He stood powerless, watching the scene before him in disbelief: Tom and Cora at Sybil's bedside, begging her not to leave as she writhed against the pillows, her face contorted in pain, the doctors standing off to the side doing nothing, a baby's cry coming from another room as everything stilled. Somewhere in the distance he heard his own voice, 'But this can't be…She's twenty-four years old. This cannot be.' Over and over again the scene replayed, the screams and cries echoing and reverberating around him. It was too much. It was all too much. He had to get away, but he was unable to escape, his feet cemented in place.
Something gripped him tightly and finally released him from the horror before him. Robert cracked his eyes open and found himself in bed in his dressing room with Cora's hands grasping his upper arms. He didn't try to meet her gaze or acknowledge her presence. Sighing softly, he settled and pretended to sleep, listening as she almost silently crossed the floor to the chair on the other side of the room. This had become their new routine. He would have a nightmare and she would wake him before situating herself on the chair by the fireplace and watching as he slept— or at least pretended to sleep. In truth he never fell back to sleep. Instead he laid awake, keeping silent company and listening for any sign of her distress. He knew she wasn't sleeping, was having nightmares like he did. But he also knew that she wouldn't welcome him trying to wake her. He had tried to the night after Sybil died and she had let him know in no uncertain terms that she didn't want him in her room, waking her from a nightmare or not. That had been several weeks ago and Robert had abided by her wishes even though it killed him to hear her suffering. Cora didn't deserve the pain and anguish, but he did, he told himself, he deserved it.
Sybil, oh, their darling little girl, with the dark hair and expressive eyes of her mother. Since that fateful night, there was not a moment he didn't feel guilty. Even in his sleep, he was forced to watch his daughter's death over and over. It was all so real, taunting him as though he could change the outcome and this time Sybil would live. But he would wake and the guilt would crush him once again as he realized that no, it was not just a dream. Their darling daughter had died and it was his fault.
Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes and slowly leaked out from behind closed lids. Robert rolled over onto his right side to muffle the sounds of his suppressed sobs. He said another silent apology to Sybil. He was her father, it was his duty to protect her, to save her, but he had failed. His fear of what was happening and resulting stubbornness had cost Sybil her life. If only he had listened. His reasoning for seeking out Sir Philip Tapsell had been his concern over Sybil's welfare. Clarkson was a good doctor, but he had been wholly wrong about Matthew, missed all of the warning signs with Lavinia, and had very nearly lost Cora. It was his love for his daughter that made him seek out another doctor. Robert had tried to console himself with the fact that he couldn't have known how it would turn out, none of them could have. But, it had been him who had insisted on bringing in the unknown doctor without asking for anyone's input, him who had taken over Tom's role as Sybil's advocate, and him who had ignored everyone's, most namely Cora's, attempts to make him see sense. And it was the last for which he was the most remorseful. The regret of not listening to Cora was unbearable. He had acted as if she wouldn't know anything about childbirth, the very thing she had gone through four times while he could barely stomach the mere thought of it.
A muffled sob sounded from across the room and it took all of Robert's willpower to not leap out of bed and scoop Cora up in his arms. She wouldn't welcome it, he knew, but he longed to cradle her against him, soothe some of the constant pain staining her beautiful face. His heart constricted as he heard her try to control her emotions, to swallow down her sobs so he couldn't hear her. He had done this to her, driven this wedge between them, leaving her with no help and comfort. The physical pain he felt at the thought of her alone in her grief was debilitating. It was why he remained silent, ignoring her presence when she stayed after waking him. He knew she wouldn't stay unless she found some solace and he wasn't about to take that away from her. In all honesty, he felt a tremendous amount of comfort by just having her in the room with him. How easy it would be for him to fall back to sleep calmed by the sound of her breathing. But Robert refused to allow himself on the off chance that she really would need him. So he laid awake night after night, keeping vigil with her until the new day dawned.
Robert lost track of how long they sat in the silence together. But eventually, tiny traces of the morning light began to fill the room. He knew Cora would be leaving him soon, she always left before the sun had fully risen. He well aware that it was because she didn't want to risk him waking with her in the room, but he hated to see her go. This was the only time he would spend any time with her until the next night. Mama had mentioned wanting to see them in the afternoon. But Robert didn't hold high hopes of Cora not managing to get out of going and he, with their relationship the way it was, was not about force her into anything.
It was with a heavy heart that he finally heard her rise from the chair. He listened as she began to move about the room. From the soft sound of her footfalls, he could tell she had made it to the dividing door and his ears strained to hear the sound of the door closing. Instead, she graced him with a single utterance. He wasn't sure if it was to remind or reassure herself, but he felt a tremendous comfort from it nonetheless. It was the only thing he had to hold onto, the words giving him the courage to keep going. When the dividing door finally shut, Robert opened his eyes and stared at the space his wife had just occupied.
"I love you too, Cora," he murmured.