8. I Swear Every Word Is True

"What about you? Could you live without me?"

"A year ago my answer would undoubtedly be 'no'."

"And now?" Robert asked.

"And now... After thinking about it for more than a split second... My answer is still no. No, I couldn't."

Cora lay quite still. She'd seen the light of the sun cross her bedroom and the shadows rise and creep across her room as the next day wore on into evening. She'd been diagnosed by Doctor Clarkson with Spanish Flu, just like half of the rest of the household. But still Robert had not been to see her. Though to say she had not seen Robert was not to say she hadn't heard him. Him and Jane.

It felt a very appropriate punishment to Cora. She was so tired, so weak that she couldn't do a thing but listen. Whether he knew she could hear or not, Cora didn't know.

O'Brien re-entered the bedroom and with the noise of her arrival, Jane and Robert parted company next door.

"I've brought up some fresh water, hopefully it'll pull down your temperature," O'Brien offered a meek smile and set the basin down. Cora just stared out of the window, her eyes glassy and vibrant blue. She'd had no choice but to listen. She'd been unable to hide, she couldn't move for the little energy she had, she just had to listen. Robert said so many things that he'd said to her. Exact sentences and phrases he'd strung together to emphasise, to personify the way he loved her.

Knowing Robert had done exactly the same thing was no consolation for the guilt she felt about what she'd done with Evelyn Napier. But hearing Robert so effortlessly speak affections to Jane made her feel her life with him had almost been under false pretence. Cora really had believed he'd loved her with the same strength she loved him. Perhaps it was all an act, puppeteered and controlled by Robert and his mother and she had gone along with it all, believing every word to be endearing and above anything else true.

"Milady?" O'Brien had been talking and taking care of her and she'd not realised. Because that was when the grips of sickness drew their long fingers around Cora and clutched.

"The doctor! Please someone fetch Doctor Clarkson immediately!" O'Brien yelled while charging down the stairs.

"Just what is going on?" Mrs Hughes asked.

"It's her ladyship, she's taken a bad turn - she's bleeding."

"What's going on?" Anna came wandering through with a bunch of towels.

"Go straight back to her, Miss O'Brien. I will send Thomas down for the doctor. Anna, could you tell his lordship and the ladies that Lady Grantham has taken a bad turn."

"Everything alright?" Jane asked, hurrying through from the kitchen upon hearing the commotion. Anna and Miss O'Brien hurried back up the stairs.

"Her ladyship's taken ill, Jane," Mrs Hughes informed.

"What's going on?" Thomas asked, coming down the stairs.

"Ah, Thomas. Would you quickly go and send for the doctor for her ladyship."

"Of course, I'll go straight away," Thomas hurried down the stairs and out the back door.

"I think I'll help Miss O'Brien," Mrs Hughes decided.

"Anything I can do, Mrs Hughes?" Jane asked.

"I don't think so... Just go about your duties... and pray."

Blood. And coughing. And sick. And sweat. Robert's worst nightmare. She looked terrible, he'd never seen her so ill - never seen anyone so ill. Not in his guarded lifestyle. Maybe it was the shock, perhaps that was why he registered no emotion on his face, did nothing, said nothing, only stared. The threat of loosing her was as close as it seemed it would ever be. He felt his heart turn to ice in his chest as he hurriedly regretted almost everything of the past 24 hours. Everything except the few endearing pieces of truth he'd shared with her in the drawing room just the evening before.

Mary reacted about as well as Robert did. Edith watched in horror while things got worse. Sybil helped O'Brien with mopping up the blood and sweat, unbothered by what mess she made of her attire.

"The doctor is here," Mrs Hughes announced solemly, opening the door wide for Doctor Clarkson and one of the hospital nurses as they hurried into the room. The doctor put down his bag and quickly rid of his coat while the nurse prepared his equipment.

"What can we do?" Sybil asked, moving out of the way with O'Brien.

"I'm afraid the disease is very unstable, we can't be sure just yet..."

"There are treatments available?" Mary asked, breaking out of her stupor.

"Unfortunately Spanish Flu has recently developed to become far more severe than its previous form," Clarkson answered quickly, simultaneously taking instruments from the nurse and checking Cora's temperature. "Lady Grantham is experiencing severe symptoms, there's little medication we can provide."

"What does that mean?" Edith asked.

"We cannot be sure yet if... In time we'll know."

Cora seized up in another coughing fit, gasping for air to fill her lungs. Perhaps it would be better to leave the world now, Cora thought amongst the haze of searing temperature and tiredness. Her three children were all grown, her purpose was done as far as Downton was concerned. And Robert... he'd be free from his vows to her. She could be free and let Robert be free too...

"What's happening?" Robert rasped. He'd been so caught up in his thoughts he'd missed half of what the doctor had said. He shifted past everyone and sat down beside Cora on the bed, contemplating taking her hand and if she'd mind. "What can we do?" he asked, looking up at anyone for an answer. Nobody had a reply. None of his children were crying yet but he could tell they wanted to. Their eyes were filled with a fighting hope and a determination to block out sorrow. He turned back to his wife.

"Cora?" he asked, tentatively taking her hand. She was gasping, struggling for air, her sight unfocused on anything. Eyes closed, open, closed.

"Robert," she breathed. "I'm... sorry."

"Don't apologise. Oh God, don't apologise. You're not leaving me here," he grasped her hand tighter and continued in quieter tones. "I'm the one who should be sorry... Please stay with me."

Her breaths were getting shorter, more difficult. Her eyes rested on him and did not shift.

"You're not going anywhere," he choked on the rising lump in his throat. "Cora, please."

"Mama?" Sybil asked through tears, gently she shook her shoulder. Cora didn't move. The doctor moved back to the bedside and put two fingers to her neck.

"God. Cora don't go. Stay with me," Robert said desperately. "Please."

"Don't ever question if I love you or not, Robert because whether I want to or not, I always will. Regardless of your faults and mine and how battered my heart is for loving you, do not doubt that I love you."

"She loves you a great deal, Mr Crawley."

"Who does?"

"Who else? ...Who do you want it to be?"

Robert withdrew his hand, his brow furrowed.

"I'm a little uncomfortable with-"

"Ah, yes, I know."

"I just want to know where I'll be in a year or so."

"Where you'll be? Physically or mentally?" The woman permitted herself a chuckle. "Let me find my pack of cards."

"I don't really want to play cards-"

"No, no, no, Mr Crawley. We're not going to play with these. We read them."

Robert had gone searching for liberation and found further annoyance. However he allowed himself to be taken further on the ride of lunacy purely out of curiosity and particularly because he didn't want to go back to Downton yet.

"Cut the cards and put them back together." Robert did as he'd been instructed. She picked them up and fanned them. "Draw a card and lay it flat."

Robert pulled a card from the deck, turning it over and finding himself utterly horrified for the second time that day. He looked up at the reader, her eyes did not meet his.

"Ah... well. That is hard luck. But it doesn't always mean that-"

"Doesn't always mean what? What else does this card mean but what is written on it? It says death."