The Promise Chapter 4

December 1914

Robert's brows were knitted together as he entered her room and his eyes remained unfocused as he divested himself of his dressing gown. Cora could tell that they were in for a difficult conversation.

Dr. Clarkson's revelation of their son's… condition had tainted the otherwise unfettered moment of pure joy. The doctor had waited until they had exhausted their tears of joy over their latest gift and Robert was getting ready to bring up the girls to meet their baby brother before he informed them. First, Dr. Clarkson showed them their son's right hand, perfectly formed and grasping at the air. Then he extracted his left hand from inside the swaddling to reveal a normal palm and thumb, but four short stubs where his fingers ought to have been.

Cora had listened carefully to Dr. Clarkson, then politely dismissed him by saying that they would cherish their boy that much more. Although Robert had said nothing, his entire bearing had changed. He was startled and upset and so the stiff, poised aristocrat took over the doting father. He had excused himself to fetch the girls, but did not return with them. Initially Mary had been standoffish, Edith indifferent, and Sybil doting. Once their brother's condition had been revealed they had all looked concerned, but it was Sybil who wondered what could be done to help him. After they had gone, Cora slept all day, only waking to nurse. This was the first she had seen of Robert since the morning.

"What are we going to do, Cora?" He had finally found the words to cut through his confusion. He had slipped into bed next to her and was now worrying at his hair with his right hand.

Cora sighed, already exasperated by the conversation that had only just started. "Do about what, Robert?"

"His hand, Cora! What can we do about his hand?" His shock and dismay had given way to panic.

"You heard Dr. Clarkson," Cora closed her eyes briefly, disappointed that her husband could not simply accept their son. "There's nothing to be done. He cannot grow fingers after the fact."

"He'll be teased at school. How will he make any friends?" He shook his head as he spoke, his eyes unfocused, perhaps remembering the torment he experienced at school.

"He has a healthy heart, lungs and mind. He only needs one hand to pitch cricket," she added, hoping this knowledge would help comfort him.

"It's bowling in cricket," he retorted petulantly.

"Robert!"

"How is he even to hold his knife?"

"'Hold his knife'? Can you hear yourself, Robert?" She turned herself fully towards him in their bed, anger now trumping her disappointment. "I don't think you fully appreciate how frightened I was; that the baby would be lost, that I wouldn't make it through," she wadded up the edge of the covers in her hand, needing to hold onto something.

"And now that we've finally been given the son we've always wanted, all you can think about is how he will hold his knife!"

"Cora, I just -" She put up a hand to stop him.

"Robert, I'm very tired, and Nanny will be bringing the baby to nurse at some point in the night," Cora fought the lump rising in her throat and met his eyes straight on with her own. "So, I think it would be best if you slept in your dressing room tonight."

He set his jaw and drew his lips into a harsh line, indignation burning in his eyes. Husband and wife bore their eyes into each other's for a beat before he added a harsh, "I'll say goodnight then," before tossing the covers aside.

Wordlessly, Robert, 7th Earl of Grantham stomped across the room, abandoning his dressing gown and slippers, and entered his own room, slamming the door behind him. Cora finally let the hot tears of disappointment slide down her cheeks and wondered when her husband would come to his senses.

—-

Robert was startled awake by a knock on his door. He wasn't certain if he was ready to continue the conversation he and Cora had been having the night before, but it would be rude to pretend he hadn't heard.

"Yes?" He called out and was surprised when the hallway door opened revealing his valet, Bates.

"I wondered if you could use some assistance this morning, my lord," the stocky man limped into the room using his handy cane.

"Oh, it's you," Lord Grantham gave an awkward chuckle upon realizing who it was. "It's Christmas morning, Bates, you know you have the morning free from your duties."

"I realize that, m'lord," Bates said as he moved towards the cabinet to fetch out his Lordship's under garments. "But I also know that the birth of a baby can create some… extenuating circumstances."

