"Miss Baxter, his lordship would like to see you in the library after our luncheon," Mr. Carson said as the staff took their seats around the table.
"What does his lordship want with me?" she asked, knowing full well but praying it wasn't what she thought.
Mr. Carson shook his head. "He didn't say, but I'm sure he'll inform you."
Yes, she was sure he would. She steeled herself to tell him more lies. Surely they were no worse than the lie of omission she had told—or rather, not told—Lady Grantham.
"Your lordship called?"
Robert stood and moved from his desk as Miss Baxter stepped into the library.
"Yes, come in…shut the door, please." She did not look happy, but she did as he asked.
"You know something about her ladyship," he said simply, "and I want to know what it is."
There was a silence. "Yes," she said at last, and he was taken aback at her honesty. "I do know something. But her ladyship has asked me not to share it, and I won't. Your lordship should ask her directly."
She was far bolder than he expected, and he detested the reminder of Miss O'Brien. "I have asked her directly." He wanted to tell her that he could not bear the way his wife seemed to hate him, that he could not bear the knowledge that something was wrong and he was not allowed to try to fix it, that he could not live like this…but he refused to beg to a servant.
"It's her ladyship's secret," Baxter said. "And she has asked me not to repeat it. It isn't mine to tell, my lord."
"Lady Grantham does not have to know you've told me." Robert hated the pleading in his voice, and he realized the insanity of this bargain when the information was still unknown.
"No, my lord. You couldn't hide that you know. Nor would you want to."
"Good God, Baxter, you must tell me—"
"Her ladyship would never forgive it. And no one else would h—" She bit her lip, as though she'd said too much. "I owe her a great debt," she amended.
No one else would hire me? He could not imagine how else she might have finished her sentence. And why wouldn't anyone else hire her? He recalled that Baxter had been a candidate put forward by Barrow, so he was less than surprised to hear there was something questionable about her. This, after O'Brien…a sneaky, unpleasant woman whom he had never trusted, in spite of Cora's affection for her. He was thus also unsurprised that Cora had kept Baxter on in spite of whatever she'd apparently learned about her. What was it with Cora and these shadowy maids?
"Yes, I know," he lied, seizing on Baxter's words as his opportunity. "And I understand your fear. But who do you think is the master of this house, myself or Lady Grantham? Who do you imagine pays your wages? I assure you, whatever you have to tell me will not endanger your position; I will make sure of it. However, if you insist on keeping this from me, you will not remain here another hour, and I will not allow her ladyship to protect you."
She gasped, and Robert felt the depth of his cruelty. But what choice did he have?
A war of emotions flitted across her face, and for a moment he thought she might faint. But then she said simply, "I will tell you." Then her voice got stronger: "But not only out of fear for myself. I could not leave her ladyship right now, for her own sake. And I think you should know, and that it's best if you do."
He nearly wanted to weep with relief and embrace her, but he merely nodded.
"I think—perhaps you'd better sit down," Baxter said, and he felt a sudden dread. "Please, my lord," she continued when he did not move, and he slowly went to take a seat on the sofa, gesturing for her to do the same across from him.
"It was the night Mr. Bricker was here, my lord," she began when they were settled, and he imagined there was something of a shudder when she said the man's name. "The night your lordship had gone to London. I had gone up and put her ladyship to bed, and then I'd gone to bed myself. But she told me later that she couldn't sleep, and so she got up, and she dressed herself—she said it was quite late, and she didn't want to ring for me. She went out for a walk."
He had no reason to be alarmed at anything in her story, yet her slow sentences and her obvious desire to delay the ending had his whole body tense with anxiety.
"Lady Grantham said she went outside, because it was a warm night, and she walked a bit away from the house. She thought she was alone, but…" She paused, as though she could not quite force the words out, and he held his breath…for what, he did not know. "But Mr. Bricker had followed her."
It was a warm afternoon, but he now felt as though ice water were coursing through his veins. He suddenly knew how this would end, and he wanted her to stop talking, as if that would change the outcome. But she went on.
"And—I don't know exactly where, or even how, because her ladyship didn't say, and I didn't ask—but he…he…" God, no. Robert held up a hand for the maid to stop, but it was not soon enough to halt her final words. "…raped her," she finished, giving a small sob, although her eyes were dry.
"Good God," he said quietly. Cora, Cora, not his Cora… He wanted to bury his face in his hands and weep, he wanted to smash every expensive object in the room, he wanted to run all the way to London and get his hands on Bricker right this second…but all he could do was sit stare at his wife's maid. His words to Cora yesterday came back to him: Were you together with Simon Bricker? He knew he'd remember the look on her face at his horrible question for the rest of his life.
"Her ladyship came back inside afterwards," Baxter said quietly, emotionlessly. "And she rang for me, and one of the kitchen maids heard it and came and woke me, and I dressed and went back upstairs to my lady. I thought she'd be ill, perhaps? But then I found her, and…" She shrugged, as though she'd run out of words.
"What did you do?" he said sharply.
She shook her head. "Nothing. She wouldn't let me get Mr. Branson; she didn't want to call the police; she wouldn't even have your lordship told. I…I cleaned her up, and put her back to bed…and then I sat there, all night, because I knew she wouldn't want to be alone."
He was irrationally angry with Baxter for not insisting the police be called, but how could she have? His stomach twisted as he imagined what the maid had found that night in Cora's room. "She was hurt," he said suddenly, remembering the bruise on Cora's face and the bandage she'd worn on her wrist all week. His fists clenched at the thought. He wanted to beat Bricker into an unrecognizable pulp.
"I wanted to call the doctor," Baxter said miserably. "But she wouldn't hear of it, so in the morning I got Mrs. Crawley instead."
"Mrs. Crawley knows?" It was somehow painful to imagine Cora confiding in anyone else, but he pushed it aside. "Could she help? What was wrong with her ladyship?"
"There wasn't much to be done, my lord. She has a sprained wrist and a broken rib and she's strained her neck, but Mrs. Crawley said it would all heal in time."
He had been so rough with her that she had a broken rib? Robert would break every bone in Bricker's body. Several times over. When they found the body, there would be pieces strewn for miles…
"I've tried—I've tried to take the best of care of her ladyship," Baxter went on.
Robert felt something in him break at her words, at the thought that this maid had been upstairs nursing Cora while he had carried on as though nothing was wrong, as though the world had not ended.
There was a wetness on his face, and he slowly realized it was his tears. "Thank you, Baxter," he said quietly, and she nodded, slipping from the room.
Bricker had raped Cora. Cora, his beautiful Cora, his angel, the brightest light in his life and his world, the kindest, warmest soul he had ever known. Cora. Cora had been raped and brutalized and broken. He wept for her tears and her pain and her fear, and he ached for the cold fact that he could change none of it.
He wanted to tear off the bastard's limbs, to cause him as much pain as possible, then wrap his hands around the bastard's throat and squeeze until Bricker's eyes rolled back in his head and the life slipped out of him. And he would—he would make that animal pay—but nothing he could do would restore the light to Cora's eyes or make her soul whole again.
He had known what Bricker wanted. Of course, he had never suspected Bricker would take it from Cora by force, but he had known he had wanted her sexually. Why hadn't he said something? Why hadn't he stopped this?
But he knew he had spoken up: he had told Cora that he could not imagine how Bricker could possibly be interested in hearing her thoughts and ideas. He had not meant it how it had sounded, but he'd known as soon as he'd said it that he'd hurt her, and all in the context of ignoring her himself. It had been he who had driven her to Bricker.
Robert felt bile rising in his throat, and he barely made it to the washroom in time to empty the contents of his stomach.