August 3, 1914
Cora Crawley shifted herself on the settee in the drawing room, hoping she was being subtle. But of course, she was not so lucky.
"Are you uncomfortable, my dear? Perhaps you ought to return to bed?" Mama suggested.
"I'm alright," Cora assured her. And she was alright. She just was not used to being dressed and sitting up for so long. This was her first day out of bed, thanks to Doctor Clarkson's allowance that she take the day easy and not try to do too much and tire herself out before the garden party, and Cora was determined to rebuild her strength.
"If you're certain…" Mama answered dubiously.
"I am," Cora insisted. "I'll not have any trouble sitting dressed today, nor will I have any trouble tomorrow at the garden party."
Mama narrowed her eyes slight, and Cora knew she had pushed too far. She had not been like this with her past pregnancies. She'd been in such good spirits always, eager and happy and unbothered by everything. She had always liked being pregnant. The symptoms that her mother warned her about, being sick or tired or overly emotional, had never seemed to affect Cora. But of course, she was eighteen years older now than she'd been when last pregnant, and she had aged and changed in that time. Her body had already betrayed her once with that seizure. She had to be more careful. But she did not enjoy being so fragile. English ladies were not weak but instead kept their chins up and carried on calmly and stoically. Cora had always tried to walk the line between being herself and being what was expected of her. And she was Countess of Grantham now, which she had not been during her last pregnancies. She had more of a position to uphold. No one would grant her the same leniency for her silly whims of feeling full of light and love while pregnant, not like they had when she was young and still new to this world. There was more at stake now. For the family and for herself. And Cora had to do a better job of muddling through it all.
Cora changed the subject from herself so that she and Mama could discuss something less fraught. "I spoke with Mrs. Hughes this morning to finalize the guestlist for the garden party," she said.
"Oh?"
"Sir Anthony Strallen will be coming, as are both Matthew and Isobel," Cora told her.
Mama sighed, "And now with Mary back, she'll have to give him her answer. There is every chance we shall be planning two weddings or else be in the midst of four broken hearts. Has Mary given you any indication of what she plans to do?"
Cora hesitated, not wanting to break her daughter's confidence. "She told me what Rosamund said, which was to put him off until the baby is born."
"Oh no, she can't do that. If she doesn't accept him when he might be nothing, he won't want her when we know he'll be something," Mama advised.
"I don't think that's what Mary is really concerned with," Cora said delicately.
"Don't be silly, of course she is. Mary is a very pragmatic girl."
Cora knew better than to argue, but this view of her daughter as a schemer, the way Rosamund and Mama obviously were, was unflattering. "Mary is a pragmatic girl because she's had to be. She's smart. She knows she's been given an opportunity after Patrick's death to have a life different than what we always planned for her. Marrying Matthew would put her in the same position as she'd have been in marrying Patrick. And she likes Matthew much better than she ever liked Patrick," Cora pointed out.
"Unless your child is a boy," Mama countered.
"And then if Mary does marry Matthew and he is not the heir, she will have a husband who she loves and who loves her."
The look that crossed Mama's face was a blend of annoyance and slight disgust. "That's hardly relevant," she answered coolly.
Cora shook her head. "I think it is. I think the world is changing. Women might get the vote. There are more and more factories and secretarial positions for working people. I think Mary is going to face a life with even more changes and having a loving marriage will help her navigate through it. I hope that all of my girls find love and happiness the way Robert and I have."
"You and Robert are different."
"I don't think we are. Or at least we shouldn't be. He married me for my money, and I got a title out of the arrangement, to be sure. But then he fell in love with me and we have been very happy for more than twenty years. And I know Robert does not want me to tell you this but you should know that after the trouble I had with Sybil's birth, Robert promised me that we would stop trying to have a son and that James would be the heir and we would all make do. He cared more for my well-being than producing an heir. And if my husband and I did not love each other, we would be living separate lives and sleeping in separate beds and we would not be having another child now."
Again, Cora had gone too far. Mama's scandalized expression was proof. But Cora didn't care. She thought it was important that Mama knew that Robert had lied to her and to Papa all those years before when he'd promised that they'd keep trying for a son despite having produced three daughters in a row. And Cora meant what she said: she wanted all of her daughters to find love and happiness. Mary being the oldest meant she should have her turn first. And maybe Edith might fight that with Sir Anthony Strallen, though Cora personally doubted it. Still, love could overcome a whole host of other faults. And that was as pragmatic an opinion as anything Mama believed.
Sybil Crawley curled her legs beneath her as she sat on her sister Mary's bed. Mary sat at her vanity trying to decide which earrings to wear for dinner. Anna had gone to dress Edith first tonight, so Sybil decided to sit with Mary while they waited their turn. Mama was going to be coming down for dinner for the first time tonight since the accident, and Mrs. Hughes would likely need a bit of extra time for her. There was no rush.
