn't come just because of your ankle, Mother."
Martha's brown eyes flickered upward, questioningly.
"I came to see you," Cora persisted, her mouth curving into a smile that only felt half convincing until she added, "It's been so long."
"Yes well, you didn't have to drop everything and come just for me." Her mother droned on, crossing her arms in front of her. She cast her gaze to the nearby window and decided wistfully, "You have enough going on in that house of yours."
"Hardly," Cora assured with a slight snort.
"What?" Martha's head snapped round, her eyes widening as she sat up as straight as she could given her lounging position. "No charity events to sponsor? No patrons to bat your eyelashes at and charm while Robert whisks them away to talk business? No grandchildren to dote...?"
"Well, what I meant was..." Cora interjected with a strained smile, "...things have quieted down recently." She paused, meeting her mother's eye before reassuring as calmly as she could given the circumstances, "So I can afford to have some time away from Downton. I can afford to visit you and Harold for a little while."
"Without Robert?" Martha arched a dubious brow. "Golly, I never thought I'd see the day the pair of you weren't joined at the hip," She taunted with a brief snicker.
At the mention of her husband, Cora felt her heart flutter and her stomach clench uncomfortably. Swallowing, she managed behind tightened lips, "Well, Robert, came here without me once too, if you recall."
"Yes, all that unpleasantness your brother found himself caught up in," Martha scoffed, flipping her hand and rolling her eyes in disdain. "Yes, but that was different." She studied her daughter for a brief moment, as if trying to discern precisely what it all meant.
Cora shifted a bit, eyes flickering off to the side to avert her mother's intense stare. Even after all these years, she still felt an uneasiness around the prodding and nagging expertise of Martha Levinson.
It was ridiculous, and her cheeks flushed at the notion. She was a grown woman with grown children and grandchildren even.
But she supposed age had nothing to do with her need to prove her mother wrong. To prove she had chosen wisely all those years ago, and not on romantic impulse. To prove her confidence in Robert was as strong as ever.
Martha could see through the cracks. And it did nothing to ease the fast pace of her heart, or to erase the heat creeping across her face.
"As far as I know, the two of you never took separate holidays."
But Cora was resolute. She didn't shift, she didn't adjust her focus. She remained as still as stone. That is, until her mother inquired with a dramatic hint of concern.
"Don't tell me there's trouble in paradise, is there?"
"No," Cora's face shot up as she offered a brusque, "there is not." She blinked and then stood, pacing slowly towards the window. "Everything is fine," She insisted plainly, forcing the words out in a fluid breath.
"Cora..." She heard Martha's disbelief, and knew without turning to look her mother was cocking her head to one side, questioning her response even further.
Pinching her temples with thumb and forefinger, Cora muttered tersely, "I did not come here to discuss this with you, Mother."
"Well you're here and I'm interested," Martha argued pointedly, "so you might as well at least give me the abridged version."
Clenching her jaw, her hands balling into fists at her sides, Cora shot a look over her shoulder, "It's improper to discuss the state of one's marriage..."
"...with other people." Martha finished the mantra for her. "But I'm not other people, Cora. I'm your mother."
Cora scoffed at this, turning her face back towards the open window. She let out another breath, her fingers slowly uncurling at her sides.
"Look," Martha exhaled heavily, as though arguing had made her weary, "my dear, I simply care for you. I care to know you are happy and well. And if your husband's done something..."
"He..." Her voice stumbled as the words caught in her throat, "...he hasn't done anything."
"Oh," She sounded surprised, almost as though she caught the significance of Cora's pause. Beginning in a more tentative tone, she probed, "So it's you whose...?"
"No," Cora's head snapped up and she looked outside. Her left hand unfurled from the fist, and she gently stroked the smooth curtains that hung in the window. "No, not exactly," She explained softly, her eyes floating outside to the pristinely manicured lawn.
She watched the water from the stone fountain bubbling up in the center of the drive, the sound of it trickling downward from the swan winged spout that occupied the tiny pool. A few birds chirped nearby, and a rustling among the soft petals of mother's prized tulips, signaled the arrival of warm breeze that carried with it a tinge of salt from the ocean.
Cora thought she heard another sound of disbelief come from behind, and she sighed a bit, the words begrudgingly filling the quiet between them.
"It was...complicated."
And she hoped her mother would leave it at that.
"Complicated?" Martha balked at the word, and Cora held her breath. "You said there was nothing to share and yet, this nothing you adamantly speak of is complicated?"
"It's fine now," She insisted plainly. "We're working through it," She turned, staring straight at her mother. As if facing her head on would make a difference. As if they could drop this subject in lieu of the one she had really come to discuss with her.
