I know I said, "no more," when it came to fanfiction. But truthfully, I feel compelled to finish what I started. Otherwise, I really have no business calling myself a writer. So here we go. Enjoy the angst and (extremely) belated Christmas-ness. Hopefully I "still got it," in terms of being a half decent writer.
The house was darker than he remembered. The light behind the thick fringed lampshades barely illuminated the rooms that they were guided through by Mrs. Banks, the housekeeper. The closed curtains and covered mirrors darkened the deep crimson and gold filigree adorned wallpaper, casting shadows as the three of them passed through the foyer.
"I'm afraid Mr. Levinson is indisposed at present, and Miss. Simms (whom Robert took to be Cora's Aunt Clara as no one else was to be staying at the house with them), is out sorting through the finer details of the mourning luncheon," She casually explained over her shoulder as they ascended the marble stairs.
It was highly irregular. Robert cast a quick sideways glance at his wife, noticing the muscles in her jaw rippling with annoyance at this realization.
They passed the second floor landing, the doors to the late Mr. Levinson's private library, and Mrs. Levinson's sitting room were closed tight. However, a sliver of light peeked through a crack of one of the vacant guest rooms situated on the right side of the stairwell landing, that curiously enough, didn't appear to be vacant any longer.
As they continued to the third floor, which was chiefly occupied by the family's bedrooms, Robert heard a slight clamor from the far left end of the corridor. It was followed by a tense exhalation of breath from beside him, but neither one of them had time to act, for Mrs. Banks was pushing open the door immediately across from the stairs.
"I hope it's to your liking Miss. Lev-erm-Lady Grantham," Mrs. Banks forced a smile, clearly unnerved by their presence, and the irregular circumstances in which she was required to receive them.
When Cora made no response, she added, "Mr. Levinson thought you would be comfortable in your old room. The adjacent guest room has been made up as well just in case-"
"Thank you, Mrs. Banks," Cora inclined her head, her mouth drawing together in a tight line. "We shall be most comfortable with the accommodations my brother has so thoughtfully drawn up for us."
Robert felt himself inwardly cringe at the emphasis behind her words. He was sure Harold meant well, in spite of everything.
"You can have the servants leave our trunks in my old room," Cora went on stiffly. "Lord Grantham and I shall settle ourselves."
"Of course, Lady Grantham," Mrs. Banks smiled more genially, her dark brown eyes glimmering warmly. "If it pleases you, Mr. Levinson will have afternoon tea with the pair of you."
"Very well," Cora sighed heavily, disappearing into the dimly lit bedroom, and brusquely dismissing the old housekeeper.
"Thank you, Mrs. Banks," Robert added with an encouraging smile to the older woman, and she inclined her head in silent thanks for his acknowledgement.
"Please ring if you or Lady Grantham should need anything in the meantime."
Robert stepped inside the rather spacious room, passing by the servants who left the trunks near the foot of the bed that resided in the center of the room. It appeared to be large enough for the both of them, but smaller than the room they shared at Downton. Arranged around the perimeter of the room in similar fashion to their dressing room back home were several dressers at varying heights, a vanity, and a fireplace with an armchair and stool situated in front of it.
From what Robert could see among the dimly lit lamps, the wallpaper was a pale cream color, with delicate pale pink and sky blue ribbons painted across it. Cora, dressed in a stiff black skirt with a matching chiffon blouse loosely tucked in at the waist, was already taking the liberty of unpacking the drunks, and hanging clothes in the wardrobe situated in the far right corner.
He watched her for a few seconds before reaching inside the trunks and passing items to her. She paused, a slight smile curving at her lips before she took the clothes and stowed them away.
"Who would have thought we would have lived to practice such self-sufficiency?" Robert couldn't help but muse.
She echoed his sentiment with a slight snort and a nod, though her eyes remained lowered behind thick lashes. Turning to hang one of his suits, she remarked dryly, "Well I'm glad you see it that way."
He picked up the mild contempt that rang through her words, and rather than allow her displeasure to fester in silence, he decided to address it head on.
"Darling?" He questioned, his hand brushing over her wrist while they exchanged a pair of shoes.
She sensed his meaning and bowed her head, slowly retreating back to the wardrobe. Shaking her head, she grumbled, "It's just like Harold not to be bothered to receive us properly."
He blinked hard a few times and exhaled, choosing his next words carefully, "I'm sure he's doing the best he can."
"Yes, with a bottle of gin, no doubt," She agreed sardonically, her lips twitching at the corners.
Cora moved past him, to the other unopened trunk, but he reached out a hand, grasping her forearm.
"Robert," She began, her arm tightening beneath his grip, eyes squeezing shut.
"Cora please," He insisted gently with an undercurrent of firmness evident in his voice. "Why not lie down and let me finish?"
Her eyes flashed open at this suggestion, mouth dropping in protest.
But he was already silencing her with a slight jest of, "You'll need to save your strength if you wish to battle it out with Harold later."
She managed a meager peal of amusement, and then, her face was contorting with something that either resembled guilt or immense pain. Or perhaps, it was a combination of the two. Still, her clouded eyes bore into him, and he felt his heart tug in response.
