29th December 1899

My Darling Robert,

It is a ridiculous time in the morning here. I know I wrote you but two days ago and I know I should be asleep but I simply cannot. Instead I find myself creeping around the house writing letters. Downton is currently silent in only the way Downton can be, creaking and groaning. No doubt the maids will be up in a few hours to prepare the fires but for now I believe I am the only one awake. It is raining here. I lay for a long while listening to the sound of the rain before deciding on sneaking out to the sitting room to write you. It's at night when I find myself missing you the most. I'm hoping that in writing this I will feel somehow closer to you.

I'm sorry darling, I know until now I tried to only write positively to you. I hope the letters from myself and the girls have kept you in high spirits especially over Christmas. No doubt you are missing us as equally as we are missing you. I know it has only been a few weeks since you left but tonight I'm finding hard to put a brave face on things. Tomorrow morning I will be fine but at this present moment in time I need you to know how much I'm missing you. Sometimes I wake up in the night and for a brief moment I forget you're not beside me. In many ways it's like when we first got married. The loneliness. Wanting to be near you but being unable to reach out. This time an ocean stands between us rather than a door. Back then we were young and foolish. We didn't tell each other how we felt. I made you aware of how I felt the night before you left and made you a promise. I'm afraid this letter goes against that promise but I hope you will forgive me this moment of weakness.

Robert I'm scared. News has come back of all the lives lost the other week. They're calling upon more men to go and join the cause and I can't help but think how much longer will it be until I see you again? If at all. I'm sorry. I'm just worried. The main difference between that first year of marriage and now is that no matter how lonely I feel or how much I want to be with you and can't be, I know that you love me. I guess I just need to make sure that you know I love you too, from the bottom of my heart. With every fibre of my being.

Please stay safe.

My love always,

Cora.


"My lady?" Mrs Jenkins shook Cora gently by the shoulder. She wouldn't usually be in the sitting room at 4am. She'd been called by one of the maids after they'd spotted the lady of the house slumped over the desk in the corner of the room, snoring gently, as they went to set the fire. The maid, a fairly new addition to the house, had been unsure as to what to do in the bizarre situation and thought the housekeeper best deal with it seeing as Lady Grantham's lady's maid would not yet be awake. "My lady?"

Cora stirred from her sleep, groggily sitting up, looking just as confused by finding herself in the sitting room as Mrs Jenkins and the maid had been. "Sorry to wake you, it's just-"

Cora looked down at the page on the desk where her head had been. "I must have fallen asleep," she mumbled more to herself rather than anyone else in the room.

Little comments had flitted around downstairs about her ladyship's ability to sleep lately. All made in passing, things like the lady's maid mentioning Cora looking especially tired some mornings or cook complaining about breakfast being delayed because her ladyship still wasn't up. Small comments which on their own passed without a second thought but when considered together painted a picture of a bigger problem.

On the surface Cora seemed fine. She had taken life with a husband at war in her stride. She'd thrown herself into representing Downton with Robert away and spent every spare moment with her children. To the trained eye however, there always seemed to be something not quite right with Cora. She was definitely missing her husband more than she was letting on. She couldn't contain it forever. Being unable to sleep properly seemed to be how the upset was manifesting.

"I didn't know whether to wake you but you looked so uncomfortable I thought you might want to go up to your own bed and had a more comfortable rest."

The extreme tiredness Cora felt caused her to process what was being said to her a lot slower than usual. Mrs Jenkins wanted to turn to her and tell her to go to bed like you would instruct a child who had reached the state of tired, grogginess Cora was in, but that would be improper. All she could do is wait until the suggestion of going up to her own bed sunk in to Lady Grantham's head.

With a look of sudden clarity Cora rose to her feet, seemingly making a decision, "Yes of course. Sorry I'll go up now," and shuffled out the room.