"You know about the boy's hand then."

"It wasn't mentioned when his birth was announced," Bates said as he drew out the necessary garments. "But it can be difficult to keep a deformity of that nature a secret," he added diplomatically.

"Her ladyship thinks I'm overreacting, but I just worry about what kind of life he'll be able to lead," Lord Grantham explained as he removed his sleepwear.

"At the risk of sounding impertinent, m'lord, I do have some experience leading a life that is… challenged."

Robert sighed with indulgent impatience. "This is different, Bates. You weren't born with shrapnel in your knee."

Bates began the process of dressing his Lordship for Christmas day. "I realize that our situations are not exactly the same, m'lord, but I think that the lesson that with some accommodations a crippled person can lead a full life still applies."

"Hmmm" Robert flinched at the word 'crippled' and the idea that it could be applied to his son.

"When I first came to Downton," Bates continued, "no one believed I could do the work. Even yourself, but I'm glad you decided to give me another chance."

Lord Grantham nodded at the memory.

"And while I'll never lift a trunk again, I can still perform the rest of my duties with the use of my stick." Here, Bates tapped the implement that he had first thought of as a hindrance, but had come to think of as his trusted friend, on the floor.

Bates put the finishing touches on his Lordship's tie as he wrapped up his thoughts on the matter. "The challenge, m'lord, will be to learn what the boy absolutely needs help with, and what kind of accomodation he may need to do things on his own."

Brushing off Robert's jacket, he added, "Most importantly, listen to him when he says he can do something and when he asks for help."

Robert turned around so that Bates could do a final check of his appearance before he started his day. His son's first Christmas. His suit was impeccable, without a speck in sight, but his face was lost in thought.

"I hope I have not overstepped, m'Lord. I only wanted to help."

Robert turned back towards Bates before he left the dressing room. "Thank you, Bates. You've given me a lot to think about."

"And, of course, he'll only need one hand to bowl cricket."

Robert had to smile at that. Bates knew, just as Cora had, that cricket was the key to his stolid English heart.

"Oh, and Bates."

"Yes, m'Lord?"

"Happy Christmas."

"Happy Christmas, m'Lord."

The two men shared a smile before the Lord left the private space of the dressing room and the Valet turned to pick up the soiled clothing. Lord Grantham was very grateful that he'd given Bates that second chance.

—-

The Nursery.

If Cora wasn't there already, she soon would be for the boy's feeding. And he desperately wanted to speak to her. And he desperately wanted to see his son.

He had never been as hands-on of a parent as Cora had, claiming that he wouldn't know what to do with children until they could talk. But now he was here. The son whose existence was taken as given in the early years of his marriage. The son who was given up on shortly after the birth of Sybil. The son who's miraculous arrival was marred, not by a deformed hand, but by Robert's own inability to adapt.

Striding into the nursery, he discovered Nanny sitting by the fire reading a book, but no sign of Cora. The clean, precise woman stood when she became aware of His Lordship's entrance.

"Good morning, my Lord," she was courteous, but seemed irritated that her morning routine had been interrupted. He'd almost forgotten how imperious nannies could be, never showing the same levels of deference as a regular servant. Nanny had her own little kingdom, but Robert was willing to remind her which side her bread was buttered on if need be.

"Has Her Ladyship been in this morning?" he inquired quietly while casting an eye towards the bassinet.

The prim woman gave a tight lipped smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Lady Grantham has not yet come in." She already seemed annoyed at the level of involvement that Cora insisted on having. Robert remembered her battles with previous nannies. Cora always won.

"Lord Downton is still sleeping," she added.

Robert smiled upon hearing the use of his old courtesy title. He wondered if the boy's friends would call him "Downie" once he went away to school, as they had with him.

"Thank you, Nanny," he moved towards the bassinet and watched his son as he slept. His little pink face was a mask of pure peace, not a worry or care in the world. His mouth was open and Robert listened to the gentle whimpers he made in his sleep. "I think you should join the rest of the servants for Christmas breakfast."

