3
She wonders sometimes –all of the time – if maybe there's something wrong with her daughter. The child's almost 14-months-old and, on the surface, is absolutely perfect. She has ten fingers and ten toes, rich dark curls framing a beautiful porcelain face, and wonderfully big brown eyes. But it's the eyes that bother Cora. As beautiful as they are, she cannot help but feel as though they are watching her every move; judging her, accusing her, for being a bad mother, a useless mother.
Sometimes she thinks Mary hates her. She made the mistake, once, of revealing her fears to Robert, he told her she was being absurd, "the child's one", he laughed, "she cannot think, let alone hate". She doesn't mention it again, she pretends everything is fine now, but it's not. The way her daughter appraises her and finds her lacking with one swift look leaves Cora feeling cold.
She often sits in a rocking chair on one side of the nursery whilst Mary plays with her toys on the other side of the room. Mary's dark eyes constantly seek out her own, but she finds she cannot maintain the contact for long. She sees no love, or warmth looking back at her and it kills her. One day, when those cold brown eyes lock onto hers she wonders what it would be like if her son had survived instead of Mary. She feels sick as soon as the thought crosses her mind, she should be imagining both of her children being with her, not pondering switching one for the other. She's sure, in that moment, that Mary can read her thoughts; that Mary knows she'd rather have her son with her than her daughter, but no, she doesn't want that, she really doesn't! She feels she should apologise to the child, who's still gazing at her- has she even blinked?- but she's not sure how to phrase it. It enters her mind that maybe she's starting to go insane, Mary's driving her insane. The tears fall thick and fast then; hot rivers of guilt flowing down her cheeks. She buries her face in her hands as her body is wracked with sobs and she prays that God can forgive her, that Mary can forgive her, for having such wicked thoughts.
She flinches when an icy little hand touches her arm and the guilt rages anew when she's confronted with the wide, fearful eyes of her little girl. She looks at her then, really looks at her, and realises that her daughter is not judging her at all, she's just wary. She's wary of a mother who sits and stares at her from across the room, she's wary of a father who is hesitant and awkward with her, and she's probably terrified of her granny, although she may just be projecting her own past feelings there. It dawns on her then, 14 months too late, she thinks, that Mary is just a baby, and she is her mother, and it's her job, not Mary's, to offer comfort and love. Otherwise, how will the child ever know how to show her own affections?!
She's not sure how long she sits looking into her daughter's eyes, eyes she now finds incredibly precious and beautiful, trying to figure out how to start making amends when she's interrupted by a gruff cough from the doorway and an, "I beg your pardon, Mi'lady, but.." her husband's valet gets no further before her daughter lets out a squeal of delight and throws her little body at the man's legs. He gives a deep chuckle, that she's sure came from his shoes, before swinging her up into his arms and waggling thick black eyebrows at her, sending the little girl into a fit of giggles. Cora's heart breaks a little more when the child laughingly struggles to escape his tickling fingers with a high pitched "Cassy, stop!" The valet chuckles again and turns his kind eyes to Cora saying, "I'm afraid she hasn't quite grasped Carson yet, Mi'lady, but I daresay she'll have mastered it soon enough". He smiles at her then and Cora tries to return the gesture. She only manages a weak grimace as all she can think is I didn't even know she could talk.
