AN: Thank you all for your wonderful reviews!
31 December 1900
My dear, dear Robert,
It is the eve of the new year. It will be 1901 in just a few short hours and I while I thankfully say goodbye to this past year of separation and heartache I fear what the next will bring. Where are you Robert? The last six days have been the worst of my life, and yet I feel you are out there somewhere, trying to come back. As ridiculously sentimental as it may sound, I believe I would know it in my soul if you were truly gone. Perhaps it is just the strong power of denial that has me feeling this.
Where writing you once made me sad, it now helps, as though the words I put to paper are a tether connecting me to you, wherever you are. I know you know how much I love you. You are probably embarrassingly aware sometimes of my feelings. And I know how much you love me, no matter how hard it is for you to express. But I long to say the words to one another face to face again, to show you how much.
So please come home Robert. Please.
Always yours,
Cora
Violet took the driver's offered arm as she exited the carriage and she brusquely walked to the door. As of late, she had been spending most of her time at Downton. The ending of the holidays and the onset of winter meant that, mercifully, outside of the day to day running of the house, estate and village obligations were few, but she still felt it to be her duty to offer Cora any help she could. And having tasks, clear, useful tasks, kept her focus on things other than what could be happening to her son.
Her task since he had gone missing was not only to bring him home, but to keep his family intact for when he returned. And that started with his wife.
"Good afternoon, milady," the man exiting the house said while tipping his hat.
It took Violet a moment to place his face. "Mr Murray! Good day. I didn't know we were expecting you."
"I came rather unannounced. I had pressing business to discuss with Lady Grantham." Mr Murray explained quickly before glancing at his pocket watch. "Forgive me, but I'm late for my train."
"Of course," Violet replied, watching the man hurry to the carriage and climbing in.
With renewed intent, Violet hurried through the front doors, distractedly greeting Carson and being directed to the library, where Cora apparently was. Entering the room, Violet sighed at seeing Martha there as well. She felt her shoulders stiffen to think the woman had been present while Mr Murray discussed family matters, especially if they were of a financial matter, with Cora.
"I wager you knew about this," Martha stated coldly when she saw Violet approaching. Cora, sitting with her back to the door, stood as Martha spoke.
"Hello Mama," Cora said, coming to her and pressing a kiss to her cheek.
Her daughter in law looked absolutely spent and Violet had a strange maternal urge to hold her close, needing to mother something suddenly, and Cora was the closest she had to a child at the moment. Instead, she squeezed her arm before pursing her lips and directing her gaze to the red head on the sofa.
"I have no idea what you are speaking of, but I'm sure you'll enlighten me in your...crass fashion."
Before her mother could speak, Cora explained. "Mr Murray just left. He wanted to inform me that cousin James had been to see him in London, trying to subtly inquire into the terms of Robert's...will." Cora stopped at the word, blinking rapidly and looking away.
"He apparently wanted to discuss the entail as well and also asked Mr Murray what it would take to be declared interim executor of the estate while Robert's status remains unknown." Martha interjected, her voice rising with indignation. "Your nephew is already trying to push Cora out."
"Firstly, he is my nephew by marriage only," Violet spat, "secondly, I had no forewarning of his actions and I resent the implication that I did."
"Oh do you!" Martha barked, standing, "And I resent that if something happens to Robert, Cora and the girls will be thrown out within the week without so much as a bread crumb and my husband's money will finance the lifestyle of that nephew of yours."
"Let's get one thing clear. That money isn't your husband's, not any longer. It was Cora's dowry and would have come under the control of her husband, whom ever she married. It's unfortunate that it's tied to the estate, but we all knew the terms when they married," Violet pointed out. "And if we are to talk about money, then lets point out the negligence you and your husband showed. If you were so concerned over Cora's welfare should something happen, he should have gifted her an allowance all her own that we couldn't touch."
Martha's nostrils flared out. "So now it is our fault that Robert and your husband did not deem it necessary to set aside funds to provide for the woman that saved them from ruin should Robert die and no son was had? The Grantham men are very narrow sighted, as history dictates time and time again."
"How dare you?" Violet's voice was low and scathing.
"Please, both of you," Cora begged. Violet bit the rest of words waiting on her tongue, turning to Cora, who had closed her eyes, one of her hands reaching up and pinching the bridge of her nose.
Violet took a deep breath and ignoring Martha turned fully to her daughter in law, "I think the best way to minimize James is to actually invite him here for the time being. We'll give him a job. Perhaps he can work with Jarvis around the estate, feel important. We...you...need to start there. It will stroke his ego that you're reaching out to him for help, and it might benefit you in the end, should you need him on your side…".
