16 June 1900
Dearest Robert,
I was quite relieved to get your latest letter. I fervently hope that your predictions are right and that tides seem to be turning in our direction over there. The sooner we have you back, the sooner we can all sleep sounder. I hope you are taking care of yourself as best you can. One cannot go a day without reading how malaria, even more than battle, is wiping out our men in that desert.
Everything at home is quiet. Except for the girls, perhaps. They have gone a little wild in your absence. Cora's ideas of decorum and acceptability are, of course, much different than my own and I fear she is letting them rule the roost. Darling Sybil will be a full blooded cowboy by the time you return. I've never seen a child with so much….energy. The American influence is strong in your youngest.
Cora has taken to fundraising for some of the maids in the area. They are making handkerchiefs to send to the soldiers abroad, and while I commend her charity, I think there is a serious matter you should be made aware of. Her enterprise has brought her into contact with a Mrs Coolidge. Her husband just bought Rothby House. She's an older woman and Cora has become fast friends with her. I dare say she is feeling lonely and in need of companionship and is want for someone other than myself to talk with, but I've done some inquiring and this Mrs Coolidge is entirely inappropriate. Her husband stays in London. She's apparently been banished to the country, due to some liaison I'm sure. I think she is taking advantage of Cora's naivety, good nature and status in the county. In your next letter you must turn her off of this friendship. I hate to put this burden on you when you've more pressing matters to attend to, but I fear you are the only one she will listen to in this matter.
Take care son, and be safe.
With fondness,
Mama
Cora studied the quarterly reports that Jarvis had brought to her, perplexed. She always had a head for figures. Her father would have her practice her arithmetic in his office while he settled the business's books. She felt a satisfaction summing up her columns, carrying numbers, dividing fractions. And what she was left with was either right or wrong, no room for interpretation or debate, no gray area waiting to throw it all off balance. Especially when pitted against Harold, racing to calculate the problems her father gave them as a competition, Cora felt proud speeding through her work while Harold labored.
Looking at the mess before her, she had none of that old swelling in her chest that came with being smarter than her brother. Now just the sharp twist of fear as she calculated the numbers together once more, to make sure that she understood the estate to be close to the red, everything adding up to money going out like water with only a slight trickle coming back in. Cora pressed the bridge of her nose, an attempt to relieve the pressure throbbing below the surface. She may have a talent for arithmetic but she could not pretend to know the first thing about husbandry or tenant farming. Frowning, Cora puzzled over Robert's depth of awareness of the financial storm Downton was heading toward.
Even more concerning had been the way Jarvis bristled when she tried, as tender footed as she could, to point out her observations. There weren't many disparaging remarks he could come outright and say and hope to remain in his position. His annoyed dismissal of her input as he stiffly gathered his things and viciously tugged his hat on, and his mutterings about Lord Grantham's wishes however, told her exactly what he thought of her meddling.
Wearily closing the books, Cora exited her sitting room, distractedly thinking about the books she had seen a hundred times standing erect on the library's shelves. Specifically, she was certain there were at least half a dozen books on estate farming that she could attempt to reference. Lost in thought, she was only half aware of the shouting happening in the great hall.
"Mama!" Mary's crying of her name shook her out of her own head. Mary was uncharacteristically flushed, angered to the point of tears, her arms crossed tightly across her chest. Little Patrick looked at Cora with wide eyes as she approached and he seemed to shrink back as she put a light hand on Mary's shoulder.
"What is it darling?" Cora soothed. At her touch, her serious, reserved daughter buried her head in her skirts as though a babe Sybil's age and cried heavily. Feeling a surprised panic at Mary's rare tears, Cora crouched down and held her daughter tightly.
"Say it isn't true!" Mary whispered between her stuttering breaths.
"What, my love?" Cora asked, pushing her away slightly and cupping her face in her hands. She swiped away the tears that had left streaks down Mary's porcelain cheeks.
"Cousin Patrick…" Cora looked over Mary's shoulder at the frightened little boy who stood frozen still. "He said Papa was going to die in Africa."
