Churchyard, Downton Village, February 14th, 1922
The Dowager Countess of Grantham, dressed heavily in black, excited the church. Her sight was immediately drawn to two workmen doing finishing touches on the newest gravestone in the cemetery, with Mr Molesley Sr observing them thoughtfully.
"Mr Molesley," she greeted the gardener politely. He bowed in response. "Have you seen Mr Travis? I need to speak to him about the Bring-and-Buy Sale."
"I'm afraid not, your ladyship."
Violet sighed heavily.
"Never mind."
They both turned to watch the work on the gravestone. The workmen were attaching an ornamental stone vase to the top. The inscription read:
Robert Crawley
7th Earl of Grantham
Beloved Son, Husband and Father
1865 – 1921.
"This were a sad business," noted Mr Molesley solemnly.
"Very, very sad. I can't believe it's time for the stone already," agreed Violet with another heavy sigh.
"Six months. They always leave six months for the grave to settle," said Mr Molesley knowingly. Violet winced, slightly unsettled at the implications. She did not want to consider what it meant for her son. She did not like to think of him in the ground at all.
She decided to change the topic.
"Tell me, has your son settled back into his old job yet?
"Yes, m'lady, although he has never stopped regretting giving up working for his lordship. Mrs Crawley is nice and fair, but Joseph has always wanted to work at the big house."
"I know he's a properly trained valet, but he cannot complain about working as a butler to the mother of an earl, even if it's not at the big house."
"He's not complaining, m'lady, far from it!" Mr Molesley hastened to assure her. "He's very grateful he got the position with Mrs Crawley when his lordship decided to keep Mr Bates after previous Lord Grantham died. And he understands there was no good solution with Mr Bates married to her ladyship's maid and all. But he liked working at the big house and he liked working for Mr Crawley as was. His lordship is a very kind, nice man and a fair employer."
"That he is," agreed Violet softly. "That he is."
She made her goodbyes to Mr Molesley and walked with difficulty to her waiting car. She did not look anymore at her son's gravestone. She could not stand it.
Dower House, February 14th, 1922
Tired and cold after her fruitless trip to the church, Violet ordered hot tea and sunk into her armchair. She was not surprised when she heard Isobel Crawley's purposeful steps approaching from the hallway soon after.
Ever since Robert had died in that ghastly accident, Isobel kept visiting her like a clockwork, whether she was welcome or not. In the first weeks, she had been very delicate and, for herself, surprisingly subtle in her attentions to prevent Violet from sinking into despair. With time though she was becoming more and more aggravating, bringing one cause after another to Violet's attention in her apparent attempt to draw her out and get her engaged with the world again. Violet strongly suspected that at times Isobel was being particularly contrary for the sole purpose to get Violet to quarrel with her. It was infuriating.
She admitted to herself though (never to Isobel) that it might have been necessary. She only had to look at Cora to see how low someone could sink when overcome by grief and despair. And she took pride in conviction that however difficult it was, she was strong enough to withstand it and face her grief with courage.
But heavens, was it difficult! She had never expected to outlive any of her children. Robert was her son, her first child, her baby, however sentimental and ridiculous it was to call him that when he died at fifty six. She still remembered him as one though, all blue eyes and dimples. He had had a healthy set of lungs too, although he had not wailed half as much as Rosamund who had been a colicky baby and had driven her nannies to distraction with hours upon hours of howling. Robert had been a nice baby and he had grown up to be a nice man. He had never been half as clever as she was, but he had been far kinder. Sometimes she was not sure how she was supposed to go on without him.
And yet she had no choice but to go on. She had a stark and bitterly unpleasant choice between life and death and, all in all, Violet was a survivor. She mourned her son deeply and she didn't think she would ever stop regretting his early death, but dead he was and she was determined to face this fact unflinchingly. So she took interest in Mary's first steps as the Countess of Grantham, in Matthew's reforms as the 8th Earl, in her greatgrandchildren and even in her grieving daughter-in-law. She was even grateful, to a degree, for daily visits of Isobel-bloody-Crawley. As infuriating as she often was, Violet much preferred to be infuriated than grieved.
