"You're not the only Crawley to have made a mistake." — Robert to Mary in 2x09
—5—
"Oh, Cora. How did this happen?"
Cora grimaced in embarrassment. Her left foot was propped up by an ottoman. Her ankle was pink and swollen.
"I'm sorry, Rosamund. I've ruined the party."
Rosamund shifted so that she was sitting on her knees, and took Cora's hands in her own. "You haven't ruined the party, Cora. I just don't see how this possibly could've happened."
Cora sighed. "I was dancing and I didn't realize the heel of my shoe had broken off," she said bitterly. She gestured to her sprained ankle. She still wore her shoe, a golden color, so Rosamund could see the heel was completely gone.
"Is everything all right over here?" asked Simon, joining them at the side of the ballroom. Rosamund stood up and gestured to her sister-in-law.
"She's sprained her ankle and we don't know how to get her home without hurting her."
Simon followed her hands to the injured young woman, who smiled awkwardly at him, and then winced because she'd moved her foot in the process. Simon asked a nearby waiter to summon his physician, but there was still the question of how one would transport Cora not only to the car, but the entire way back to the hotel. It simply wasn't possible.
"There's only one other option, then," concluded Simon. "You'll have to stay here for the night."
Susan, in her typical manner, refused straightaway, and was only convinced it was their only choice by Cora's groans of protest when she tried to assist her in walking. It was clear Cora's condition prevented them from leaving. At least, not any time in the next few hours. They'd have to wait until morning to see how swollen her ankle still was. And so, unwillingly Susan agreed, and Cora was propped up in bed by many pillows, her ankle resting on one of them, by the time the clock struck twelve. Susan offered to call a carriage to bring herself to the hotel, where she would then fetch their belongings, but Simon assured her everything they'd need could be found in the estate.
As the clock alerted the manor that it was half past twelve at night, Rosamund lay in the guest room fully awake, her head pounding from the drinks and her recent romantic encounter. She knew her mother would kill her when she learnt of it—Violet was sure to find out, as she always did. But it'd felt so right, so perfect as Simon held her and ran his lips along her body. It was only natural she find love at some point, whether or not her mama had plans to marry her off to filthy rich scoundrels like Lord Tatem. Which, thinking of him, reminded Rosamund of the reason they'd come to Paris. Not to attend parties, not to mill about in beautiful parks waiting to find the love of their lives. It really was just her, anyway, since Cora and Susan were tied down by husbands and children. To be loved wasn't a crime; in fact, it was far from it.
Rosamund sighed. Sometimes she just wished she could flee the bounds of class and run away to a country where no one had ever heard of her.
Like Paris.
She closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but no sleep came. She reached out in the darkness for a novel, but retracted her hand upon remembering she'd finished her final one a few hours earlier, while Susan was helping Cora to bed. She groaned and turned the opposite direction, as one does when sleep won't come.
Just as Rosamund braced herself for a restless night, a gentle, quiet tapping on the door caused her to sit upright. It was probably Susan, with a fresh list of complaints, coming to read them off to Rosamund; or one of the maids who'd somehow heard her grunts of sleepless annoyance and came to check in, she thought, and so she called out, "You can come in, it's all right!"
To her shock, it wasn't Susan or a maid that entered, but Simon. Even in the darkness, she could make out his handsome features, and instinctively pressed a hand to her chest to cover her low neckline.
"What are you doing here?" she questioned, her voice taking on a slight protective edge.
"I couldn't sleep knowing you were only a few doors down. I came for you."
"Simon, I won't be the county mistake, the woman who lost all sense of control." Rosamund slid out of the bed sheets so she was standing upright, her hand still against her chest. "I love you; I've never met another man like you, but I can't risk my entire future. What if my cousin finds us? Or my sister-in-law?"
"Lady Flintshire's room has been locked, but I doubt she's awake anyway; and do you really believe Lady Downton can move from her bed, let alone walk down the corridor and enter this room? My darling, I would never act against your wishes, but I beg you to reconsider. I am madly in love, more in love than I have ever been before, and if you truly have feelings for me then there is nothing stopping us. The way I see it, if two people are as much in love as we are, there's no reason they shouldn't express it."
"And what if I… what if I return to England with more than just myself?"
"Any child would be lucky to have you as a mother, but I am certain you shan't have to worry about that," was his carefree, albeit sensitive, reply. Rosamund wanted desperately to be rid of this difficult situation, but at the same time wanted nothing more than to have him hold her. She just didn't know if she was brave enough to express this desire of hers.
"Rosamund, my darling, forget your family. I want nothing more than to be with you; please, say that we can be together."
Despite the impossibly huge risk and all her common sense, when Simon began to kiss her neck Rosamund let herself surrender completely.