"Your Lordship, I don't think that's a very good idea," there was a rising panic in her voice as she stepped closer to where he stood gazing down at his boy.

Robert turned his full attention towards her and drew himself up to his full height. "I will see to my son until Lady Grantham arrives. Now please, enjoy your Christmas, and we will ring for you if we need anything."

The woman gawped like a goldfish for a moment before heatedly turning on her heals and exiting the room.

Now that he had established who was lord of this manor, Robert returned his attention to the miraculous little life that lay in his crib. He wasn't sure that he had ever been alone with a baby before and suddenly he hoped that it wouldn't be long before Cora arrived.

—-

Lady Grantham was drawn down the hallway by the knowledge that the only thing that could assuage the disappointment that she felt in her husband was to hold her son. Cora wondered how they would get through their son's first Christmas when Robert could barely look at the boy. She gently pushed open the door to the nursery, expecting to see Nanny, but her eyes were met with a sight that brought a lump to her throat.

Robert stood before the fire, his son swaddled in his arms. He looked stiff and awkward, having hardly ever held an infant so small before and even then, not for many years. But the look on his face was one of pure adoration. She watched as he reached for the boy's left hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the palm. Having released the malformed hand, he then pressed his pinky finger into the boy's right hand. Robert chuckled as his son wrapped his impossibly tiny fingers around his own digit.

"What a firm grip you have, my boy," he whispered conspiratorially, hoping not to wake the sleeping babe in his arms before his mother arrived.

"That's good. He'll need it."

"Cora!" Robert turned at the sound of his wife's voice. He saw the glassy look in her eyes and hoped that these unshed tears were of joy. "Cora, I owe you…" he looked down at his son in his arms, "I owe both of you an apology."

The boy began to fuss in his arms and Robert was unsure of what to do. Cora moved towards him and lifted the boy free. Her features softened once she was holding her son and she planted a kiss on the baby's forehead.

"You're just getting hungry, aren't you?" Cora asked the newborn babe as she moved to sit in the chair by the fire. She started to unbutton her blouse to begin nursing and noticed Robert look down at his shoes and begin to turn towards the snowy landscape that lay beyond the window.

Cora couldn't help but roll her eyes at his unnecessary squeamishness. "Robert, would you hand me the blanket in the crib?"

He brought it to her and she settled in to nurse, now with the unseamly act hidden by the blanket draped over her shoulder.

"There, now you were saying something about an apology," Cora looked at him expectantly. Seeing Robert fondly cradling their son had softened her heart towards him, but it was always better to hear the words.

"I've acted very poorly," he started. Standing stiffly with his hands behind his back, facing his seated wife, he felt a bit like a schoolboy reporting to his headmaster. Robert looked down at his shoes as he continued, "I don't deal very well with the unexpected, and what has happened has certainly been… unexpected."

He moved to stand by the chair where Cora sat and took her free hand in his own. "I hope you can forgive me for marring our happiness with my pig-headedness."

Cora looked up into his eyes as she made her reply, "Of course Robert." She squeezed his hand before releasing it, so that she could adjust the baby. "I knew you'd come around, but you've done it much faster than I'd anticipated."

Robert gave her a small grin. "It was Bates. He helped me to see that there was a better way forward." His smile faltered as he looked down at the babe hidden beneath the blanket. "But I think now that the reason I reacted so poorly was that a part of me wondered if I was being punished."

"Whatever for?" Cora looked up at him quizzically.

"I thought God was punishing me for marrying you for your money," he confessed with a pained look in his eyes. The love that had flourished between them only deepened the guilt he felt over using such a beautiful creature as Cora for fiscal gain.