"I-" She croaked out, tilting her head from side to side, her eyes flickering listlessly about, "Robert...it's...it's so very hard. Being here."
He lowered his gaze, running his hand up her forearm gently. "Yes, I-I imagined it might be," He replied softly, feeling entirely helpless in his ability to comfort her. "So let me make it easier for you," He murmured again, his insistence so gentle it softened her heart in ways that made her feel weak.
In ways that made her need him so fervently and desperately. In ways that awakened her to the hard manner in which she had treated him on their voyage. And she swallowed back the lump forming in her throat as these thoughts came rushing back to her.
"I thank you," Her lashes fluttered several times and she glanced downward. "I know I haven't made it easy for you to..." She trailed off, unable to fully express herself so readily.
Cora's pale eyes flickered up to his waiting gaze once more, and she remarked with her mouth turned down in anguish, her eyes searching his for some unspoken pardon for the way she had treated him, "...and for that I'm sorry."
"You needn't..." Robert responded with a heavy heart, "...you needn't apologize to me." He took hold of her shoulders, running his hands reassuringly across them and down her arms. "Not for this. Not for any of this," He murmured, drawing her close to brush a chaste kiss at her forehead. Releasing her, he stepped back and smiled as warmly as he could grant himself to, "Rest now. I'll wake you when it's time."
A few hours later, they made their way downstairs to meet with Harold in the sitting room. The room was brightly lit, considering the faint sunlight that peered into the tall windows was concealed behind snow filled clouds. Robert supposed it was because the curtains were thrown open, unlike the rest of the house that appeared to be intentionally shrouded in darkness.
Even so, he welcomed the change in lighting. It made things feel lighter somehow. And Robert hoped perhaps it would be a small thing that would improve his wife's downcast spirits.
However, when Harold made his entrance, it soon became clear that no amount of brightness would alter Cora's mood. He was in rumpled clothes (sans day jacket), which suggested that he had spent half the day sleeping in that attire. And then there were dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. And his usually kept hair that lined the edges of his head was stuck out in a few places.
She inhaled a terse breath, her icy eyes surveying her brother's disheveled appearance from where she stood. It was anything but a warm greeting whenever she exhaled in a strained tone, "Good to finally see you Harold."
"Hey sissy!" He cracked a crooked smile, and moved swiftly towards her for an embrace, almost like he only just noticed her standing in the center of the room.
Robert noticed her cringe as Harold pulled her closer and they stumbled backwards a few steps. He reached out a steadying hand, but quickly found the gesture to be superfluous as Harold's eyes found his and his brother-in-law immediately strode forward to clap one hand around his shoulder, the other bringing him into another hearty embrace.
"And Robert's here!" He seemed surprise by this realization, which in turn sent Robert a bit off kilter.
He felt the breath suck out of his lungs, and the musky scent of cologne mingled with piney notes of gin filled his nostrils.
From over Harold's shoulder Robert saw Cora frown and slanted gaze of disapproval, and he could instantly sense her displeasure by just how inebriated her brother still appeared to be. He tried to offer a reassuring smile, aiming to play the mediator just like he always did for them.
"I'm so glad you both came!" He finally released Robert, turning around to face Cora, "It's been dreadful! Just dreadful! Without the pair of you...you know?"
He slowly moved towards the end table, and pulled out a half emptied bottle of gin from one of the end table drawer's before calling to Mrs. Banks that they wouldn't be needing the fine china cups with dainty violets painted across them, but rather three stout glasses and a bowl of ice.
"Shouldn't you take it easy, Harold?" Cora remarked rather acerbically, her eyes narrowing at the bottle her brother managed to get his hands on.
"Oh come on sis, I played my part of the dutiful son," He countered with a sheepish grin, "I saw that the arrangements were taken care of."
Robert noticed Cora's hand curl into fists, her fingernails undoubtedly digging into the flesh of her palms. She spoke very slowly, her choice of words deliberate, giving off an air of condescension, "Planning is only part of it, Harold. The execution of the thing is just as important."
He rolled his eyes and exhaled a heavy breath at what he seemed to hear as a lecture. Nodding a brief thanks towards Mrs. Banks, who had swiftly returned with the items he requested, Harold then explained in the same tone that Cora has used seconds ago, "And Aunt Clara, Laurel, and I have been executing things. We've seen to the mourner's, we've planned the service and the mourning luncheon. It's all been taken care of. Just like you wanted." He cast a purposeful glance over his shoulder at her, liberally pouring gin into the glasses Mrs. Banks procured for them.
Robert sat in the short armchair, silently wondering if deliberate condescension was a genetic trait of all Levinson's. He didn't have long to wonder, however, as Harold was handing him over a perspiring glass. He took an obligatory sip to fill the tense quiet that descended upon them, and felt the burn race down his throat and hit the pit of his stomach.
"Gracious Harold," He sputtered as a tickle coursed through his lungs, a side effect of Harold's uniquely strong brew.
Harold grinned at him, clapping a hand on his shoulder, "Not quite used to the stuff we make here, are you Robert?"
