AN: Ok, so I am no military scholar or Boer War expert. I did a little Googling and stuck in the few things I retained after skimming the article, made up a bunch of stuff and this is what I got. I apologize for any inaccuracies, but this is fiction, not historical source material.

28th October 1899

Dear Cousin Robert,

I hope this letter finds you well despite the hellish circumstances that surround you. I sometimes think of throwing my hat into the fray as well, but then I think of the family's situation, and it seems unwise.

Speaking of family, Caroline, Patrick and myself have just come from a visit to Downton. The girls are getting on and quite lively. Your mother is as fit as ever. Cora, of course, was the perfect hostess, although I think we created a heap more work for her on top of the mountain she is already undertaking.

Robert, I do not wish to intrude or undermine your decisions, but do you really think it wise leaving Cora to oversee it all? It would be difficult for any one person to be sure, but doubly so for someone still learning our ways. And Cora has always seemed so delicately made to me. I wonder if she has the stamina for it should this trouble with the Boer's drag out.

I would be happy to offer her my assistance in any way. Think on it.

Your friend and cousin,

James

Robert studied the tactical map laid out across his desk, cursing as the light from the kerosine lamp flickered. He rubbed at his eyes, the names of places blurring together. Slumping into the creaky chair of his makeshift desk, Robert reached for a cigarette and lit it, inhaling deeply before exhaling a plume of smoke slowly into the tent. He studied the burning embers between his fingertips, shaking his head. Cora would be appalled at his new habit, but he found it helped to steady him, focus his senses and clear his head. Unfortunately the rhythmic act of smoking could not dispel the tone of James's letter.

Robert knew Cora's mind could handle what he had left to her care. She was incredibly bright and she had an instinct that hardly steared her wrong. Cora could be shrewd when the case called for it and underneath it all was more level headed than he. Robert was confident that Cora would do him proud, but James's letter had touched upon a nagging worry Robert did have. Cora wasn't good at saying no and he feared she would overextend herself. Perhaps it had been a folly to think she'd be able to juggle all of the balls she was responsible for but Robert hadn't wanted to give James any more opportunity to become enmeshed in Downton. Patrick was a good boy, but Robert had never entirely trusted James.

Thoughts of James and Patrick and the lack of a son of his own plagued Robert now as they hadn't before. Thousands of miles away, in a foreign land and spending his days ducking gunfire lent the situation a frenetic pulse. His anxiety over what would happen should he die out there, no heir of their own making to shield Cora and the girls, tormented his gut like an ulcer. It made him extra vigilant when on patrol and calculating when planning strategy. He knew that Cora had been made to feel inadequate at not having a son, though he had always tried to lift that burden from her. Now, sitting in the dark, the smell of dust and gunpowder clinging to him like cologne, he finally felt the weight of what she carried. He wondered if he could have done something to intervene, to make sure his family wouldn't be turned out the moment his body was brought back to England, should the worst happen. Snuffing out the stub of tobacco left, Robert propped his elbows on his desk and rubbed his temples. He couldn't worry any longer about what they did not have. All that was left was to stay as safe as he could.

Cora was all optimism and jollyness in her letters but now that James had planted the seed of doubt in his head, Robert couldn't help but feel anxious over her well being. Taking pen and paper, Robert leaned over and began writing.

"Mama, you are very introspective tonight. Should we be concerned that you are plotting something?"

Violet pursed her lips and flicked her eyes to the left, briefly meeting Rosamund's look before glancing back across to the young woman she had been studying most of the evening. Her daughter in law had not looked up at Rosamund's comment, remaining lost in her own thoughts, eyes averted to her plate as she mechanically put food in her mouth. Only someone accustomed to Cora's variety of expressions would realize she hadn't really been listening to them for most of the evening.

When Violet cleared her throat a second time, Cora startled and met her mother in laws stare, fixing her lips into a gracious smile. She had to give it to Cora, the girl had always been good at bucking up and doing what needed to be done. She wasn't a complainer or a whiner. After knowing Cora for almost ten years however, Violet had begun to see the fissures in the facade even before Robert had expressed concern in his latest letter.

"I say, Cora, you've kept the place up and running quite well. Brava!" Marmaduke saluted, lifting his glass in her direction before taking a generous sip.

Cora smiled briefly at her brother in law. "Well, it has only been a month."