Simon was dressed by the time she woke. To say she'd enjoyed herself was an understatement. Nothing had felt better in her entire life. However, they both knew his valet would be up and at his door soon, so they needed to get him back to his own room before anyone realized where he was. Rosamund opened the door for him and, once he'd gone, shut it as quietly as she possibly could. Seeing that he was safely gone, she turned and had almost made it to her bed when she heard knocking. Thinking he'd left something behind, or wanted to say something more, she opened it, but gasped in surprise when she came face-to-face with Susan, her arms crossed looking furious.
"Rosamund Evaline Angelica Crawley, tell me I did not just see a man leave your room," she said coolly, with a surprisingly refrained temper. She still wore the white cotton nightgown that'd been lent to her, and her long, dark hair was pulled back in a braid that'd started to come undone overnight. Since she was shorter than Rosamund, Susan couldn't exactly look down at her, but if looks could kill Rosamund would've been dead by now.
"Susan, I can explain," said Rosamund, the words coming out in a rush.
Susan sniffed. "Go ahead. I'm waiting."
They left the Welles manor less than an hour later. Cora was none the wiser to the conditions on which Rosamund and Simon parted, but Susan had been told everything, and thus sat farther away from her cousin than usual. Cora's ankle had miraculously healed enough overnight, so much so that the estate doctor gave his permission for her to be transported. She moved with ease now, occasionally needing support from her companions when going up stairs, or traveling long distances. She seemed to rely on Rosamund more than ever, for Susan had made herself more distant after learning the full extent of the Marquess' relationship with her cousin. Cora, on the other hand, was eager for the Paris trip to become one of bonding, and not just an escape for detective work, and was disappointed by Susan's lack of participation in their outings.
It had been four days since the night spent with Simon, and so far Rosamund had met up with him twice since: once when he came to the hotel, and again when they spent the afternoon in the park. She recalled the moments spent with him fondly, even when Susan, while passing by her earlier, had whispered, "This won't end well." Rosamund ignored her.
As for the murder case, they had no further leads, except for the gentleman mentioned in the letter, Lord Eysmare. Cora suggested they visit him, yet there were two issues with that: One, Susan would surely refuse to accompany them, knowing how long she could hold a grudge when she believed she was in the right; and two, they had no idea where this mystery man lived, only that he was nearby. So, for the time being, their visit to Paris turned into more of a vacation, or getaway, than a mission.
Around two o'clock in the afternoon, Rosamund returned from an outing to the garden with Cora. Said sister-in-law was rambling on about the latest fashion trends, something that Rosamund had a great deal of interest in, so she didn't see the man in the hotel lobby until she'd walked right into him.
"I'm so sorry, sir," she apologized, while Cora used her hand to stifle a laugh. Rosamund couldn't quite understand what was so amusing to her.
"No matter, I should've warned you," the man deadpanned. He was tall, with chestnut hair and hazel eyes that seemed to shine with knowledge. His accent proved him to be an Englishman, but his tan skin suggested Paris wasn't his first remote destination. Indeed, though Rosamund didn't know it at the time, this man was a great traveler, much like her own father.
"Would you kindly tell me just whom I've had the pleasure of, quite literally, running into?" she asked. Behind her, Cora stood watching, wanting just as badly to know who the gentleman was.
He extended his hand. "Marmaduke Painswick. And you are?"
"La—Rosamund Crawley. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Painswick." Rosamund had almost revealed her title, but thought better of it. Why should this strange Mr. Painswick know she was of noble birth?
And yet, he knew more than he let on.
"Why have you tried to hide your title?"
Rosamund lifted her chin higher, refusing to be daunted by his know-all manner. "Because men are prone to falling head-over-heels to impress women of the nobility. Why should I allow you to become one of them?"
Mr. Painswick smiled. "Bien dit," he said, which Rosamund knew to mean "well said" in French. It seemed he was fluent in more than one language, something that, though she wouldn't voice it aloud, impressed her very much, despite speaking four different languages herself.
"Tell me," she said, "what are you doing in Paris?"
"I'm a banker. Or rather, my father is. He's asked me to visit a client here, for managerial purposes. I take it you're not exactly here to exchange pleasantries, either."
"And what gives you that impression?"
Mr. Painswick pointed at her dress, a simple, mahogany-colored frock that she thought suited her nicely. "No respectable young woman would wear something as plain as that to attend social outings. One can assume you brought nicer things with you, but you've chosen not to wear them. Do explain, please."
"Well, if you must know, my cousin, sister-in-law" —Rosamund gestured at Cora, who was still watching the banter with great enthusiasm— "and I are investigating the Viscountess Tatem's death."
"I've never met a lady detective before," he chuckled. "Have you any finds?"