"You may as well just say it," Mary said, breaking the silence. "I know you're trying to build up to something. You're not usually so shy about things." Mary gave a little smile in the mirror at her youngest sister.
"I suppose I just wanted to ask you what you plan to do about Matthew," Sybil said. "I still don't understand why you didn't accept him right away and made him wait while we were in London."
"I'm trying to be smart," Mary answered with that aloof façade of hers. Sybil hated that.
"What could be smarter than marrying the man you love?" It seemed a simple enough situation to Sybil, after all. Matthew was wonderful. Perfect, even. And he loved Mary. It was plain as day for everyone who spent even two seconds in their presence.
Mary turned around, looking at Sybil quite seriously. "Close the door," she instructed.
Suddenly worried over what that could mean, Sybil hopped up and did what Mary asked. "Why did you need me to close the door?" she asked.
"Because I don't want anyone to overhear what I am going to tell you. I don't like keeping secrets from you but you were too young at the time. You're of age and you're smart. And you should be smarter than me as you go forward in the world."
"Mary, what are you talking about?" Sybil asked, feeling her voice shake in spite of herself.
"Only Mama and Anna and Granny and Edith know. And you have to swear to keep it secret, Sybil. Promise me," Mary implored.
Sybil took Mary's hands and fell to her knees. "I promise, Mary, of course I do."
With a deep breath, Mary confessed, "You remember the Turkish gentleman, Mr. Pamuk?"
"Of course," Sybil answered, her eyes going wide. "What about him?" She recalled the rumors at the time, that Mr. Pamuk's death had been something more sinister, that Mary had been flirting with him under Matthew and Evelyn Napier's noses, but that was just Mary being Mary, wasn't it?
"Mr. Pamuk did not die in his own bed. He was found there in the morning because Anna and Mama and I carried him back to his own bed. Because he had died in my bed."
Sybil gasped, "Oh Mary, you didn't!"
Tears gathered in Mary's dark eyes. "He came to me, and I allowed him to…" Her voice cracked and she swallowed hard. "I can't marry Matthew without him knowing the truth, but if he knows the truth, he won't want to marry me."
"So you aren't even worried about whether Mama will have a boy," Sybil realized.
Mary shook her head. "I hope it is a boy, so Papa will be pleased, and Matthew can have a happier life away from all this. And if he is the heir, I can be Countess of Grantham one day. Which hardly seems to matter anymore."
"You love him." Sybil understood this for certain now. There wasn't any question anymore.
Tears welled up in Mary's eyes again. "Sybil, darling, I love Matthew more than I ever thought possible. I don't imagine I could ever love anyone the way I love him."
Sybil squeezed Mary's hands. "Then you must tell him the truth. Tomorrow. Take him off somewhere away from everyone at the garden party and tell him. Tell him just what you told me, that you couldn't marry him without him knowing the truth but that you love him truly. And if he cannot accept the truth, then he is not the man we know him to be. That's all there is to it," Sybil told her resolutely.
"How easy the world seems through your eyes," Mary said, touching Sybil's cheek affectionately.
"How hard everyone else seems to think things have to be," Sybil answered.
Thomas Barrow waited until the servants had all finished their dinner and Mr. Carson went to his pantry so he could catch the butler alone. "Mr. Carson, might I have a word with you?" Thomas requested.
Carson sighed. "Yes, what is it, Thomas?"
"I'd like to put forward a candidate to replace Miss O'Brien as Lady Grantham's lady's maid," Thomas said. He'd been considering, these last few days, how to bring up the topic. Miss O'Brien and he had not left on the best of terms, and he was hoping to have someone else with Her Ladyship's ear on side. Particularly when the rest of the household was against him. Thomas wasn't apt to do well here if he didn't have anyone in his corner. He was thinking of leaving, to be sure, but he wanted to have things put in place for himself in case he did decide to stay.
"I see," Mr. Carson answered. "And who might this be?"
"She is a trained lady's maid, but her last reference is rather old. She has been working as a seamstress and dressmaker for a number of years but is looking to get back into service. She prefers it, as I understand. Her father was a friend of my father's when we were young. I've been able to keep in touch with her now and again over the years," Thomas explained. And really, that was all true. It wasn't the entirety of the truth, but Thomas Barrow never gave away something for nothing. Particularly not the truth.
"That does not sound like the work experience required for a maid in service to the Countess of Grantham," Carson said judgmentally. "But I shall pass the information along to Mrs. Hughes who can broach the subject with Her Ladyship."
