Robert folds up the newspaper he is holding in agitation and slaps it onto his lap after reading the same paragraph twice without retaining a single word. A slight rustling of movement to his right makes him tense up, not wanting to risk waking Cora with more of his movement. With Cora deep in the grips of slumber, Robert is free to examine her openly. His inspection of her lined face and tense jaw cut him, her continued upset his albatross as he grapples with what to say and do. He sighs and swipes a hand over his weary eyes, thinking about the two days of cajoling it took to get her on the train back to Downton.

The slightest whimper pulls Robert from his ruminations and he is once again focused on his wife. Her distress grows yet she remains asleep and he curses the sleeping tonic Rosamund's physician administered a few nights ago. Cora's continued reliance on it is one thing on a long list of others that make him edgy and nervous for her. He has had to rouse her from nightmares the last few nights so he doesn't hesitate now, gripping her shoulders gently and pulling her to him, stroking her arm and attempting to shield her from the sideways glances of the other train passengers. Cora wakes with a gasp and a jerk and her trembling hands grip the arm he has placed around her waist. Her labored breathing slows as her eyes take in their surroundings. She regains her composure quickly, mindful of the other people around them, and slides slightly away from Robert. The pallor of her complexion and a fine bead of sweat on her upper lip are the only remnants of her anxiety. Robert exhales loudly in frustration as Cora peers out the window, silently.

"Cora, you cannot keep doing this." Robert says quietly.

"Doing what, exactly?" The tone of her voice should be a warning to Robert to leave the subject but he will not this time. He has given her space and deferred to her wishes but now he feels it is critical to push her.

"Refusing to speak about the whole thing!" Robert's voice rises a notch. "It's been weeks!"

Cora spins on him, the intensity of her blue eyes piercing him. "Now is not the time or place, wouldn't you agree?" She hisses before turning away from him again.

Robert leans in closer to her ear. "It is never the right place though, is it? And how about the time? When will the right time be? After you've driven yourself mad with the weight of it all?"

Cora snorts. "You're one to talk Robert. When is the last time your English sensibility allowed you to speak so freely about what was in your heart and mind? About your fears?"

Robert leans away from her, wounded by the severity of her words. After a few moments of tense silence Robert cautiously reaches for her hand, which rests in her lap, balled into a fist. Cora resists at first, but then relents as he gently uncurls each finger and places her palm in his.

"You are right, of course. But I'd like to think under your influence I've gotten better through the years, at least in speaking to you if not the world at large. And I cannot help wanting to be as attentive a listener to you as you have been to me."

"Oh Robert," Cora's voice quivers as she squeezes his hand.

Robert presses his lips above her ear and continues. "When I came home from the war, you knew just how to gently coax all of the horrors I had seen out of me. It was a weight you took off of me, to speak of the nightmares to someone who had my best interest in their heart."

Taking a steadying breath, Cora closes her eyes, sinking deeper into the comfort of Robert's arms. "They are mostly the same, really. I'm back on that train and Mother and Harold are sitting there, in the middle of drinking and talking when it happens. I can see it coming but I don't comprehend it….the impact. And then there are the smells and the sounds of people dying and metal twisting and there is pain and its like I am trapped in that moment again it's so real I cannot escape it and I am sure that I'll die on that train but somehow I don't."

Cora's voice fades off and she looks out the window again at the passing landscape, not really seeing the fields or the quaint farmhouses as they pass.

"Recently I've been dreaming that I wake up after the accident and I find Mother and I am kneeling over her and she's dying but she wants to say something to me. She says she needs to tell me something but I always wake before she does and I try so hard to stay there to hear it but the words never come. I cannot remember after the crash Robert. I don't know if what I'm dreaming is true. What if she confessed the whole story in the moments before she died?"

Robert tightens his hold on her when the first of her quiet tears falls on the sleeve of his jacket.


Mary sits across from her grandmother, Edith and Tom, barely moving in the silence that descends after she says her piece. Tom's expression is blank but the affection he has clearly developed for her mother and his own upbringing would dictate that the news has the least impact on him. Edith squirms uncomfortably, pursing and then relaxing her lips, reminding Mary of a fish and she feels herself wanting to slap her sister. Her grandmother, of course, has an unreadable expression and this is the one that worries Mary. She had told Robert that she would travel ahead of them to explain the situation to the family, and she is glad that she did. Hopefully the initial shock dissipates long before her mother gets back.

"Granny…" Mary warns, "I know there is a comment or two lurking in that mind of yours. I think it will do everyone well for you to dispense with them now and get it out of your system before Mama and Papa arrive."

Violet pulls her shoulders back and raises her eyebrows in innocence. "Mary, I haven't the faintest idea what you are talking about. This family fell into dissolution long ago. I'm no longer surprised by what I hear nor have I anything to say."