Cora's fingers clutched Mary a touch harder at her words. Patrick began to shuffle from one foot to the other and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his trousers. He refused to meet her eyes but she could see his as they studied the floor, the irises beginning to swim at the punishment surely waiting for him.
"Mary," Cora turned back to her daughter, caressing her hair and stretching her face into a false smile. "No one knows what war will bring, but Papa is doing his very best to stay out of danger and come back to us and we must trust him."
Mary's crying had stuttered out and she nodded her head firmly at Cora's words. She turned to her cousin and squared her shoulders, leveling him with a cold stare so reminiscent of her grandmother's that Cora coughed behind her hand in an attempt to cover up her chuckling.
"Now Patrick, perhaps you should be sensitive to your cousin's feelings. She's very worried about her Papa, as you would be, so if you could kindly keep your thoughts to yourself I would appreciate it." Cora said evenly, though really she wanted to take the spoiled child by the ear and drag him off to his parents for a scolding, as if that would help. "You won't be able to come back to Downton if you cannot follow that rule."
Patrick's eyes turned stricken and indignant. "You cannot do that!"
Cora's brows drew together and she clenched her jaw. "If you continue to upset Lady Mary I most certainly can."
Patrick opened his mouth to say more, than thinking better of it, clamped his lips together and turned on his heel, racing to the back gardens. Mary slipped her hand in her mother's and she tugged lightly, getting her attention. Cora's features softened as she faced the little girl who kept pulling until she stooped in front of her once more.
"Mama," Mary began, her eyes boring into Cora's, searching.
"Yes," Cora responded.
Mary licked her lips and huffed a deep breath, looking away for a moment. "Patrick also said we would be made to leave Downton. If Papa doesn't come back."
The air in Cora's lungs stung as she held it. Her stomach lurched as Mary's confused sorrow was displayed across her face. "Is it true?" The nine year old asked quietly.
How can I lie? Cora wondered, looking into her daughter's pleading eyes. They began to well up again, her sturdy little chin quivering as she held back her emotions. Cora was shocked by the urge she had to take that boy and shake him until he sobbed for forgiveness. The sight of her strong child on the verge of tears for a second time making her want to roar with fury.
Feeling the sting of her own tears Cora willed them away and took Mary's hands in her own. "Why don't we go into the drawing room? You can take your tea with me today instead of the nursery and we can talk about what Patrick said."
Mother and daughter walked hand in hand to the drawing room until Mary stopped short. "But is it true? That we would have to leave our home?"
Cora sighed, leading Mary to one of the couch's and sitting down. "If something happens to your father, than someone else will become earl, Mary, that's how the title works. And whoever becomes earl lives in Downton. It's our home, true, but we are just taking care of it until the next earl takes it over."
Mary's lips puckered. "But won't it be me?"
Cora tilted her head, shaking her head sadly. Really, it should be Violet or Robert explaining this to Mary. She still didn't think any of it made sense or was an ounce fair. "No darling. Only male members of a family can inherit titles and land and money."
"But you inherited loads of money! It's why Papa married you." Mary countered.
Cora sat back, abruptly. "Who told you that?"
"Patrick," Mary replied.
"Ugh, I am going to need to speak to James and Camilla about that's boy's liberal use of his tongue," Cora growled. "Yes, darling, I did inherit money from your grandfather, but in America, it's done differently."
"But I don't have any brothers!" Mary pointed out. "Who will become earl?"
Cora paused a moment before saying, "Cousin James. And then cousin Patrick."
"No!" Mary yelled, stomping her foot. "That isn't fair!"
"Darling," Cora said softly, trying to lay a calming hand on Mary's arm but she took a step back, shaking her head.
"I can't believe it! I cannot believe it!" Mary cried, her shoes clattering across the wooden floor as she ran out of the drawing room and up the stairs.
Sighing, Cora shook her head before burying it in her hands. "Oh Robert," she whispered, so many things wanting to be said in the silence of the room.