"Missing Countess Found Stranded and Destitute in India After ill-conceived Plot Goes Awry." Cora could already imagine the headlines. After all of those years of admonishing her daughters not to bring scandal down upon the family here she was. "I- you see I lost my bag on the train and then- well I think what I need is-" she didn't know where to start.
"Oh an American!" the officer's wife exclaimed gleefully, "my mother is American."
Cora stopped. After three decades in England surrounded by people who were accustomed to her, she had all but forgotten she had an accent. Yes this could work. She was American. She could ask the officer and his wife to escort her to the American embassy. She could present herself as Cora Levinson and have the embassy contact her mother. That thought was not exactly comforting but after Harold's Teapot Dome scandal surely Martha Levinson could spare some assistance for the daughter who has never given her any trouble before now. Although, Cora did not kid herself. An infamy attached to a daughter always brings more dishonour to a family than any attached to a son. She bit her lip as the couple looked on, waiting for her to tell them how they might be of assistance.
Finally, Cora straightened her posture. She pushed her hair back from her forehead and turned with a purposeful expression to the officer. This was not over. She had come too far. She would not stop trying now. "Thank you both so very much, but I see my hotel just across the way."
"You must let us walk you," the officer insisted.
"Oh thank you, but I really am alright. My husband is just inside. Thank you, you've been so kind," Cora said, hurrying away from the couple, "May I keep this? Thank you!" She waved the borrowed handkerchief at the befuddled and nodding Englishwoman. Cora cared little whether she had broken with proper etiquette - she was American afterall. She used the silk square to wipe any smudges from her face as she made her way for the grand entrance of the hotel. The lobby was spacious and elegant, though not as elegant as some place she might stay with his Lordship. Waiting for the concierge, the Countess used the mirror behind the desk to tuck loose curls of hair back into place and straighten her dress.
After five minutes, a middle-aged Indian man appeared from around the corner. His hair was black except for a few wisps of silver flaring up from his temples and he wore a white suit with a gold necktie. The concierge's face was serious and distinguished but when he noticed Cora waiting at the desk he became instantly hospitable. He smiled affably and asked if he might be of assistance. She had not really considered how she would go about this part.
She tried to look confident, "I'm here to see Sarah O'Brien."
The concierge, whom Cora had deduced was Mr. Ramachandra, raised his bushy eyebrows in obvious surprise. Remembering himself, he asked, "is Miss O'Brien expecting you? She has not left any note here about a visitor."
Cora hesitated, "No, she isn't. But- I'm sure she wouldn't mind. We're old friends. I was hoping you could tell me where to find her."
Mr. Ramachandra continued smiling but his eyes became ever-so-slightly suspicious. "I do apologise, Madam, but I'm sure you understand I must protect the privacy of my guests." Then seeing the countess' disappointment he suggested he would send a lobby boy to inform Miss O'Brien that she had a visitor. He turned to a boy who looked small enough to be eight but was most likely closer to twelve. The boy wore a maroon and gold uniform with a flat-top hat strapped tightly under his chin. Mr. Ramachandra gave a quick command in their native tongue and the boy repeated his same expression of obvious surprise. When the boy asked a question, the concierge gestured toward the wall lined with hooks and keys. He pointing to an empty hook labeled 306 then shewed the boy away to his task.
While Cora waited at the desk she began to feel her heart pound. This was it. Sarah was here. She was only yards away. The concierge seemed to note her anxiety and spoke to her warily. He asked how long she had been acquainted with Miss O'Brien and Cora attempted a relaxed and not-suspicious-at-all smile, "Nearly twenty years." She noticed she was drumming her fingers on the desk and tapping her foot on the marble floor. The Countess grabbed her unruly digits with her other hand and willed herself to be as still and natural as possible. Then the lobby boy was hustling down the grand staircase toward them. Already? How could he be so quick? She was not ready. She had no idea what she would say to O'Brien.
The concierge asked him a question and the boy replied again in a language Cora did not understand - except for two words, clear as a bell. "Go away," the boy mimicked in a cantankerous tone. Cora's heart sank. As Mr. Ramachandra turned to her, she swallowed the lump already forming in her throat. "I am sorry, Madam, but it appears Miss O'Brien does not wish to be disturbed," said the concierge, with a genuine look of compassion at the Countess' disconsolate expression. Cora felt herself nod and mumble some form of thanks to the man. Then she turned and began walking in a crestfallen haze toward the doors.
Sarah was roused from fevered sleep to the sound of some commotion. Hall boys causing a ruckus in the servants quarters again. She heard one of them pounding on her door, calling her name. Damn Lady Flintshire! Expecting her to rise and tend to her at all hours of the night. She would put in her notice! "Go away!" she rasped to the hall boy. Why could they not let her sleep? She was so tired. The effort of shouting made her convulse in another fit of vigorous coughs. Her hair was wet against her pillow. What was that taste - like copper, in her mouth? She would have to tell Mum she was too poorly for school today.