"It sometimes only takes a day to foul something up." Rosamund chimed in. "You must let us know if we can do anything to help."

"You could start by coming back on the twenty-fifth. James has asked me to host the hunt and I need someone to entertain Caroline." Cora sighed.

"What? With Robert not here?" Violet demanded. "Cora, you cannot let James bully you."

"I don't mind," Cora answered quickly, too tired for a battle of wills with her mother in law.

"It isn't a question of minding, my dear. But this war could be a marathon, do not get tricked into treating it like a sprint or you will be left gasping for breath before the real race has begun." Violet cautioned.

"I like being busy," Cora replied quietly. "It makes the time go quicker."

Violet tilted her head, the steel in her face softening at the thickness of Cora's words. "I know it helps, but it won't do burning your candle at both ends. You must take care of yourself."

Cora nodded at Violet, "I am."

"Hmph," Violet replied and held Cora's eyes a moment longer before the younger woman looked away.

Robert jogged up to the front line of men marching solemnly toward the Tugela River. Searching the rows of uniforms, Robert finally picked out the stout general and quickly changed his course, getting closer to his commander.

"General Buller!" Robert called, weaving in and out amongst the men.

The general turned in his direction, his stride unbroken. "Lord Lieutenant Crawley."

"Sir, I've been studying the maps again and I believe our guide is taking us in the wrong direction." Robert panted, following the quick pace of the general.

"Psht, nonsense! This is exactly what we had planned back at camp." General Buller scoffed dismissively.

"With all due respect sir, this isn't the direction of the right ford! If you just look here," the loud crackling of the map as Robert opened it cut through the night. "This is the Punt Drift, not the Bridle Drift."

Without looking at the paper in Robert's hands, General Buller marched forward. "Lord Lieutenant, I know you are used to people bowing at your feet in Yorkshire, but if you have not noticed, you are a long way from there now. And over here, I am Lord and master."

Robert stopped, the men around him stepping aside to avoid running into him. He knew they were being led into a terminal situation. Their crossing point was west of their position and instead they were headed for the narrowest part of the river. They would be sitting ducks for the Boers as they attempted to get their ranks across.

The waves of men meeting his back propelled him on. Robert took his rifle and held it across his chest, finger on the trigger as the first of the men splashed into the warm water. As he predicted, their numbers created a bottle neck in the narrow loop of river they found themselves in. A bubbling of panic stirred in his belly as the first rounds of gunfire cut through the night. He saw the men in front go down and he crouched in position, looking for anything to take cover behind. Searching the horizon was useless. The Boers remained hidden in the cloak of night. Robert took aim. The air was stained with the smell of blood and smoke. A great tornado of energy exploded by his right ear and the world sank into black.

Cora observed her daughters as they jumped around the Christmas tree, frantic in their merriment as Carson and Mrs Wilson directed the hall boys carrying boxes of ornaments. Sybil kept scampering back and forth before the large fir, trying to catch a glimpse of the tree from all sides. Once the boxes were deposited at their feet and the lids removed, the girls dove in, screeching with delight as they produced one colorful trinket after another. They busied themselves with decorating the lower branches while footmen on ladders ornamented the higher parts of the tree. Cora was lost in enjoying the excitement the girls felt, when suddenly a chill grabbed hold of her and a ringing began in her ears. Her legs buckled and she caught herself on the table she was standing near.

"Mama?" Mary had heard her stumble and turned around. For a moment Cora found she could not speak and Mary rushed to her side. "Mama, are you ill?"

Mrs Wilson hurried over and held Cora's arm, guiding her down into a chair and Cora gasped heavily, the wave of nausea that had accompanied her lightheadedness slowly dissipating. With a shaking hand, Cora stroked Mary's cheek, attempting to sooth the alarm that was evident in Mary's face.

"Milady, are you alright?" Mrs Wilson asked gently, "Shall I call for Dr Clarkson?"

Cora shook her head. "No, I'm perfectly fine. Perhaps a lie down would do me good however. Could you send Jenkins up please."

Cora carefully rose to her feet and then patted Mary's head. "You girls make the tree beautiful. And mind Mrs Wilson." Giving Mary a soft kiss, Cora made her way up the stairs, on the verge of tears without any reason as to why she suddenly felt so grief stricken.