I do believe that Lady Sybil was going to die…
As Dr. Clarkson made his exit, Robert turned to look at his wife. The chasm that had opened between them had been almost more difficult to bear than the event that had caused it: the death of their baby girl, Sybil.
The ride in the motor to the Dower House had been nearly unbearable. He had watched as Cora had pressed her lithe figure as close to the door as she could, making her frame as small as possible; anything she could do to increase the physical space between them. She had gazed intently out the window, refusing to acknowledge his presence.
The vast emptiness that Robert felt seemed to throb when he looked over at her. Not only had he lost the flowering bloom that was his darling Sybil, but it seemed he was also to lose the love of her beautiful mama.
When they had lost their baby boy he had held her while she cried. He knew that the grief he felt over the loss of their son was only a fraction of what she must have felt. She had carried him after all, felt the life growing inside of her. And suddenly that life was gone. He felt he had to be strong, for her sake. So, he had held her while she cried… until he cried himself. Mourning together was what had brought them peace and allowed them to move forward.
Now, though, now they did not have each other to grieve with, now they had a wedge of blame and guilt. Robert knew that Cora blamed him for their daughter's death. At first he had taken on his mother's view that Sybil had simply been unlucky and followed so many unlucky women before her from childbirth to an early grave. As time passed he realised that he should have listened to his wife and Dr. Clarkson; she having given birth before and he having known Sybil since she was a little girl. Robert had admitted this to her when he asked to come back to Cora's room, but his olive branch had been swatted away and he had never felt more alone.
When they had entered the sitting room of the Dower house to see Dr. Clarkson there, Robert had tried to apologize to him. But Clarkson had something to tell them.
I do believe that Lady Sybil was going to die…
As Dr. Clarkson made his exit, Robert turned to look at his wife. Cora's eyes welled with tears and he could feel his own eyes filling up. Could this new information be a bridge they could build over this chasm?
Robert walked towards her and when Cora did not move he continued towards her and engulfed her in his arms. It was then that something changed in Cora. Perhaps she had forgiven him, or at least enough to share this moment with him. Her arms reached up to clutch Robert to her and his feelings of grief were co-mingled with relief that Cora had accepted his gesture. Their embrace was wracked by their sobs . Robert and Cora cried together until they were washed clean of their remorse and incriminations. They cried together until they no longer had the energy to cry.
Cora felt so weak in his arms, it seemed she barely had the strength to stand on her own and Robert was glad he was there to support her. As their tears subsided they pulled away from each other. Robert gripped her upper arms in his powerful hands and Cora moved her hands to grip his elbows. Their eyes met.
Cora was the first to speak, her voice little more than a whisper, "I love you, Robert. I never stopped loving you." Robert felt her words wash over him; closing his eyes briefly and breathing deeply. Was he relieved? "This has been the most difficult ordeal we have been through and being angry with you was the only thing that kept my grief at bay." He was relieved that she had said 'we'.
"If it is true that our baby was going to die," Cora's voice cracked from exhaustion, "then I am glad that she died at home, with us."
Robert was surprised, he had never thought of any of his daughters dying, but at least Sybil had been surrounded by loved ones in the end.
"Cora, I don't know what to say." Robert shook his head slowly, blinking his tear-worn eyes, casting about for the right words, "I'm just…"
His wife interrupted him. "Robert, let's go home," she offered with a small smile that gladdened his heart.
Robert's Mama had long ago left the room so they didn't bother to look for her to say goodbye. The car ride home was silent, but an amiable silence, the silence of two people whose lives have been intertwined for decades. They sat with a small gap between them, renegotiating the physical space as they had begun to mend their emotional life.
Cora reached over and pulled her husband's hand into her lap. She laced their fingers together and placed her other hand on top. It was meant as an apology of sorts and Cora closed her eyes and released a small sigh of relief when Robert squeezed her hand in return.
When they returned to the Abbey, Robert let Cora lead him up the stairs by their joined hands. Any other plans he may have had for the day had long since been forgotten. Besides, could anything be as important as rebuilding his marriage?