"How are you today?" asked the infuriating woman in her customary sunny voice. It grated on Violet's ears.
"Annoyed. I ventured out in search of Mr Travis, who unfortunately turned out to be unexpectedly elusive. My great journey turned out to be fruitless."
"That does sound annoying," admitted Isobel. "Why were you searching for him?"
"About Bring-And-Buy Sale," sighed Violet heavily. "It's to help with the cost of roof repairs at the church. The debate right now is whether to hold in the church or in the village hall."
"Village hall has more space," pointed Isobel practically. "What side of the debate are you on and who is quarrelling otherwise?"
"I honestly don't care," said Violet tiredly. "It was traditionally held in the church, but it would be nice not to be cramped when looking for least tacky trinkets to buy. As for who protests, it's the usual culprits; mostly old biddies who always find fault with any idea."
Isobel magnanimously didn't point out the obvious.
"Are Mary and Cora involved in the planning?" she asked instead with interest. "I didn't hear them mentioning it when I was dining at the Abbey."
"Mary said she was willing to help if I needed her, but she is quite busy at the moment," Violet pursued her lips resentfully. "Even though as the countess she really should be the one running it. And Cora has been completely useless, of course."
"She is still deeply in mourning," said Isobel in Cora's defence, although she did look rather troubled. Violet scoffed.
"Were you still locking yourself in your room and crying on the chaise longue nearly six months after Dr Crawley died?"
"Well, no," admitted Isobel reluctantly. "But I had Matthew to think of. He was quite young yet, I could not allow myself to bury myself in grief then; he needed me too much. And it did me good to keep busy."
"Exactly!"
"And how was it for you after Lord Grantham died?" asked Isobel with evident interest.
Violet waved her hand dismissively.
"That was different," she said. "As much as I was against Robert's marrying Cora, I have to admit that theirs was a loving marriage."
"And yours was not?" asked Isobel tentatively.
"Lord Grantham and I had a good marriage, but it was not a passionate one," said Violet curtly. "I did regret his passing, but it did not break me up. It was more difficult to adjust to moving to the Dower House and leaving my house for Cora to run. Which I point out she hasn't done yet, even though that's what she should have done months ago. She owes it to Mary. One cannot be a countess with the previous one hanging about and confusing the hierarchy."
"Matthew said that he and Mary agreed there was no reason for Cora to move out unless she wanted to," said Isobel. "It is quite a big house and from what I'm seeing, Mary seems to be in complete control of the household right now. I don't think Cora is interfering at all."
"Because she isn't doing anything at all!" snapped Violet. "Which is my point!"
"It is a bit concerning," Isobel gave in, much as she felt the need to defend Cora. "But we must consider that she lost her child and her beloved husband in very short succession. It's no wonder she is finding it hard to cope."
Violet straightened.
"I lost my son and my granddaughter, but one must find a way to go on," she said sternly. "Otherwise we all would just curl up and die."
Cora's bedroom, Downton Abbey, February 14th, 1922
Cora could not sleep. Again.
Ever since the accident, she found herself with her days and nights confused. She was often plagued by insomnia at night and then napping during the day, especially after a bout of crying, which exhausted her awfully. The nightmares did not help either. Nor did the happy dreams which made waking up to face Robertless reality excruciatingly cruel.
She heard George starting to cry in the nursery. She remembered with concern that Mary and Matthew were gone to London, leaving George overnight for the very first time. Nanny West most likely had it well in hand, but when the crying still did not stop after several minutes Cora did get up and reached for her robe. She just wanted to make sure he was alright.
She walked softly in the direction of the nursery and found the door ajar. She was just reaching for the knob to open them fully, when Nanny West's words registered with her and stopped her cold.
"There, there, my precious boy, and don't let that chauffeur's daughter disturb you
anymore," she said soothingly, cuddling George tenderly, but then she turned towards Sybbie's crib and her expression and voice turned simply nasty. "Go back to sleep, you wicked little crossbreed."
