Cora got a few hours of sleep. It was sleep full of dreams of the boyishly handsome man who had paid for her carriage. She'd been exhausted but elated when she'd finally finished with Jack the Ripper and slipped out of that flat to hurry away from the crime scene, and though her exhaustion, she'd not been as careful as she usually was. She'd run into that man—Robert, he'd said—and the moment he grabbed her to keep them both from toppling over, Cora felt a jolt of lightning go through her.
He was so kind and attractive and attentive. He'd showed his gentlemanly concern for her as a woman on the streets on her own, and he'd taken it upon himself to ensure she was safe. She could not stop smiling all the time in the carriage and going to her room above the pub and undressing and finally falling into bed. And Robert consumed her dreams. She had imagined herself dancing with him at a ball, having him hold her in his arms as they waltzed. She even happily allowed the dreams to go further where everyone else at the ball melted away and she and Robert were alone, dancing to music and then he would lean in and kiss her.
By the time she woke, the sun was high in the sky. It stood to reason, of course, since it had been almost dawn by the time she'd gotten back. And her dreams were so lovely that she'd not wanted to leave them.
But Cora had to shake all that off. She still had a job to do. That was where her focus had to be. Besides, the odds were that she'd never see that Robert ever again. She'd forget about him in a few days, surely. But until then, she would happily remain in love with her handsome protector.
Cora hummed to herself, still thinking of his beautiful blue eyes, as she got dressed. She needed to look her best today. There was a black gown she had packed that would do nicely. Cora knew she was young and unlikely to be taken seriously, so for occasions like this, she tended to wear black. It made her look a bit older but much more powerful.
She looked at herself in the mirror and pinned her hat into place. The large, pointed feather also helped give her an air of gravitas she wouldn't have on her own. With a small nod and smile to herself, she made her way out.
The doorbell rang at Grantham House and Richardson, the butler, went to answer it. He frowned, as Lady Grantham had not informed him of any visitors for today. And Richardson had to see to His Lordship soon. The young Earl had been out late again and thus sleeping late, and he'd call for valet services any minute. But someone was at the door now, and it was the butler's duty to answer it.
A young woman dressed very elegantly in black stood before him on the step. "Good morning," the young woman said, smiling in a bright way that made Richardson uncomfortable. "I have a letter for the Dowager Countess of Grantham from Mr. Isidore Levinson of New York that I was instructed to deliver to Her Ladyship personally."
She was American. How distasteful. Her Ladyship would not like that one bit. But Richardson knew his place. "I see. Please come inside."
The young woman came in and stood patiently and politely in the foyer, awaiting further guidance.
"If you'd like to wait in the drawing room, I shall inform Lady Grantham of your message," Richardson told her.
As efficiently as he could, Richardson settled the visitor in the drawing room and sent for one of the footmen to bring her tea. Not that he anticipated her staying long, but it would never be said that a guest was not treated in the most exemplary fashion in Grantham House. Mr. Carson would certainly hear about it back at Downton, and Richardson was still new to the post here. He intended to prove himself.
Richardson made his way to the library where Her Ladyship was reviewing some correspondence. "Good morning, My Lady," he greeted. "A young woman has arrived with a letter from Mr. Isidore Levinson of New York, and she claims she was instructed to deliver it to you personally."
Lady Grantham looked up and her eyes lit up. It was subtle; it wasn't a trait of the peerage to have any outward display of emotion. But Richardson could tell she was pleased. She asked, "Is she in the drawing room?"
"She is, My Lady. George is bringing her some tea," Richardson informed her.
The Dowager Countess gave a curt nod. "Good. Thank you, Richardson. I shall see to her at once. I have been awaiting correspondence from Mr. Levinson. And I imagine I shall need privacy for this meeting, if you'd ensure we are not disturbed."
"Of course." He followed Her Ladyship out of the library and opened the door to the drawing room for her and closed it firmly behind her.
Violet walked into the drawing room to find a young woman wearing black and looking equal parts gentle and formidable. She somehow seemed to toe the line between severe and sweet, as though her dress and manner and looks did not all match up.
As soon as Violet entered, the young woman stood from where she'd been sitting beside the tea service. "It is an honor to meet you, Lady Grantham," the girl greeted, giving a small curtsy.
It was all Violet could do not to roll her eyes. A curtsy to a Dowager Countess was hardly necessary and denoted a distinct lack of understanding of the English peerage. But what could she expect? The girl was American. They couldn't be trusted to know anything. So instead of sighing in displeasure at the presence of an American in her home, Violet merely asked, "I was told you bring a letter from Mr. Levinson?"
"I do," the girl said. She reached for her handbag and pulled out the missive to hand to her. Violet took it and was about to thank her and send her away when the girl spoke up again. "I shall let you read it and then we can discuss the matter."
Violet frowned in slight confusion. She had no interest in discussing anything with an American girl who was all of twenty years old, if Violet had to make an estimation. "I see," she said stiffly.
Seeing that there was no other option available, Violet sat down in the chair opposite the girl. She, too, sat down once more. And without further ado, Violet opened the letter from Mr. Levinson.
Lady Grantham,
Your letter intrigued me. The problem you face is a serious one indeed. I can understand how you've had difficulties finding someone to solve it for you. We're made of stronger stuff on this side of the pond, I have to say.