Once they were ensconced in the privacy of her bedroom, the bedroom they had once shared, Robert felt awkward. Of course she had led him here; where else could they have a private conversation without being overheard or interrupted? Where could be more appropriate than the room where they had conceived their daughters and where they had each been born? Where else could they have gone, but the room where Robert had first told Cora that he loved her?
But what did she want to do here? To talk? To sit together? To be held? Robert stood close to the door and watched as Cora took off her hat. While they had both slept here together for many years, it has always, truly been her space. It was a woman's space with its light colors and gauzy drapes, and while he had overlooked that for some time, today he felt like a trespasser. Since his most recent banishment, he wanted to be as respectful of her space and her wishes as possible. So he stood close to the door waiting to be asked to leave.
When she turned towards him there was something he felt he had to say. "Cora, I should have listened to you that night. No matter what the outcome was going to be, I should have listened to you. You are my wife and the mother of my girls, and I should have trusted you far above any Harley Street doctor."
She walked towards him with her hands outstretched, "Shhh, Robert. It's all right." Robert took her hands and closed the gap between them. The dark circles under her eyes betrayed a lack of sleep, their red rims spoke of the many tears she had recently cried, her eyebrows were knit together as though she worried about something. There was still no other face he would rather be looking at, and he was intensely grateful that she was looking at him. "I appreciate you saying that, but I don't know that there is anything more to say," Cora continued, looking into his eyes.
Cora broke their shared gaze, and looked down at his chest. She looked so tired and vulnerable, and Robert longed to hold her in his arms and protect her, but they were still renegotiating their boundaries and he didn't wish to overstep. She looked up at him through her eyelashes, "Robert, will you kiss me? After the way I spoke to you this morning, I understand if you don't want to."
Her admonishment not to flirt with her that morning had stung, but it no longer mattered. He didn't say anything. Robert simply released one of her hands and reached up to her face. He continued holding her other hand, not wanting to lose that connection, not wanting to give her a chance to change her mind and turn away. He shared a bittersweet smile with Cora before he tilted her chin up and pressed his lips to hers.
It was a simple kiss, an almost chaste kiss, but it went on for ages. They hadn't kissed since that awful night. After meeting their first grandchild Cora had been so overwhelmed with joy that she had pounced on him with a quick kiss on the cheek that may have satisfied propriety but not her desire to celebrate. That kiss felt like it had taken place in another time. He supposed it had taken place in another world, a world where Sybil was alive. Robert wanted to savor this connection for as long as possible.
It was Cora who broke off their kiss and returned her gaze to her husband's chest. She reached her free hand up to play with the hair at the nape of Robert's neck. She lifts her head and looks him in the eyes, her voice is soft and quiet and determined. "Robert, make love to me. I know it may seem unusual, but I need to feel something, something other than this numbness."
"I…" His breath catches and his eyebrows climb towards his hair, but he remains rooted to the spot. Her request struck him as extraordinary under the circumstances, but he would not turn away from an opportunity to rebuild his connection to his Cora.
She leaned towards him, her eyes searching his face. It was as though Cora was being held up by a taut string and at one wrong move that string would sever and she would crumple onto the floor.
Robert resolves his face into an expression he hopes conveys not only his love for her but also the desire he has felt for her since before he fell in love with her. "You know I can deny you nothing," he answered, lifting their still joined hands up and kissing the back of hers. "All I have ever wanted was to make you happy."
He kisses her then and holds her in his arms and it is such a relief and there truly is nothing left to say.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Robert studies his wife's face as he moves above her and he begins to understand why the French call it La Petite Mort. Cora's eyes are tightly shut, and her lips are slightly parted. She looks as though she may begin sobbing again, but instead she cries out as her body shatters beneath him.
He continued to thrust inside her while her inner walls convulsed around him; she had found her release, but Robert could not seem to find his own. When Cora was still beneath him, he slowed his pace to a stop, extricated himself from her hold, and rolled away.
"You didn't…" Robert appreciated the concern in her voice.