He found himself laughing a bit at this, in spite of the situation, and in spite of how his wife felt. It felt wrong to take a moment to find something amusing. But he couldn't help himself.
And then Cora was interceding, and Robert felt himself peeling away from Harold's good-natured hold on him.
"Where is she?"
She was staring at Harold expectantly, who took a quick swig of his drink before returning her question with one of his own, "Aunt Clara? Or...?"
"Mother," She managed, fusing her lips together in a tight line at having to explain it to him.
"Oh..." He blinked a few times, processing her response before answering casually, "...in the music room."
She stood and was about to deposit her drink on the nearest flat surface, but Harold stretched out an arm, his hand pressing into her shoulder, preventing her from making a proper exit. Angling his face towards her, he suggested in the friendliest manner he could muster, "But Cora, really. Have a drink first. It will help."
He could see the protest was already forming, and he only wished that she might find some respite. So his hand grasped one of hers that hung listless by her side, and she instinctively turned upon feeling the contact. The bewildered expression he found waiting for him, nearly took his breath away, but he managed to maintain some of his composure to say, "Perhaps Harold is right about this, darling."
There was a ripple across her jaw as the muscles clenched defiantly. And he thought for a split second that she would rebuke him, prompting his heart to pick up its pace. His thumb anxiously ran over the back of her hand again, a gesture of quiet reassurance that she seemed to understand even when nothing else made sense.
Her hand squeezed against his, and the briefest flicker of a smile touched her mouth as she nodded and took a sip from the glass of gin that remained in her hand. She sank slowly onto the stiff armchair that sat behind her, and he helped ease her down.
And Robert felt some small pleasure that he had provided her with some small comfort among the vast depths of her grief.
But like all things that involved the Levinson's, there wasn't much time left for mulling things over. Their world spun continuously, someone or something new, seemed to always be invading the quiet, whether it was wanted or not.
This particular interruption burst forth in the arrival of a smooth, tenor voice that belonged to an older woman that Robert had never seen before in all her life.
"I do hope I am not interrupting a family reunion," Came the assured drawl of a properly bred English lady with snowy white hair pulled back in a simple, high bun.
"Don't be ridiculous Cousin Laurel!" Harold intoned jovially, crossing the room to embrace her without a moment's hesitation. "You're just as much a part of this family as any of us!"
"Oh, Harold," She practically blushed at the sentiment, swatting his shoulder with a hand, "you were always such a sweet boy. But is that our Cora, I hear?" She glanced around uncertainly, and just as soon as she had sunk down in the chair, Cora rose again.
Turning in a single motion, Robert saw a broad smile crease her mouth, her eyes alighting with familiarity mingled with a sort of excitement he had yet to behold in all their time here.
"Yes Cousin Laurel, I'm afraid it is," She responded, shrugging in a humble gesture. And then she closed the space between them, murmuring softly, "How good it is to see you! Unfortunate it must be under these circumstances but..."
"Yes," She inclined her head, arms enveloping Cora into what appeared to be a tight embrace. After several seconds, she pulled away, hands wrapped around Cora's shoulders, the old woman's smile deepening until creases lined her face. Patting Cora encouragingly, she nodded and decided, "But it is good to lay eyes on you, my dear."
"And you as well," Cora returned the smile. Robert watched Cora's teeth rake over her bottom lip, and he knew she was trying to work out what she should say next. When nothing seemed to come to mind, she let out a sound that reminded him of a slight giggle, and then she seemed to remember he was hovering just behind her right shoulder. With this realization, she gestured between him and her Cousin Laurel, "I don't believe you've had the pleasure of meeting my husband."
"No," Laurel tilted her head to one side, the broad smile tightening a bit, her emerald green eyes gleaming knowingly, "I don't believe we have been properly introduced. But if you'll allow me to say, I have heard a great deal about you, Lord Grantham." She offered both her hands in a sign of reassurance that no amount of foreignness between them would make her feel any less welcoming towards him.
Bowing his head politely, he took her hands in his, so as not to appear rude. However, he found it quite puzzling that Cora and Harold would have a cousin who could be so, well, elderly. "Forgive me, I am not familiar with..."
He was standing back to full height whenever Cora explained quickly, "Robert this is Cousin Laurel. She's a dear friend of Aunt Clara's."
"Just a friend?" He was confused by the title of cousin that was given to her.
"Or companion, if you like," Laurel suggested with an air lacking any self-consciousness.
"Cousin Laurel has been a part of our family for...well for far longer than Cora and I have been," Harold breezily explained with a loose grin.
"And how curious is it that we haven't been formally acquainted until now," Robert noted, his brow pinching together as his brain tried to conjure up a reason for it.
A wry half smirk twitched at Laurel's thinly shaped mouth outlined in a pale pink color, "Not that curious."
There was something about the way she said the words that made him feel as though he were being secretly mocked. Like he was an outsider among the three of them. And when Cora swiftly called for more gin, the many questions that arouse in his mind only became more contradictory. He suppose he would work it out eventually. But for now, he would comply with his wife's request, and he polished off his glass of gin.
This totally probably sucks. But I'm trying to get back into the habit of updating things. Maybe there's something good to be found here. Let me know either way, if you think it matters.