Cora had tired of this argument long ago. Her youthful infatuation with the tall boy with the blue eyes had blossomed into love and they had been lucky enough to be truly happy with each other. Why couldn't he forgive himself? "Robert, I don't believe in a god that would punish an innocent baby for his father's sins. And you have committed no sin that warrants punishment. You never lied to me. I came into this marriage with open eyes, and since then you have made me very happy."

"When I think back on that first year, I must have broken your heart a thousand times," Robert lamented sitting in the chair opposite hers in front of the fire.

"And you've broken it a thousand more since then. But you've mended it every time," Cora revealed with a smile that was a balm to Robert's heart. "Besides, don't you think I blamed myself as well?"

"What? Why?" Robert blurted this out, unable to understand.

"Don't you think I wondered if I had eaten the wrong foods? Should I have rested more? Should I have taken more exercise? Did this happen simply because of how old I am?" Cora explained, growing increasingly exasperated.

"My darling, you're not old," Robert moved out of his own chair. Kneeling before her, he reached up a hand to squeeze her upper arm, stroking the fabric with his thumb. "Cora, how could this be your fault?"

Cora looked down at him through her glassy eyes, giving him a misshapen smile. "Isobel did tell me that it is no one's fault; that these things just happen, and while I understand that, it can be difficult to accept."

Robert chuckled, "I think that we should accept Isobel's assessment and be all the happier for it." He reached out a finger and stroked his son's hand where it stuck out from under the blanket. "I want us to cherish the gift that we've been given."

Cora drew her lips into a smile and gave him a silent nod.

—-

Mrs. Hughes looked up from where she sat at the table in the servant's hall. She'd thought that everyone was down for Christmas breakfast, so the sight of a straggler heatedly huffing into the servants hall was quite a surprise.

"Can I help, Nanny Eldridge?" Mrs. Hughes stood from her place on Mr. Carson's right and addressed the flustered woman in white.

"I have been told to enjoy my Christmas breakfast," the nanny spat out. The tall woman with the chiseled features looked as though she had stepped on a nail as she surveyed the table in the servants hall.

"We'll be glad to have you," Mrs. Hughes intoned in her Scottish brogue as she moved from her place at the table. "Let's find a place and get you settled in."

John Bates smiled impishly at his plate as Nanny Eldridge watched Mrs. Hughes with an air of judgment.

"Mr. Bates, you look as though you know something," Anna ventured. There was very little that got past the head housemaid who sat next to him. It was she who had exonerated him when his criminal past had resurfaced, and he was very grateful.

"I had a conversation with his Lordship this morning," Mr. Bates began. "I didn't realize it would have such immediate results," he said, nodding his head towards the nanny now sitting down at the table.

They both looked up from their chat to see that O'Brien had been watching them, but she quickly looked back at her plate when she knew she'd been caught.

"She's had no one to talk to since Thomas left," Anna knitted her brows together in concern. "I almost feel sorry for her."

Bates knew that Anna had a great capacity to care for others, even if they didn't always deserve it. They shared a knowing smile as he made his reply, "Almost."

—-

"We should think of a name and schedule the christening before you have to leave." Cora's statement caused Robert to look up from where he had been gazing into the fire. The baby had finished feeding and now slept peacefully in his mother's arms. Now the thought of leaving this maternal idyl, if only to be down the road near Rippon, caused a sudden pang in his chest.

Robert distracted himself from the thought of his impending departure and grinned as he teased, "You don't wish to call him Isaac?" referring to the biblical patriarch who was born to Abraham and Sarah when they were a hundred years old.

They spoke in hushed tones, cozy and conspiratorial, so as not to wake the baby.

"You may tease, Robert, but we aren't THAT old," Cora observed. She looked down at the boy and continued, "Anyway, Isaac was my father's middle name, so I would like to have it as one of his middle names."

"It seems doubly appropriate then, and it shall be done."

"I should also like to name him for you, even if only for a middle name," Cora knew that this might be an uphill battle, but she would fight her corner to honor the man who had made her happy.