The countess wiped a tear from her cheek as she stepped over the threshold of The Shai and back out into the blazing Indian sun. She shielded her eyes with her hand. How could everything have gone so terribly wrong? How could she not have seen this coming? She had never truly believed for a second that O'Brien would turn her away. How could the woman turn her away? Why would she? What had Cora ever done to be so ill-used? Suddenly her dejection transformed into indignation. She had travelled four thousand miles to find this woman and by God she would see her. At the very least she deserved an explanation.
She turned on her heels and marched back through the hotel entrance. She glanced casually to the reception desk. Deserted. Room 306 - the concierge had pointed to that number on the wall of keys. As quickly as she could manage without drawing attention to herself, the Countess darted past the desk and up the grand staircase. By the time she reached the third floor she was panting. She fanned herself. This country truly was ungodly hot. Three-forty-nine, three-forty-eight, three-forty-seven, she followed the room numbers down. When she turned a corner, the wallpaper and carpeting became less ornate. She seemed to have wandered into the staff quarters. Maybe she had made a mistake. But Cora's instincts told her this is where O'Brien would be. There - 306. She stood before the door, hesitating for seconds, possibly minutes, steeling herself. Then finally, Cora knocked.
Why the bloody hell is Daisy knocking at the door? Just bring in the damn tea! Sarah opened her eyes. With a start she realized once again that she was not at Downton. Daisy'd not been knocking. Only dreams. Only vivid, terrible, fever dreams that made her heart ache for home. Her eyelids sagged. Knock. Knock. Knock. They shot back open. That was not a dream. Someone was knocking - not Daisy - but someone was knocking, pounding at her door. Who was at the door mattered little, Sarah needed help and very soon. She opened her mouth to call out but her throat was dry and aching. No sound above a quiet rasp left her blood spattered lips. With extreme effort she pushed herself up to sitting and shuffled her feet to the floor. Her head was spinning. She focused on the door - it may as well have been a thousand meters away - she'd never make it. She let her eyes fall shut once more and felt her body sink helplessly back onto the mattress.
Her knuckles were beginning to hurt but there was no answer. There may have been a sound of movement inside. Bed springs creaking. Surely the woman could not be sleeping through this rain of blows against the door. No, Cora was being ignored. This was it, this was well and truly the end. The Countess let her hands fall weakly to her sides. She must stand down. Her desire for reunion was not reciprocated. She turned, took two steps away from the door and stopped. She crossed her arms over her stomach and gave into the sobs she had been holding back since she left the hotel lobby in the first place. Her shoulders shook and tears rushed down her cheeks. Anyone could come upon her like this, in a frightful state in the hallway, but Cora did not care. She did not care about anything anymore. But then - there was a noise behind her. Possibly the sound of a doorknob turning.
Sarah leaned heavily against the doorframe. Her legs were hardly strong enough to support her own weight. Thomas had loomed over her just minutes ago. Told her to "get up off your arse you noodle" he wanted a smoke in the yard before breakfast. That was a hallucination. She was clear-headed now. She was in The Shai Vishram hotel in Bangalore, India and she was very very ill. Her brow dripped sweat from the effort of standing and her harrowing trek to the door. Stars floated in her vision and she was sure to swoon any moment. Her hands fumbled for the door handle, gripping it weakly. She only needed to turn it and call for the lobby boy. Her clammy hand slipped and lifting it back up seemed an impossible task. She was going to die like this. The realization struck her. She was dying here. Finally, with a last burst of effort she pulled the door open. The gust of fresh air from the hallway was like arctic wind against the damp skin of her face. The light was blindingly bright. She squinted and saw standing before her, an angel. Dear God, she really was dead. No, it was not an angle, it screamed, it was rushing toward her. She was only hallucinating again. Sarah was collapsing and of course Lady Grantham could not be catching her.
Cora had turned back to the hotel room door with the brass three zero six, her tears had stopped, as it slowly drew open. But elation was not the emotion Lady Grantham felt when the ghostlike figure of what could have been her former maid staggered from the room. The woman's skin was deathly pale and glistening with sweat. Her damp hair was uncharacteristically flat and matted to her forehead. Blood dripped from the corner of her mouth. The Countess could not help but let out a scream in shock and fear. Then the wild delirious eyes focused on Cora and just as they began to gleam with recognition, Sarah O'Brien collapsed. Lady Grantham lunged forward to catch her and the two of them slumped onto the floor. In her arms, Cora held the limp body of her former maid, cradling her head, smoothing her hair back behind her ear, whispering her name, and calling, screaming down the hall for anyone - please anyone - to help.
A/N: There are two more chapters to be published soon