I have the perfect contractor for you. I know you will think me quite insane when I tell you that the best you will ever come across has just handed you this letter. I have no doubt she will surprise you with her abilities. She has never failed to impress. And I am certain you shall take my word on the matter, after our history in such matters.
The subject of payment shall be left to the two of you to work out. She knows what she is worth, and her fee comes back to me to be kept as a part of her dowry. I'm sure you understand, a girl with such fine features cannot be in this line of work forever.
Best wishes on this endeavor.
Sincerely yours,
Isidore Levinson
Violet looked up sharply after reading over Isidore's letter a half-dozen times. "You!?" she blurted in confusion.
The girl gave a subdued smile, one that finally matched with her attire and what Violet now knew about her. It was almost chilling. But she spoke in the same gentle, sweet voice. "I trust the letter explained that I am the contractor you asked for."
"It does. And I do trust Mr. Levinson's judgment in such matters, but I am…well, I am surprised to find a woman, particularly of your age, engaged in such things."
"I am very good at what I do, Lady Grantham, I assure you. But you are right, I am young. This was my first time travelling unaccompanied. My first time leaving America, in fact. But I have managed myself just fine," she said proudly.
Her tone—and accent—grated on Violet. She could feel a headache developing. But if she was good enough for Isidore to send her here, Violet knew she had to put some trust in her. "We shall see how you fare," she answered dubiously. "And I'm afraid Mr. Levinson neglected to share your name, Miss…?"
"Levinson," she answered brightly. "Cora Levinson. Mr. Levinson is my father."
"I am sorry you're pulled away from other duties, Richardson," Robert said apologetically. "Mitchell breaking his leg like that was terrible luck. I didn't even think that none of the footmen here would be able to serve as my valet, or I'd have brought one from Downton with me." And it was true, it wasn't fair that the butler at Grantham House should be looking after Robert. It was a valet's job or something for a first footman to fill in at. But of course, Robert hardly ever came to London unless he had to, and Mama was the only one who really spent any time at Grantham House on a regular basis. It stood to reason that none of the footmen were prepared to serve as valets yet. And so the butler, Richardson, was saddled with the task.
"It is perfectly fine, My Lord," Richardson answered. "I am happy to take care of you however I can. And we have no houseguests at the moment, so it is not so hectic downstairs. Though we do have a visitor in the drawing room at the moment."
"Oh?" Robert asked with interest.
"Yes, a young American woman came with a letter for the Dowager Countess. She arrived just before you rang for me."
Robert's mind was filled with the memory of the pretty young American woman he'd met wandering the streets of Whitechapel last night. Obviously anyone in Whitechapel would not be coming to Grantham House, but it was quite a coincidence that he should bump into an American girl and then for one to arrive only a few hours later.
Curious about the situation, Robert decided to see for himself. After Richardson finished dressing him, he went downstairs and into the drawing room to see who Mama's guest was. He wasn't expecting much, of course. It would be silly to think that the lovely Cora was now sitting with his mother.
But of course, there she was. "Cora!" he exclaimed upon seeing her.
She turned her head, the movement bending the feather of her hat. Her sapphire eyes were just as pretty in the daylight as they were last night. "Robert!" she gasped.
Mama frowned. "You know one another?" she accused.
Robert instantly felt himself blush. "Well, no, not really. We met last night. I was out taking a walk when I couldn't sleep, and we bumped into each other."
"And Robert was so kind to pay for a carriage to take me back to my room," Cora added.
"Miss Levinson, where are you staying in London?" Mama asked her. She glanced to Robert with a fire of disapproval in her eyes that he couldn't quite understand.
Cora answered, "I spent a few nights above a pub in Whitechapel out of necessity, but I no longer need to stay there. I will make arrangements with a hotel in Mayfair that was recommended to me."
"You should stay here," Robert offered. "We have plenty of space."
Mama glared at him. "No, we'll not be staying in London for much longer. I shall send a note to my daughter, Lady Rosamund Painswick. She lives in London with her husband not far from here. She also has plenty of space, and I should think you would be more comfortable there." Her words were perfectly polite and proper but Robert could hear the insistence in his mother's tone.
Cora looked from Mama to Robert and back. "That would be wonderful, thank you. I should be quite grateful to Lady Rosamund and her husband if they would not mind hosting me."
That caused Mama to give a nod of satisfaction. "I shall see to all the arrangements. Lady Rosamund's husband, Mr. Marmaduke Painswick, is a banker who works closely with the estate, so they shall be informed of your presence and make you welcome for as long as is necessary for everything. If you leave the address of where you are staying, we shall send a carriage and a footman to help gather your things."
Robert watched, confused and intrigued, as Mama gave instructions and hurried Cora out of the house. When at last the door closed behind her, Robert asked his mother, "How are you acquainted with Cora?"
"Miss Levinson," Mama emphasized, "is the daughter of a business associate of ours in New York. I have been having some difficulties with some shipments, and Mr. Levinson sent his daughter to assist in solving things."
He frowned. "I don't recall a Levinson."
Mama waved him off. "He does business under multiple company names. It's nothing for you to be concerned with."
Robert allowed her to end the conversation and make her way to the library. He did not know what she meant, but then again, he rarely did. She had been managing the estate for most of Robert's life. And while he was certainly old enough to take things on as the Earl of Grantham now, she had been running things for so long, it just made sense to allow her to carry on. One of these days he would have to pay more attention.