"Aha!" Martha's eyes lit up in recognition. Then she cleared her throat, dispelling any ounce of earlier glee and decided in a businesslike tone, "So...there was something."
Realizing there was no way out of this without at least the abridged version, Cora abandoned her position at the window and glided back towards the armchair.
Hands gripping the edges of the armrests, she looked at her mother and recounted in clipped tones, "Not something. Someone."
Martha's eyes widened and her mouth unceremoniously dropped in surprise.
And by witnessing her mother's slight shock, Cora insisted vehemently, her fingers clenching tightly to the floral upholstery, "But nothing happened...nothing that...nothing happened that I initiated in such a way or...nothing...it was nothing..."
"Well it must have been something," Martha half exclaimed, her face reddening at such a notion.
Even at this stage in her life, Cora felt herself on the verge of bearing witness to the sting of disappointment her mother felt in her. She went on, her voice rising defensively in spite of her best efforts to keep it even, "It was nothing improper. At least, my intentions weren't improper."
"But this man? His intentions were?" Martha rounded on her.
There was no point in disguising the truth now.
"Yes. Very much so." She lowered her gaze, feeling her cheeks burning from having to confess sins that were not quite her own. "And I feel quite foolish about the whole thing so if you wouldn't mind, can we not discuss it?"
She was grateful for the pause that then transpired between them. She took solace in the babbling fountain outside the window, of the methodical ticking of the clock. She dared to think just how grateful that this part of their conversation was over, and then...
"Did you mention the maid?"
Her heart stopped at her mother's pointed question, and a rush of heat coursed through her veins. Cora's head snapped up and she gawked, thrown a bit off kilter, "What?"
"The maid he was after all those years ago," Martha stated evenly, as though it wasn't at all a sore subject that Cora would rather forget about, let alone discuss. "Did you bring that whole thing up?"
There was no other way out of this. As much as she wanted to shout indignantly at her mother, she knew it wouldn't do any good. So she dug her nails deeper into the fine fabric of her mother's armchair, and remarked through tightly pursed lips, "In a way, yes."
"Perhaps not in a very effective way," Martha remarked offhandedly.
Cora let out a guttural sound with her next words, "You don't even know..."
"Well," Martha interjected sharply, arching a questioning brow, "why else are you here and not mending fences with your husband?"
"I already told you," She returned in exasperation. "Harold and I wished to discuss something with you and..."
"You mean, Harold left you to discuss it with me while he trapezes off the coast with his latest 'sparkling diamond?''" Martha smirked, casting her suspicions back in Cora's direction.
Leaning back in the chair, Cora answered neutrally, "He assured me he would be back."
And with this, Martha let out a high pitched laugh, "Oh Cora! Why, do you kid yourself?" She scoffed and shook her head, "After all these years, your brother hasn't shown he has a responsible bone in his body...I don't know why you bother with him."
"For the same reason you do, Mother. He's all we have. We must make due."
Letting out a steady breath, she sat back in her seat as the car slowed to a stop.
She almost forgot Robert was beside her, their fingers intertwined. But then he was leaning forward, and ordering the driver to step out and give them a moment to catch their bearings from the erratic drive from town.
Her gaze found his, and she felt grounded. His eyes were widened, questioning, and full of concern. His lips parted in the slightest bit, and she could tell from his unwavering focus that he was wrestling with whether or not to ask about her well being.
"I suppose we're here," She exhaled heavily, her heart hammering from the anticipation of it all.
"Yes," He replied slowly, looking to her with slightly narrowed eyes. "Shall we...shall we tell them we've arrived?" He wondered hesitantly, and she felt a tinge of guilt for being the cause of his uncertainty.
Closing her eyes, she inhaled, and then looked down between them. She wordlessly nodded, but didn't move. Neither did he. For a few seconds all that could be heard was her jagged breathing as she tried not to give into the frantic pacing of her heart.
"Cora?"
She squeezed her eyes more tightly shut, her hand pulsing around his once more. It was the softness in his voice. His strong, reassuring presence that accompanied the gentleness in his tone. It had the power to disarm her. It had the power to coerce her feelings that she kept buried deep down to the surface.
Right now she wanted nothing more than to lean into him. Lean into his warm body, feel his arms, heavy around her, and weep in the front of his coat.
But she couldn't do that. Inhaling another restorative breath, she reigned in her feelings.
"Let us...let us tell them then," She managed, shifting away from him in her seat to push open the door.
The cold air took her breath away, and as she drew nearer to the front stoop, and she felt a chill run down her spine. The place that was once her home might have stood before her, but she felt as though she were miles away from it.