Robert shifted on the hard ground, wincing as his bones protested. He pulled the tattered uniform jacket that he used as a blanket closer to his chin, shivering in the coldness of the desert night. Mosquitoes leached his ankles, but after the first few bites, Robert grew too weary to swat them away. The groans of men interrupted the buzzing sounds of insects and Robert sighed, adding his own sound to the miserable night song.
What is she doing right now? He wondered how she was getting on, the great burden of knowing how worried she would be making his bones ache as much as the blasted floor he laid upon.
"How long do you think we've been here, Bates?" Robert asked.
He could hear Bates shifting to his right. "I think a month, milord."
"That's what I suspected. I cannot stay another week here Bates! I must find a way home!" Robert muttered quietly, mindful of the guards outside their cell.
"I've been studying their patterns," Bates whispered, nodding to the guards. "They change over at midnight. There's a station down the hall where they convene. It takes fifeteen minutes for the new guards to start their patrol. We could easily make a break for it then."
"There's just one problem," Robert pointed out. "How are we to get out of here?" Robert extended his hand, indicating the barred door locking them in.
Bates reached into his pants pocket. His hand, when he brought it in between himself and Robert, was balled into a fist. Slowly Bates unfurled his fingers. Moonlight from the one small window at that very top of the wall hit the object, the shine of the metal as bright to Robert as the North Star. A key. Robert stared, wide eyed, before blinking up at Bates. The man's lips turned into a smirk.
"Where did you get that?" Robert mouthed, afraid to call any attention to themselves.
Bates shrugged in reply, tucking the key safely back into his pocket.
With a Herculean effort, Cora forced the piece of food that she had been macerating to move further back in her mouth. She glanced up as she attempted to swallow. Her throat worked convulsively, and for a moment, looking at James across from her in Robert's seat, she was sure she would choke. A part of her almost welcomed that fate.
After only three days of suffering his presence, Cora had enough. She'd had enough of his exaggerated concern, of the smug input he was already more than willing to offer on a variety of things, of the way he walked around Downton, his chest puffed out, a peacock displaying his feathers, showing who the new lord was. Just the sight of him, sitting where Robert should be, was enough to make her sick. James didn't care about Downton the way Robert did, about the people it employed or its role in the county, not by half. He did care very much though about the power the title would give him and the money.
"Carson, you must tell your cook that this is the best Lobster Newburg I've eaten in a great while," James declared, as though his approval should mean something greater than it did. "What is her name?"
"Mrs Patmore, sir," Carson responded stiffly, barely looking at James.
"Ahh Mrs Patmore," James repeated, before turning his face to her. "Is she working from your menu, Cousin Cora?"
Confused, Cora furrowed her brow. "Of course she is."
"Hmm," James tapped his lip in mock thought and Cora had to physically restrain herself from rolling her eyes. "Do you not think lobster rather a luxurious entree for just the family?"
Most of the clinking of silver against china stopped. Cora's grip on her fork tightened uncomfortably as she felt the heat of embarrassment and the chill of resentment simultaneously. From the corner of her eye she saw her own mother's posture straighten severely, the joint of her jaw popping under her cheek as she obviously tried to silence whatever retort was ready to burst out.
"James," Camilla scolded, saying her husband's name with a nervous cackle.
"I believe that Cora has it under control James, but thank you for gracing us with your opinion," Violet said tersely, taking a sip of her wine as the table fell into an awkward silence once more.
Robert laid upon the floor of his cell as he did every night, listening to the other prisoners, hearing the sighs of their discomfort before sleep finally claimed him. There were men here that were part of his unit, men he had battled with until they had fallen to the enemy. Men whom he led. His conscience twisted his gut as Bates gave him the signal.
He was going to leave them behind.
Scrambling quietly to his feet, he watched as the guards marched down the hall. From their cell, he could hear the muffled laughter as the Boers chatted amongst each other, one set of guards turning over their shift to another. Bates dug in his pocket and produced the key and in a move that seemed far too simple, he reached his hand through the bars, angled the key just so, and slipped it into the lock. The turning of the mechanism seemed to echo around them and Robert braced himself, sure that everyone else had heard it too, but no one came rushing toward them. Bates pushed open the door and then Robert followed, both staying close to the wall as they slinked down the hall.
Crouching down, they made their way to the flimsy door that separated them from the nighttime desert. Giving one last look around, they both took deep breathes, nodded and then bolted out the door, running hard into the vastness waiting for them.
Adrenaline fueled Robert's every step, pushing farther, faster. They had no real destination, he suddenly realized, only a general theory as to which direction to head, but anything was better than rotting in that prison. The further away they got, the more giddy Robert felt. He was about to call out to Bates when he heard the shouting behind them. Distinctly Dutch shouting.
And then the shooting began.