Cora's blood boiled. How dared she?! How dared she talk like that to Sybil's daughter?! She walked firmly into the room and went straight to the bell.
"Your ladyship! I didn't see you there!" exclaimed Nanny West in shock.
"Obviously not," answered Cora drily.
"I was just er... I was just having a game with Miss Sybbie," said Nanny West with a shaky laugh. Cora was not amused. When she thought what her granddaughter must have been exposed to! And with none of them the wiser!
"I want you to pack tonight and leave first thing in the morning," she said in a low but very firm voice she did not remember using for months.
"But, your ladyship..."
"Please put Viscount Downton back into his crib. You are not to touch the children again."
She felt suppressed rage boiling right under her calm surface and Nanny West must have noticed it too, because she obeyed, thunderstruck. George has thankfully stopped crying by then. Mrs Hughes entered a moment later.
"Oh. I thought it was Nanny West ringing," she said slowly, noting the tense atmosphere in the nursery.
"No, Mrs Hughes, Nanny West is leaving in the morning," she heard Nanny West starting to sob and thought viciously good. "Can you find her a bed for the night and ask one of the maids to sleep with the
children?"
"But your ladyship, I was only joking," Nany West pleaded through her tears and it took all of Cora's self-control to stop herself from slapping the woman. She had never considered herself a violent person, but this... this... witch has hurt her granddaughter. Sybil's baby.
"I prefer not to discuss it, except to say that your values have no place in a civilised home!" she snapped sharply and felt only grim satisfaction when Nanny West rushed out from the nursery, sobbing. "Now, Mrs Hughes, I'll wait here while Nanny West packs. You will fetch a maid and prepare a room. You understand, Miss West is not to be left alone with the children. Not for one minute."
Mrs Hughes nodded, looking rather shaken.
Cora felt like herself for the first time since Robert died.
Nursery, Downton Abbey, night of February 14th, 1922
In the end, Cora spent quite a lot of time sitting in the nursery that night, watching her grandchildren sleep and thinking how she failed them.
Of course, it was not just her fault. Nobody had noticed that there was something wrong with Nanny West – not Mary, not Matthew, not Tom. Nanny West did not say one cross word to Sybbie in their presence and everybody could see how fond she was of George. And of course Sybbie could not talk yet to tell them what was going on behind the closed door of the nursery. Cora's only fervent hope was that Sybbie was too little to remember the unkindness and viciousness she had been exposed to on their watch.
But Cora still blamed herself. She had been the one to hire Nanny West for Sybbie and she had been the one to be so buried in her grief for Robert that she did not pay any attention to her motherless granddaughter.
She had no idea how she could have acted differently. The love of her life was gone. Taken away from her brutally and unexpectedly. One did not recover from such a loss in a day, in a week or in a month. She was not sure if years would be enough to recover. If she ever would. But tonight she was cruelly reminded that she could not afford to lose sight of her other loved ones. Robert and darling Sybil were gone, but she still had her daughters and grandchildren. She still had Matthew and Tom too. There was Rose to look after. She still felt weak and drifting, painfully vulnerable and exposed and she had no illusions that she would just get up tomorrow morning as her old self, as if the accident had never happened. That was not possible. But she made a resolution to try. She owed it to her family.
And the first practical task she set for herself was finding herself a new lady's maid.
Great Hall, Downton Abbey, February 15th, 1922
Watching Mary and Matthew entering the hall, so relaxed and full of smiles, holding hands, made Cora's heart clench and for once not because of the remainder of what she had lost. She hated to spoil the happiness and love they were clearly glowing with. Even when she was absorbed in her own pain she was not too blind with it to notice that they were in pain too. The last months had been hard for them all.
"Hello, Mama," exclaimed Mary, evidently pleasantly surprised to see Cora up and dressed. Cora felt another twinge of guilt. "It's so nice to see you downstairs. Did you have a good night?"