"Thank you, Mr. Carson," Thomas answered. "I know my friend is a good servant and would be happy to return to Yorkshire. She's been in London for quite some time. And of course, Her Ladyship is in need of a maid, particularly in her condition."
Carson gave a curt nod. "Too right. Thank you for passing along the recommendation, Thomas."
"My pleasure, Mr. Carson." He turned to leave.
"Oh, Thomas, what was that name?" Carson asked, stopping Thomas with his hand on the doorknob.
Thomas turned back. "Miss Phyllis Baxter."
Robert Crawley thanked Bates and did not even wait for the valet to leave before he went through the connecting door into Cora's bedroom. He was eager to see her tonight.
"Hello, darling," she greeted, putting her book aside as she saw him approach.
"How are you feeling?" he asked. She had been up out of bed all day for the first time since that terrifying ordeal.
"Tired, but I'm alright," she assured him. "I will say, though, I missed getting to see you so much. The one nice thing about bedrest was having you come up and visit me so much."
Robert removed his slippers and dressing gown and got into bed beside her. He reached over to stroke her cheek with the back of his finger. "I missed seeing you," he told her.
Cora smiled. Oh that beautiful, brilliant smile. He sometimes thought he fell in love with her all over again every time she smiled.
He added, "I didn't want you to get annoyed by my hovering, though. I hope you had a nice day, even without me coming to check on you every few hours."
"I had a very nice day," she said. "I finalized the party details with Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Patmore. I was able to attend to some things while I was in bed this week, but Mama has been a big help. And Mama came to see me, too, for the last-minute details. I gave her the responses to the notice we placed in The Lady for her lady's maid. I haven't had a chance to do the same for myself yet, and I don't think any of the candidates for Mama are suitable for me."
"Why not?"
"Well, Mama and I are very different people. And we have different needs. A lady's maid who applies for a position with an elderly Dowager Countess but instead get an interview with a pregnant Countess? That hardly seems fair," Cora pointed out.
"Ah," Robert said in understanding. "I see. Though I suppose that also brings up the subject of a nurse and a nanny."
Cora frowned. "A nanny, yes, but I really don't want a nurse if we can avoid it, Robert."
He tried not to get frustrated. They'd had this same disagreement four times, now. Cora had never wanted a wetnurse for any of their babies. She always wanted to care for them herself. With Mary, she had relented rather easily; it was her first child and she trusted Mama to know best with how such things are done. With Edith, she had tried to stand up for herself and say that she'd used a wetnurse with Mary but why not allow her to care for Edith herself? It was easy enough to talk her down from that, too, because she had two babies—a newborn and one barely a year old—and it simply did not make sense for the two girls to be treated differently when they were so close in age. Sybil, too, Cora had tried to avoid the nurse. The fight continued up until the birth, which had been long and terrifying and dangerous. Cora had to agree to the nurse after that. She had barely survived herself, and putting her body through even more strain was out of the question.
"Robert, I know I might not have a choice. I know that after what happened with Sybil, there's every chance that something else could happen or that I might not be able to care for this baby myself. I understand that. But please, until we know that I can't, could we go forward letting me try?" she pleaded.
"I can't understand why you'd want to," he said, not entirely agreeing to what she wanted but not outright rejecting it either.
Cora shifted herself in bed and lifted up her nightdress so she could place Robert's hand directly on her warm, barely swollen belly. "That's our baby, Robert," she told him softly. "A life that we made, you and I, is growing inside my body. I wish I could explain what it feels like, holding life inside me like this. And I wish I could explain what it is to hold that baby in my arms just after the birth. And I wish I could explain the heartbreak every time I have to hand that baby to someone else. I've held all my babies inside my body and I've had to give them up, and I just don't want to. Not unless absolutely necessary."
"No one else ever cares for their babies themselves, Cora, you know that," he reminded her.
"I don't care what anyone else does," she fired back. She pressed his palm to her skin even more firmly. "This is our baby, and that's what matters."
Robert felt the heat of her body and the firmness of her womb. He'd always been equal parts horrified and awed by her pregnancies. It was the life they'd created that was growing inside her body, which was at once miraculous and unseemly to his mind. And for Cora to then feed their baby from her own breast felt even more distasteful. And yet, he could not deny that Cora was right. She grew their children and birthed them, and didn't it stand to reason that she should also feed them after they were born? It wasn't proper in any sense, but Robert did have trouble refusing Cora when she asked him for things.
He took his hand away from her and leaned down to press a kiss to her abdomen. Robert felt the flutter of her muscles under his lips, which reminded him of other times his mouth had been on her body this way. A shiver of arousal passed through him, but he cast it aside and sat back up.
"We can discuss it another time," he whispered to her.
She smiled again, recognizing that he had not said yes but certainly had not said no. And that made her happy, which was all he really wanted.