Robert shook his head and objected, "I don't deserve any such honor, but I will agree because I know that it will make you happy, and I do not wish to quarrel at Christmas."

"But what to do about a first name," he continued. "I don't think I want a family name."

"Not Patrick, for your own father?" she inquired.

"No, the name was well used on young Patrick and as much as I loved my father, I feel that our son should be his own man," Robert explained.

"We'll simply arrange the christening and come up with something before then," concluded Cora. "For now, I think I will lie down before your mother and Isobel arrive." She rose from her chair still holding the baby and Robert stood as well. "And if you won't think me soft, I think I'll take him with me." He raised a questioning eyebrow when their eyes met. "In case he needs anything. We mustn't rely too much on Nanny on Christmas day," Cora explained.

"Very well," Robert conceded. "But I'll come help you get settled."

They moved towards the door of the nursery and Cora felt the warmth of Robert's hand at the small of her back.

—-

"Happy Christmas, Mama," Robert greeted his mother and kissed her cheek as she entered the library.

The Dowager Countess of Grantham wore a deep green dress and swept into the large room using her cane and moving at the speed of a much younger woman. "Yes, it is a happy Christmas indeed, Robert. And it seems that you have been granted a special gift. One whose arrival we have been anticipating for twenty odd years now."

Robert winced at this last statement and looked over to where his wife sat on the settee by the fire, their infant son cradled in her arms. He had hoped that she had not heard this subtle stab from his mother, and it appeared that she was too enraptured by the boy to take note. He could not remember the last time he had seen his mother this outright jolly and he hoped that her jubilant attitude would carry through once she had seen the boy's hand.

"Now stop dithering about and introduce me to my grandson." She hardly needed to add this command. Violet barely managed a nod towards her daughter and granddaughters as she headed directly towards where Cora sat.

While his mama sat next to his wife, Robert took up a position at the arm of the settee. His stance was solid and he drew his shoulders back; he was so proud, both of Cora and of their newest addition, but he was also prepared to defend both of them from any of his mother's pointed barbs.

He needn't have worried. Robert couldn't remember the last time he had seen his mother smile so broadly at his wife.

Violet touched Cora's arm as she looked up from the tiny face of her grandson to meet her daughter-in-law's eyes. "How are you doing, my dear?"

Cora lowered her lashes in a bashful smile as she made her reply, "I'm perfectly fine. His arrival was much smoother than I had anticipated, and I've been resting as much as I can since."

Violet looked up at her son, "Have you had any thoughts as to names?"

Robert bowed slightly as he chuckled, "Cora wants to call him after me, and as it is Christmas and I can deny her nothing, I have acquiesced, if only for his middle name."

"And Isaac, for my father," Cora added.

"Mama, there is something you should see," Robert sighed, meeting his wife's eyes with his own.

Violet's brow furrowed as she looked back and forth between the two. "Why don't I like the sound of that?"

Cora began to unswaddle the boy and Violet's eyes grew wider in anticipation. "His hand is not quite right, Mama," he explained. "No one is to blame, but it's what has happened and we must face it as best we can."

The dowager looked from the boy's good hand, to his malformed one, and up to his father. She recognized the stance that Robert had assumed. His chin up, the corners of his mouth down. His shoulders back, his hands at his sides. Loyalty was his watchcry and he stood sentry over his family. She could remember him as a boy assuming this stance to defend his puppy who had messed the carpet, and she could vividly remember the first time she saw him assume this stance over his new wife, and realizing that his loyalty had transferred from herself to Cora.

Violet's features softened when her eyes met those of her son. "My darling boy, what are a few fingers in the face of the earldom?" She turned towards Cora and saw the glassy look in her eyes as she continued, "The important thing is that you have both fulfilled the dreams of your fathers."

She watched as Cora and Robert shared a look of relief. Violet knew that her barbs could be sharp, but had they truly thought that she would have any for their new son.