Mary sighs heavily and shakes her head and mutters, "I find that hard to believe."

Edith shifts in her seat once again, "I don't think you are being fair Mary. Granny isn't as harsh as all of that." Her own precarious situation and the secret the old woman has kept for her front in her mind.

"Thank you Edith." Violet says triumphantly, patting her granddaughter's hand before leveling her gaze at Mary. "Even I can see that this is not your mother's doing. She's an innocent bystander in this convoluted story. However, THAT woman…"

"Granny!" Mary interrupts harshly.

"What? She isn't really your grandmother now is she so you've no need to defend her." Violet waves her hand dismissively. "I can't help but think she is laughing in her grave at the moment. She lied to us thirty years ago and then perpetuated it all this time. For as large as your mother's dowry was and as charming as she may have been, your father never would have married her if the truth had been known to us all back then! That's all I have to say."

"Well, I knew as soon as I stepped through the door that I was so glad to be back home."

The entire group startles at the sound of Cora's voice at the door of the library. Edith's eyes bulge and Tom looks away quickly. Mary swallows down the slight wave of nausea that bubbles in her stomach. She knows by the shine in her mother's eyes and the way her father's face turns a vicious red punctuated by a pulsing vein in the middle of his forehead that they've heard.

"I think I'll retire. Please excuse me." Cora whispers to no one in particular, leaving the others to avoid Robert's enraged eyes. He gives himself a few moments to get his emotions in check and to make sure Cora is no longer within earshot before turning to his mother.

"Are you quite happy with yourself?" Robert asks in a dead calm voice.

Violet turns to her son finally and although her eyes are downcast she sits straighter than an arrow. "Robert, how was I to know you had arrived? I would have never said anything to her."

"But you felt the need to vocalize something so hurtful behind her back! To her daughters no less!" Flabbergasted, Robert tosses his hands in the air before stomping out of the room and following after his wife.


Cora sits on the bed, waiting. She knows Robert will come up to check on her. The ache in her throat never progresses beyond a dull clench; she's too tired of her own tears to shed anymore. Pushing herself up, she goes to the window, staring out at nothing in particular but even this sets her on edge. She looks around the room, feeling claustrophobic suddenly by all of the things crowded into its space; most of the knick knacks are not even hers, inherited burdens that have been there since her first days at Downton. Cora has the dueling impulses of either crawling under her covers to hide from them or smashing every last vase. Her fingers tingle with the urge and she unthinkingly grabs the closest thing to her, some Faberge egg she's always despised, and lifts it slightly before slamming it back down. The sound of its delicate material shattering lifts her mood, swells her chest with a momentary power. It only takes a few moments before the pain registers and she looks down to see a shard of crystal sticking out of her palm. She winces as she pulls it free, just as Robert walks into the room. Putting her hands behind her back, she carefully steps in front of the table containing the remains of the destroyed decoration.

Robert is momentarily confused at finding Cora just standing in the middle of the room, however it's better than what he imagined he'd walk into. They stare at each other for a few beats, trying to read the thoughts of the other. Robert is unable to gauge her mood by the neutral expression she has forced on her face. He sighs heavily.

"Cora, I am sorry-"

"Robert," Cora cuts him off and shakes her head. "Don't apologize. It isn't as though I wasn't expecting it. Besides…"

Cora's voice fades off and she cocks her head to the side, her expression now turning sad even as her lips stretch into a thin smile. "What she said is the truth, isn't it?"

Robert's heart speeds up and he holds his breath for a moment. She cannot possibly expect him to answer such a hypothetical question and yet Cora doesn't move. She is watching him, waiting. Robert swallows convulsively and sweat causes his collar to stick uncomfortably to his neck. His silence seems to be affirmation enough.

Cora nods her head. "I see." She exhales heavily and finally turns away from him.

"Cora!" As her arms come unclasped from behind her back Robert sees the steady stream of blood flowing from her palm. He goes to her quickly and takes the wounded hand in his, pressing his handkerchief to it. It is then that he notices the smashed egg on the table. His eyebrows furrow but she looks blandly at him, offering no explanation.

"Cora…" Robert's voice is sorrowful.

"Shh, it's alright, Robert. I have, nor have I ever had any illusions on why you married me." Cora replies quietly, looking at their hands instead of at him.

Robert cups her chin and lifts, forcing her to meet his gaze. Despite her words he can see the hurt clouding her eyes. Cora carefully pulls her wounded hand from his and shrugs away, walking toward the bathroom and shuts the door behind her, closing herself off to him. Robert slumps on the chair of her vanity and cradles his aching head in his trembling hands. For every step forward they make it seems they inevitably take two back.