Ignoring his question, Rosamund probed his earlier statement, "Do you perceive the female race to be unequal to the male one? Women ought to do whatever they please; it is a modern world, after all, Mr. Painswick."
"I quite agree. Which is why, if a woman should fancy herself playing detective, I have no objective."
Rosamund's fiery eyes flared. Anyone who knew her would know this to be a sign of anger, and they ought to back down immediately. Mr. Painswick, however, hadn't met her before.
"I don't appreciate being told I am 'playing detective,' Mr. Painswick. So please, refrain yourself from insulting any more women you encounter," she snapped, and then stomped on his foot and walked off, Cora following close behind while covering her mirth.
The next morning, much to Cora's delight, both Rosamund and Susan agreed it was time they seek out Lord Eysmare. Susan seemed to have set aside her anger for the time being, and returned to her usual self, complaining about everything in sight. Since none of the women brought maids with them, simple fashion pieces like corsets had dropped in meaning, so much so that Rosamund was only tightening hers to the bare minimum (her mama, she knew, would be aghast if she ever found out, not to mention if she learnt of the previous week's activities). Seeing as they were paying a formal call, however, Susan insisted they at least try making an effort in their appearances, and thus spent an hour lacing herself, Rosamund, and Cora until they reached what she deemed acceptable.
They set out in the carriage at half past eleven, late enough so that they could be sure Lord Eysmare was indeed awake and prepared for visitors. His address had been easy enough to track down—all that was required was a few questions asked to the right people, courtesy of Cora.
"Do you think he'll let us in?" asked Cora, as the carriage arrived and the women stood before the front door. Susan reached out to knock, while simultaneously replying,
"Yes. Or else I'll keep knocking and knocking until he opens the bloody door."
"Susan!" Rosamund scolded. The language was a little much.
"Calm down. It's not like Aunt Violet has spies everywhere, and in another country of all places."
"You say that now."
The butler let them in moments later, and they were led into what Rosamund knew to be Lord Eysmare's library from the rows of shelves lined with books of all sorts. Lord Eysmare himself sat in an armchair facing them; he beckoned them to sit by him.
He was elderly, maybe seventy or eighty, with balding white hair and wrinkled skin. His eyes, though, were still the same cutting blue they'd been all his life, and he peered at them with great intensity.
"Have you come with word from England? I hear zey just fought a war." His accent was French, but held traces of English nobility.
Rosamund and Cora traded questioning glances. "No sir," said Rosamund. "I'm afraid you've heard wrong."
"Oh?" Lord Eysmare pondered this for a moment, and, satisfied, moved on. "Then why have you come?"
Rosamund gave a slight curtsy. "Lady Rosamund Crawley, sir. These are my companions, Lady Flintshire and Lady Downton, of Scotland and England. We've come to ask about a friend of yours, the Viscount Tatem."
The elderly man looked at them with the gaze of someone recalling fond memories. "Ah, yes," he said quietly. "Tatem. How is he zese days?"
"He's doing well, sir," Cora answered.
"He's fallen into mysterious circumstances," Rosamund replied, at the same time.
"He murdered his wife."
All three sentences had been said at once, the final being Susan's. Cora and Rosamund whipped around to look at her. She shrugged.
"I'm just being honest," she said simply.
"I am very sorry to hear that," said Lord Eysmare, re-capturing their attention. "I always did think he'd be the type to do something like zat."
"Please explain, sir," Rosamund pressed. She was eager to possess the knowledge this man seemed to have. The answers were close, she could feel it.
Lord Eysmare scratched his chin. "Well, let's see now… He always did seem the odd sort, though we got along fine. I have a letter of his in zat drawer over zere, if one of you would care to bring it here."
Cora went to fetch the letter, and handed it excitedly to Lord Eysmare. He handed it right back.
"I am in no position to read small writing such as his penmanship," he explained. Cora smiled and instead read it herself.
"Lord Tatem says, in the letter, that he attended a ball at Downton and met a young lady there," she announced, when she'd finished. Rosamund instructed her to read on, anxious to learn the full contents of the letter. Cora continued reading, "'This woman, though I shall not divulge her name, is on the verge of being married. Eysmare, as one man to another, I confess I have never been more in love. I must ask you to not reveal this to Laurell. Just know that I would move Heaven and Earth for this girl; she is my world, my everything. I call her Dove; it is her childhood nickname, but it is not known by many, so I feel safe using it without anyone finding us out.'"
Cora stopped here and gave the letter to Susan for further inspection. "The part about Dove stops there," she said.
It was then decided between the women that if they stayed any longer it would be overdoing their welcome, but they resolved to solve the rest of the letter's mystery later that night, when they were back at the hotel. After promising Lord Eysmare England was not at war—with the Americans, of all people!—they bid him good afternoon and left.