"Mama, may I hold the baby?" Sybil sat on the Knole sofa across from Cora and watched as her parents introduced her baby brother to their granny. She could feel a warmth growing within her own chest as she saw her mother gazing down at the little face that love had created.

Cora beamed at her youngest daughter, who was no longer her youngest child, and rose to hand her the boy. "Of course, darling."

Robert slid into the seat she had vacated and sat next to his own mama. The dowager surveyed her son as she began, "We shall have to think of what to tell people."

Pharaoh, his yellow Labrador, had set his chin upon Robert's knee and his mother's suggestion had pulled him from the distraction of petting his dog. He looked at her in confusion, "Whatever do you mean, Mama?"

"I mean," she took in a steadying breath, "The boy will have to be married some day."

"Of course."

"And it will be easier to tell people that he's had an accident than to try and convince them that there is no bad blood in our family."

He looked across to where his wife and daughter cooed at his young son, then to poor Edith who sat at the other end of the sofa, and then, he could not say why, his eye was drawn to where Mary spoke to her Aunt Rosamund by the window. He felt a tightness in his chest as he made his reply, "You mean a lie."

Violet Crawley looked down her nose at her son. "Lie is so unmusical a word. His accident occured in the womb. We will simply reframe it as having happened in the crib. Perhaps his fingers were badly pinched in the rocking mechanism of the cradle?"

"I suppose you're right, Mama," Robert acknowledged, "I don't like it, but I think you're right."

She beamed at her own dear son. "Excellent!" she exclaimed as she tapped her cane once upon the floor. "Now I hope dinner won't be too much longer. It is Christmas day, after all, and I long to play 'The Game'!"

—-

Martha Levinson sat in the parlor of her home on Fifth avenue reading the newspaper. It seemed that the war was good for business and good for profits but bad for travel. She reminded herself that Cora had always had the best of luck and that she needn't be so anxious. Her presence wouldn't change anything anyway, but she couldn't help but wonder how her daughter was doing.

"The evening post, Ma'am."

The footman's announcement brought Martha out of her revelry. "Thank you, John," she acknowledged, taking the stack of letters from the tall young man. John gave her a curt nod and left the room as she began sorting through the letters. A letter with black border told of an old friend who had died, one from Newport would be from Harold lamenting that another girl had grown weary of the yacht and gone back to mother, and a letter from Yorkshire would be news from Cora.

Dear Mother,

As I write this I am reminded of all those years ago when I excitedly wrote to you that I was pregnant with Mary. I may be much older now, but it is with no less excitement that I announce the adornment of our union with a healthy baby boy! His arrival on Christmas Eve went much more smoothly than I had hoped. I am sure that you will be happy that the issue of the entail is now resolved. I can hardly bring myself to care about the money as I revel in the presence of a boy who reminds me so much of his dear Papa.

Robert is away now running a training camp near Ripon, but we were able to have the christening before he left. We have named him Edward Robert Isaac Crawley, Viscount Downton. Oh Momma, do you think that Daddy would have been pleased? I was very happy to honor him by using his middle name. I think Robert only let me name our son for himself because it was Christmas, but it was one of the nicest gifts I've ever received. After much deliberation we decided on Edward because we are both so grateful to the king who helped bring us together.

I pray that this letter finds you well and that you had a Merry Christmas. I hope that you will join me in praying for a swift end to this war and that once it has ended, that you will be in a position to meet your grandson.

Your Loving Daughter,

Cora

Martha lowered the letter and gazed out the window to see the snow falling on Central Park, catching the reflection of her own smile in the glass. Her daughter had survived the ordeal of childbirth and now had the son that had been so long looked for and, she had no doubt, much loved. Of course they had named him Edward. The former Prince of Wales had been instrumental in connecting wealthy Americans to penniless aristocrats, for which all parties involved, especially in this instance, were very grateful.

Now, if only those blasted Germans would stop sinking ships!