"No. I can't seem to right now," he explained. Now it was his turn to shrink away. Robert hugged the very edge of the bed, widening the gap between them as much as he could. He had often sought refuge in solitude after the intimacy of their lovemaking. There was a time when he would retreat to his dressing room, but now he only needed a moment with his thoughts.
Robert gazed towards his dressing room door. There was something there that he suddenly felt he needed to see, to hold. Was it finally time for him to share it with his wife, or would it simply reopen an old wound?
"I hope you don't regret it." He felt the tentative touch of Cora's hand on his arm. Robert feels a pang of disappointment in himself for letting her feel alone.
He shifted his weight and turned towards her, making certain to look in her eyes. "My darling, I never could, nor ever will regret making love to you." Cora tilts her chin down and gives him a small half smile. God, she looked so tired.
"It appears that this was something that you needed and I did not, and I will always endeavor to fulfill your needs," he continued. Robert slowly moved to kiss her on the forehead, he watched her closely to see if she moved away. He was relieved when she did not, and he was able to savor the simple contact of his lips on her skin.
"That's awfully insightful for you," his wife smiled at him knowingly. It was true that when it came to matters of the heart, Robert was no expert.
"I'm allowed to have my moments," he returned her smile in kind. "I suppose it comes of all the time I've spent alone with my thoughts lately."
Cora's face fell at the mention of being alone. She reached over and took Robert's hand as if to say that they needn't be alone moving forward. She seemed disappointed then, when Robert took his hand from hers and got up from the bed. He could feel her eyes on his back as he walked towards his dressing room.
"Robert?" He heard the concern in her voice, he felt he didn't deserve it. Not quite yet. He left the adjoining door open while he quickly found what he was looking for. It may have been in the back of a drawer and under some old letters, but Robert knew exactly where it was.
Cora looked relieved when he returned through the open door with a small, ornate, silver box. Robert carried it reverently, securely in both hands, as though it were a holy relic. To him, it was.
He handed his treasure to his wife as he climbed back into her bed. "I remembered that Mama had had something similar made for my brother," Robert began to explain, referring to the stillborn boy that Violet never spoke of. "So, I arranged with Grassby's to have this made when our boy…"
When Robert's voice trailed off, Cora opened the lid of the box. They had never turned on the lamps, and the mid-afternoon sunlight streaming in through the windows was overcast and shadowy, so she could barely make out the oak leaf and acorn motif laid out in the silver of the box's exterior. Nestled in the black velvet interior of the vessel was a pair of tiny, alabaster white, baby feet. Realization washed over Cora before she read the note that accompanied the castings, written in Robert's spiky hand, 'Baby Crawley, 1914.'
Robert stared towards the window. He couldn't quite bring himself to look at Cora, he wasn't ready to face her reaction. His voice caught as he continued, "I remember how excited Sybil was when we told her about the baby. She was so looking forward to being a big sister." He took a deep breath to still his own emotions and to brace himself towards Cora's.
He is distressed to discover a single tear rolling down her cheek. He should never have shared this, it had only reopened a wound that may never truly heal. He had to try and make it right.
"I'm so sorry, Cora," he reached across the bed to take it from her, his face contorted with the anguish that he felt. "I should have known this would only upset you."
As Robert's hand fell upon the box, his fingers grazed the back of her hand. He tried to take it from her, but she wouldn't release her grip. "Don't be sorry, Robert." She swallowed hard against a fresh wave of tears, and brought her red rimmed eyes up to meet his. "I love how much you love him."
She placed the tiny pair of feet back in their sepulcher and took Robert's hand in hers. "But why didn't you show me this before?"
The raw emotion of this moment was too much for Robert and his jaw began to tremble as he replied, "I suppose I was jealous. You had felt him, held him even, and I never even saw him. This was a piece of him that was only for me."
His eyes fell to their joined hands. "I see now that I was being selfish."
Cora maneuvered herself lower so that she could look up into his downcast face. "I don't think it's selfish," she reassured him. She released his hand to cup his dear, dear face. "This," she lifted the small box, indicating its precious contents, "is so much more personal than the small stone down in the cemetery and I cherish you for having it made." Robert reached up his hand to grasp her hand on his face. He turned his head and closed his eyes to place a heartfelt kiss on her palm.
