They hid in the low, dusty brush as quietly as they could, waiting. The foreign tongue of their captors could be heard in the distance as they shouted orders to one another. The sweat dripped off of Robert's face, tickling his flesh on its path down from his forehead and though the sensation was driving him mad he didn't dare move to wipe himself.
Bates was hit. He could tell by the ragged quality of his breathing, though how badly Robert couldn't ascertain from his position a few yards away. After what seemed an eternity, the voices of the Dutch soldiers who hunted them became harder and harder to hear as they searched in the opposite direction. When the night air remained silently unbroken for a long stretch of time, Robert chanced to move, crawling on his belly in the direction of Bates's shadow.
"Where have you been struck?" Robert whispered cautiously.
"My leg," Bates replied, his voice strained with pain.
"Damn," Robert cursed, all of the surging hope he had felt when they ran out of the prison disintegrating rapidly.
A tearing sound caught Robert's attention and he squinted into the opaqueness, barely making out Bates's actions as he tore his shirt and used it to staunch the bleeding wound above his knee. After tugging the strips of cloth tightly, Bates leaned his weight onto his arms, bent his good leg, and pushed himself up, sucking in a steadying breath as he hobbled a few paces.
"I can make it my lord," Bates promised through gritted teeth. "We need to start out if we hope to use the cover of night."
"Are you quite sure, Bates?" Robert asked with concern, though every nerve screamed with the desire to find civilization and a way home.
"Quite," Bates repeated and led the way.
They walked slowly, wordlessly, for about an hour before Bates leg gave out and they were confident they hadn't been followed. Settling near a small river, they bedded down, resting and taking turns looking out for predators and people.
"How's the leg Bates?" Robert finally asked, neither one of them really able to sleep.
"Not terrible considering, milord." Bates answered softly.
"Bates...I wonder...it's just that we're out here in the wild, after being imprisoned. After escaping and being shot at. I should like you to call me Leftenant Crawley. Or sir if you must, but no more 'milord' business. Not while we're out here, alone, trying to survive."
Bates regarded Robert for a moment before nodding, "If that's what you wish...Leftenant Crawley."
Robert laughed awkwardly, "My wife would give me such a ribbing, you know. Make some joke about the crumbling of the aristocracy and such."
"Would she?" Bates asked.
"She's American. Did I ever tell you that?" Robert inquired absently. "She's not as tied to the traditions as us English."
"Did you travel to America, sir?" Bates asked.
"Oh no! Lady Grantham...Cora...was brought to England for her first season by her mother. I met her in London…" Robert faded away, lost in thought. "Sometimes I catch myself looking at her and I cannot quite believe it. Out of all the men in America and England that she met, she's my wife."
"It sounds as though you care for her very much," Bates said gently.
Robert nodded, unable to keep talking around the thickness in his throat. Just speaking about Cora flooded his mind with images of her, and he couldn't help but ruminate over her well
being. He knew if the roles were reversed, and she was somehow missing with no word, no knowledge of her whereabouts or her health, he would be going out of his head. How she was faring these past weeks, no one able to tell her if he was dead or alive, their family's future uncertain, he couldn't fathom. All he knew was he ached to be with her and he would do anything needed to get back home to her.
From her position on the bed, Cora could look straight out her window and up to the stars in the sky. It had always been one of her favorite advantages of the room, the tall windows offering a clear view if the drapes were parted. The moon was shining full tonight, its light diluted by the snowflakes falling heavy to the ground. She blinked her eyes rapidly, the need for sleep making them itch, but at least they were dry. At least there wasn't an onslaught of tears that would leave her spent, finally pulling her down with exhaustion. Cora no longer cried herself to sleep and a pang of guilt twisted in her chest. She knew she wasn't moving on, knew she hadn't accepted Robert was gone forever, but she was becoming numb. And though a part of her wanted to keep feeling his absence acutely, it was too much to be constantly fluctuating between hope and mourning.
She tossed away from the window in annoyance, desperately wanting to find sleep only to sit up with a hand to her chest and a gasp leaving her mouth. Framed in the doorway were Edith and Mary, the candle Mary held flickering across their faces, illuminating the tears on Edith's cheeks.
"Girls?" Cora called out, tossing the covers away from her legs and rushing around the bed. Edith broke free of the hold Mary had on her hand and ran to her mother.
