The Requiem Bell
The house was cold. It was always cold now. No servants to start the fires, and it was too big and drafty for Robert to do it himself or even bother to try. Bates did the best he could, but there was only so much a crippled valet could do.
Anyway, it was cold. Robert sat in the library with his dog at his feet and a glass of brandy in one hand and a book in the other.
A presence appeared before him, causing Robert to look up. He had long since stopped being surprised by sudden entrances and exits.
"I'm just coming to wind the clocks, My Lord."
"Thank you, Thomas," Robert replied. He hardly wondered what the point of it was, but he certainly would not begrudge any servant from doing their job, even under these circumstances. "How are things downstairs?" he asked conversationally. It was terribly quiet most of the time. Nice to be able to make conversation.
"Same as ever, sir," the footman replied.
"Have Mrs. Hughes and Carson made up yet?"
A smirk appeared on Thomas's pale face. "It's only a matter of time, My Lord."
Robert chuckled at that. "Too right." The housekeeper and butler had somehow managed to find their way together and break themselves apart yet again. "Well, I suppose it's time I headed to bed," Robert announced. "Are my daughters around?" After all, he liked to see them at least once each day if he could. It wasn't always possible.
"I've not seen Lady Edith today, but Lady Sybil was outside with Mr. Branson earlier," Thomas said.
Robert sighed. That wasn't unusual. But there wasn't much he could do about Sybil and the chauffeur now. And as for Edith, well, Robert was never quite sure what to do with her.
It had been a long day. No longer than usual and nothing interesting at all to note, but perhaps the weariness of this life was catching up to him. Robert downed the last of his brandy and put the glass and his book aside.
"Isis, come," he beckoned. He stood, and the dog followed. He bent to give her a little kiss and a scratch behind the ears. Thomas reappeared and led the dog downstairs to where she slept in the mudroom off the servants' hall. Robert made his way upstairs.
He went into his dressing room and rang for Bates as always. The valet appeared in no time. "Good evening, Your Lordship," he greeted.
"Good evening, Bates," Robert returned. "Any luck with Anna today?"
"Nothing new to report," Bates answered sadly.
Robert felt for the man. But really, it wasn't surprising. There were far too many obstacles for those two. Robert wished them the best, of course, but he couldn't quite see a way to hope. But perhaps Robert wasn't the best judge of things. He himself had entered a position of hopelessness, too. A man in love—true, proper love—was always a hopeless case.
When Bates finished readying Robert for bed, they bid each other good night. Robert went through the connecting door to the bedroom of the Countess of Grantham.
He smiled, seeing the lamp was lit on his side of the bed. Cora was already there, lying down and waiting for him. Robert removed his dressing gown and slippers without a word, only sparing smiling glances at his beloved wife. She watched him get into bed beside her, just quietly watching. She had never been a particularly loquacious person, but she seemed to settle into her quietness even more so nowadays. Robert turned out the lamp and turned towards her.
"Hello," he whispered
She smiled. "Hello," she answered.
Her voice was low and gentle and soft. It enveloped him like a gossamer sheet, fluttering in the wind around him. He could have listened to the sound of her voice forever and been content. But now she was so quiet.
Everything was quiet. Cold and quiet.
"I miss you," Robert confessed.
"I'm right here, Robert," Cora reminded him.
"Yes, I know," he answered sadly.
Because yes, she was right there. Lying next to him in her bed every night. But he could not reach out to touch her. He could not hold her in his arms. He could not kiss her or make love to her. He could not grow old with her. For his darling Cora had been dead these last two long, heartbreaking years. Everyone had. The whole household, family and staff alike. Cora and Edith and Sybil and Carson and Mrs. Hughes and Thomas and Branson and Anna and all the rest. Only Robert and Bates had survived, having been in London at the time of the tragedy. Isis had been a consolation he'd gotten for himself after it all. She was the only one Robert could see and feel and touch. Everyone else was a ghost. A ghost haunting his days and nights. And he would never want to let them go.
Robert Crawley, Earl of Grantham, lived now as a recluse in his family home. Family mausoleum.
"Go to sleep, darling." Cora's voice interrupted his morose thoughts.
Oh how he wished he might reach out to brush his fingers over her soft skin, brush away the silky dark curls of her hair. He could almost feel her. The memory of what it was like to touch her was so deeply imbedded in his soul.
But it was not prudent to dwell on such things. He would go mad if he allowed himself to become too preoccupied with all that he could not have and could not do. Well, perhaps he had already gone mad. Still, it would not be wise to fixate.
Robert rolled over onto his back, knowing that he might never sleep if he kept looking at her. With an annoyed groan, he remembered what was coming the next day. "I have to go see Mama tomorrow."
"It's good to see your mother," Cora pointed out.
"You only say that because she won't come here so you don't have to see her."
A soft, beautiful chuckle came from her lips. "Perhaps. But it isn't good for you to stay cooped up in here with all of us all the time, Robert. You must remember that you are still among the living. I want you to have a life."
Robert knew that, of course. Two years ago, when the tragedy struck, he had been sorely tempted to end his life so he might rejoin his family, but Cora absolutely forbade it. He would not defy her. He would remain alive. Even if it was a torturous half-life.
"Tomorrow you will go visit Mama and you can come back and tell me about it. If she's summoned you, it must be for some interesting purpose," she mused.
He hummed in agreement but begrudgingly said, "We'll see."
Cora gave another soft laugh. "Goodnight, Robert."
"Goodnight, Cora."