When he released her hand, Cora opened the lid of the box again and pulled out the label, 'Baby Crawley, 1914.'
"Is it overly sentimental of me to wish that we had named him?" Cora looked back at Robert imploringly.
Robert leaned forward in the bed, and without thinking, his arm coursed around her waist in a motion he must have done a thousand times and felt as natural as breathing. "I don't think so. It can be something for just us two to have. Did you have something in mind?"
"I'd like to name him for you, if only for his middle name," Cora had been reassured by Robert's arm around her, but she still looked to him for approval.
For a moment he was reminded of the young woman he had married, who had looked to him for approval and guidance in her new life. But he had quickly learned that he had needed her guidance even more, especially when it came to his heart. So, when she asked to name their poor boy after him, no matter how undeserving he was, he knew he should let her take the lead. "I suppose I should let you," he offered her a small smile as a fresh tear made its way down his cheek, "you let me name Sybil for you after all."
Sybil Cora Crawley.
He had known as soon as he had held their youngest daughter that he needed to honor his wife by giving her Cora's name. She had been the only one of their daughters to be born with hair. Hair dark like her mother's.
"You claimed that she looked like me," Cora babbled with a small laugh. "I don't see how you could tell; she was only a baby."
"I could already see that she was beautiful," Robert confided, "just like her mama."
The bashful smile and flush of color across her cheeks contrasted so vividly with her red rimmed eyes with their dark circles. He watched as she took a steadying breath and returned her gaze to the slip of paper in her hand. "Were there any names you had in mind?"
"I've always liked the name Edward," Robert confessed. While he respected the current monarch, Robert appreciated how much the previous king had done to bring wealthy Americans and poor aristocrats together.
"I like it too: Edward Robert."
"That was simple enough," Robert could feel the dark shadows hovering over them and wished to keep them at bay. "Do you remember how long it took for us to name Edith? I don't think we settled on her name until the morning of her christening," he jested with a light laugh.
He looked over at his wife to gauge her reaction. Cora smiled, and began to chuckle, but she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply and her mirth turned into tears.
Robert seized the box from her hands, securing it on his bedside table, before taking her into his arms.
"Robert, why have our children been taken from us?" she implored, with her face buried in his neck.
"I suppose we are being tested," he answered while stroking the loose strands of hair at her nape. "What is it you always say, my darling? Being tested only makes us stronger?"
"I know I say that, but this feels like a test I cannot pass."
"But we must. For Mary and Edith," he quavered, "and for Sybil's child."
Robert pulled away from their embrace to look Cora in the eyes. "And if we have each other, I believe we can pass this test."
It was then that the dressing gong rang.
"I suppose I ought to go and change." Robert got up from the bed and began to gather his clothes so Bates wouldn't see him in a state of nature.
He stood by his dressing room door buttoning his pants and pulling his braces up over his partially open shirt. He noticed Cora walking towards him with the silver box in her hands. She had put her slip back on and the effect of the white fabric on her pale skin made her seem almost ghostly in the fading sunlight; except for her eyes. Robert could see that a spark had returned to Cora's eyes that hadn't been there for some time.
"Robert, thank you for this afternoon, it certainly helped to shake loose some of these cobwebs," she said as she handed him his treasured reliquary. Cora locked eyes with him and spoke very deliberately, "I won't promise that everything will go back to the way it was before, it can't really, but I would like for you to move back in here tonight after dinner."
"I'd like that very much," Robert allowed himself a small smile at this reprieve. He looked down at the box in his hand and offered it back to Cora, "Perhaps we can keep this in here. I can bring up a pen and we can write his name down."
"I think I'd like that," Cora replied, taking the box back from him and holding it reverently.
With that Cora kissed his cheek and wrapped her arms around him, resting her cheek on Robert's chest. He brought his own arms up around her and breathed deeply the scent of her hair.
He knew she was right, a life without Sybil would never be the same, but he also knew that they had taken a step towards each other to build something new.
They both savored this moment of connection until O'Brien knocked on the door to dress her Ladyship.