"Mama!" she cried before launching herself into Cora's open arms.
"Darling, what's wrong?" Cora crooned, stroking her hair.
"She had a bad dream," Mary replied quietly. "She wouldn't go back to sleep and insisted on coming here. She was too much of a baby to walk by herself."
"You be quiet, Mary!" Edith yelled, her face still pressed into Cora's chest.
Cora tilted her head and raised her eyebrows, giving her oldest daughter a look of warning before looking back down at Edith. Standing up, she gently cupped Edith's chin and guided her face upward.
"Won't you tell me what it was about?" Cora asked.
Edith shook her head vigorously, pressing her lips together and Mary let out a sigh of exasperation. Whipping her head around, Edith stuck her tongue out at her sister before then looking at her mother's bed.
"Do you think I could stay in here? Just for tonight?" Edith asked shyly.
Before Cora could answer a loud booming sound rattled the windows, causing both girls to yelp. Mary quickly deposited her candle on the side table and ran to her mother, burying herself in her nightgown just as Edith did.
"What was that?" Mary cried.
Cora turned toward the window. "I think it was thunder."
"But it's snowing! Thunder doesn't happen with snow." Mary said incredulously.
"Sometimes it does." Cora answered. "It's rare, but it happens. When I was a girl we'd have some of the most magnificent storms. Sometimes lightning would cut through the snow as well."
"Can...can I stay too?" Mary ventured, looking away in embarrassment.
"Come," Cora said, leading the two girls by the hands to her bed. They quickly climbed in and positioned themselves on either side of their mother, snuggling into her as she wrapped her arms around them. All three stared up at the canopy for a moment.
"Mama?" Edith finally asked. "Is Papa dead?"
"Shut your silly mouth, Edith!" Mary scolded, hitting her sister's arm by reaching across Cora.
Cora stilled Mary's movement. "Sweetheart, Papa is not dead. Why would you think such a thing?"
"Because cousin James is here. And grandmama has been here for so long. And Granny hardly leaves," Mary answered, cutting Edith off.
Cora looked down to her left, Mary's dark eyes finally meeting hers. She was so mature but there was still a very frightened little girl under her daughter's stoic face. Cora caressed her hair. "Things are not exactly right, but your Papa is not dead. He's trying very hard to get back to us."
"He's missing," Edith said seriously, clutching her mother tighter.
"Where did you hear that?" Cora asked.
"Two of the housemaids," Mary informed her.
"Mama?" Edith asked, "Are you going to leave us here and go back to America if something happens to Papa?"
"What?!" Cora demanded. When Edith only began to cry once again, Cora gripped both of their hands tightly, looking from one tiny face to the other. "Whatever happens, we are a family and we are not going to be separated."
Robert stopped in his tracks and bent down, bracing his hands on his knees and breathing deeply. It had been two days since breaking free and he felt confident that they were heading in the right direction, though their pace was excruciatingly slow due to Bates's injury. With no food and little water it was getting imperative that they reach civilization soon.
Bates came up beside him, taking a pause as well. Pushing his knees with the intent to straighten and continue their trek, the nausea Robert had been battling all morning finally won out and he dropped down, emptying bile onto the ground. The action left his vision swimming, the world tilting back and forth, and he wiped an arm across his forehead, the cloth of his sleeve drenched in sweat.
"Sir?" Bates inquired, struggling to crouch down beside him.
Robert shook his head and stumbled onto his feet, blinking his eyes to dissipate the darkness that threatened, "We need to press on."
Bates returned to his feet and they both began walking once more. After only going a short distance, it became apparent to Robert that he wouldn't be able to go much farther. Each step felt as though he were lifting lead weights instead of his foot. The nausea was back once more and the landscape continued to come in and out of focus. Robert's legs wavered but before he could hit the ground Bates had grabbed him and, holding him around the waist, shuffled them down the path they were taking.
"I can't keep going, Bates," Robert slurred, wanting nothing more than to lay down and close his eyes.
"You must," Bates grunted while supporting most of Robert's weight. "Lady Grantham is waiting for you. And unless it is a mirage, that is a British camp."
Robert brought his eyes to where Bates pointed, barely able to make out the objects in the distance. It seemed so very far away, but with Bates supporting him, he concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other.