"Not as good as you two, apparently," joked Cora and laughed seeing them both blush. Her laughter felt alien and unfamiliar to her. When was the last time she had laughed? Then she remembered the news she had to share and she grew serious again. "But unfortunately my night was really not very good. We need to talk. Come to the library, I already asked Tom to meet me there."
Her heart clenched again to see their smiles vanish and become replaced with worried frowns.
"Is George alright?" asked Mary at once, alarm in her voice echoed in Matthew's concerned look. Cora hastened to calm them down.
"He is perfectly alright. I've just left him napping peacefully in the nursery," she assured them, happy to see their relieved expressions, even though she knew they won't last long. "But I do have something serious to discuss with you and Tom."
They entered the library, where they found Tom pacing the floor in agitation.
"Cora, why is Madge watching the children?" he asked without preamble, forgetting even to greet them. "Is Nanny West sick?"
Cora gestured for them all to sit on the red sofas and answered his question.
"I dismissed Nanny West last night, effective immediately, and without reference," she said plainly, watching shock and apprehension on their faces.
"Why?" asked Mary, reaching instinctively for Matthew's hand. Cora made a note of the gesture, both happy that Mary found this kind of bond in her marriage and pained that she herself could never receive such support again.
She took a deep breath and described the scene she had witnessed last night, watching growing horror on their faces. Tom looked positively sick.
"How could I not have noticed anything?" he asked in a pained whisper. Cora looked at him with compassion. As bad and guilty as she herself felt, it must have been exponentially worse for Tom.
"None of us noticed," she said, putting her hand on his shoulder. "She was very careful."
"I should have," answered Tom harshly. "She is my daughter!"
"We all should have," said Mary, her lips bloodless. "We will have to do better next time."
Matthew nodded, looking pale and horrified himself. Cora noticed that he squeezed Mary's hand comfortingly – or maybe to seek comfort himself.
"Are you sure she did nothing worse than using vicious language towards them?" he asked, swallowing hard. "She did not... hurt them, did she?"
Tom looked like he was going to be sick at Matthew's words and visibly wilted in relief when Cora shook her head.
"I don't think so," she said firmly. "Mrs Hughes and I have checked both of them all over and there were no marks on them. Sybbie thankfully has no sign of a mistreated child, so I hope Miss West's tongue was the only thing she used to lash out at the poor girl. As for George, she did seem to treat him with all the affection she professed. All her vitriol seemed to be directed at Sybbie exclusively."
Tom's expression turned thunderous.
"Because he is a little lord and Sybbie a daughter of an Irish chauffer," he spat darkly.
None of them said anything in response. He was right.
Tom got up.
"Excuse me," he said roughly. "I have to go up and hug my daughter."
Matthew got up as well, clearly with the same thought in mind, but Mary stopped him with a tug of her hand and a significant look. He sighed heavily and nodded.
"Before we go up, I have to say we have some things to discuss as well," he said with clear reluctance. "Cora, could you ask Cousin Violet to join us for tea? And I think I will ask Mother to take Rose somewhere else at the time."
Cora felt her eyebrows shoot up.
"Why?" she asked, apprehension building in her at the sight of Matthew uncharacteristic fidgeting. She was afraid to think what it could be that made him so visibly nervous.
It was Mary who answered.
"We expect Edith and Mr Gregson will join us for tea as well," she said coldly. "They have things they want to discuss with us. It would probably be better if Rose was not included in that conversation."
Cora's hand flew to her mouth.
"Oh my God, is Edith pregnant?!" she cried out, horrified.
Matthew coughed in surprise and shook his head frantically, but Mary only shrugged.
"Not that we know of," she said calmly. "But their relationship is clearly more complicated than she has let us know. We really should wait until everyone is present though, I have no wish to spend the whole day discussing that sorry affair."
Cora realised that she was not going to get any details from them until tea and gave up. She felt an oncoming headache.
As awful as the months she had spent cloistered in her bedroom had been, she thought longingly of her chaise lounge now.