Chapter 5

DEPRESSION

Continuous from chapter 4, as Robert and Bates arrive home from the pub.

This chapter focuses on Bates/Carson, Robert/Cora and Mary/Tom.

"The others have finished, my lord," said Carson, "but her ladyship has chosen to take tea in her rooms."

"Did Mary come down?" asked Robert. His daughter had spent most of her time upstairs with her son since returning from hospital.

"I'm afraid not, my lord," said Carson. "I'll arrange for your tea—"

"Don't bother," said Robert. "I'm not hungry. I'll just keep her ladyship company."

Carson couldn't hide a small, satisfied smirk as he watched Robert enter the house, quite pleased to see there was some life left in his lordship. Other than Carson's expression of condolences, it was more conversation than the butler had shared with his employer since word of Mr. Crawley's loss. Lady Grantham had taken charge of communicating most of the arrangements for the service, guests and meals. The lord had politely and perfunctorily seen to his duties and visitors, but had otherwise sought the privacy of the upstairs rooms. Even Lady Mary had been virtually invisible herself, except for obligatory appearances with the family. That left the butler busy with houseguests and household obligations, but the silence from the lord and Lady Mary were painfully deafening to their loyal servant, whose caring heart grieved for their loss but whose position and bearing limited his forays into their personal lives. Carson knew his time with Lady Mary would eventually come. He had a solid working relationship with the earl, and they operated on years of mutual respect and regard; perhaps because he had served as valet at various times, Carson did occasionally speak quite freely with Robert about the household or employees, but they rarely ventured too far into the uncharted waters of personal affairs.

Knowing Bates' position and history with Lord Grantham afforded him a deeper personal connection, as evidenced by the day's unprecedented social outing, Carson waited for the valet to approach and took him aside after the footman had departed. He spoke in lowered tones, both formal and friendly at the same time.

"As his lordship is right and it is your off hours, I can assume your excursion with Lord Grantham was one of a personal nature?"

"It was, Mr. Carson."

"I don't mean to pry, Mr. Bates," said Carson quietly. "But I am concerned for his lordship. He's hardly spoken a word aloud this past week."

Though there was no real question asked, Bates took a deep breath, knowing how hard it was for Carson to seek reassurance on Lord Grantham's condition. He figured as long as he didn't disclose the content of Robert's private conversation, he wasn't violating the privilege of Robert's friendship. "As you'd expect, Mr. Carson, he's dealing with a lot at the moment. They all are. I think he will come through it."

Carson nodded, somewhat relieved, but as Bates started to move away, the butler spoke again. "Ah, Mr. Bates. You will recall that when you first arrived at Downton, I doubted your ability to fulfill your role in this house. I must also confess that I was dubious of your connection to his lordship and rather suspicious of your motives. Obviously, I am pleased to say my concerns on all accounts were completely unfounded. Lord Grantham's trust and loyalty to you is obviously well placed and well earned."

"I might say the same for you, Mr. Carson."

The two men stood both regarding each other and sharing regard for Robert Crawley, passing much more unspoken than was heard.

Robert loosened and pulled off his tie, giving Cora quite literal confirmation that he was not quite as buttoned up as he ought to be at this hour of the afternoon, and once he leaned down to kiss her cheek she got a whiff of why. She needn't ask where he was all afternoon, but did anyway just to make conversation.

"Hello, darling. I haven't seen you since breakfast."

Robert nodded. "Bates talked me off the ledge. Or tried to."

Cora gave him a graceful smile. "I'm glad to hear it. I suppose it helps to talk to someone other than me once in a while." She wasn't angry exactly, but fatigue and emotional exhaustion made her more sensitive than the situation warranted.

"That's not it at all." He took her hand and kissed it. "I was out for a walk, and…" he drifted off, not really knowing how to explain his uninvited wandering into the servants' home. "I was near the cottages. Bates offered to go for a drink—"

"He invited you?" Her surprise sincere, Cora checked the mirror and adjusted her dress, still speaking to her husband's reflection. "That seems very forward for a valet."

Robert frowned at her. "He is more than my valet and you know that very well."

Cora turned to look at him, deciding not to ask whether it was also Mr. Bates' idea that Robert have more than one drink in the middle of the afternoon. "I know, darling," she softened. "I am sorry. I suppose I'm envious that you got away for a few hours." She kissed him on the cheek. "You deserve it. I do hope it was helpful for you."

"I had thought it was. Now that I'm back, I'm not so sure." Drifting to their window, Robert stared through the sheer curtains at the estate beyond. He caught sight of Tom walking alone with his daughter, and knew he had heard Mary in the nursery with her son. The suffocating doubt and grief again pressed against his chest and enveloped his heart. "The more I think of it, the more I walk 'round this house, I find it hard to live the things we discussed. It's their time now, Cora. This new age we've been thrust into belongs to the young. Sybil and Matthew should be here. I'm older, we've had our life, raised our children." He walked back and sat on the edge of their bed. "Cora, this new world has no need of men like me anymore. I can't shake the feeling that fate has made a tragic error; that it should have been me, not Matthew."

If he were expecting the same sympathy he got in the pub from his wife, he was quickly disappointed.

"How dare you?" Her voice was sharp and tinged with anger. "I see whiskey is not the only thing you've been soaking in. You are drowning in self-pity as well. I see so much of you in Mary, Robert, and I wish I didn't. You both think the whole world revolves around you. She's blaming herself, as if this string of Crawley bad luck is some consequence for her…indiscretion with Mr. Pamuk. Now, you are blaming the universe for not taking you instead, simply because you've had a rough time the last few years. I've got news for you, Lord Grantham. You are not that important, and neither are your perceived failures." She knelt before him, forcing him to look at her, and took his hands in hers. "Matthew's death was senseless and so, so unfair. And so was our dear Sybil's. And it isn't right that our grandchildren are without parents, or that you've lost your precious heir. But don't you think for a moment that putting my husband into a grave instead would be any less of a loss. Certainly not for me. I don't care how old you are, or how long we have been married. I am not ready to be without you beside me at our dining table, or in my bed or in my life. Grieve, my darling. Mourn. Be angry, but don't you dare wish yourself away from me, Robert Crawley. Our life together is just as valuable as anyone else's."

He thought of his two daughters, and the tragic outcomes of their respective marriages and childbirths. He knew Cora was partly right; their love was invaluable, but he would without question trade places with Sybil or Matthew if only he could preserve their young lives.

Sensing his hesitation, Cora lightly fingered the hair on the back of her husband's neck and traced his jawline. "I was barely twenty years old when I signed over a fortune and pledged myself to you for a lifetime. I expect to get more than thirty years out of that deal."

"Oh, Cora." He so wanted to take her fully into his arms. "I'd wager your father would say I invalidated that deal when I lost your money. Technically, you should be free of it, and me."

"You don't get off that easily," said Cora with feigned sternness. "That just means you're in my debt. You owe me, mister. And I intend to collect in full. For better or worse, remember?"

She kissed him gently, and he brought her hands to his lips. How many times had they repeated these simple loving gestures? How many more times would fate allow them?

"My darling," he whispered. "Don't ever leave me. You are the only thing in my world that makes sense these days."

Tom followed a waddling Sybbie down the hallway towards the nursery. Before he could stop his daughter, she'd pushed open the partially opened door and squealed in delight at the sight of her baby cousin. Tom rounded the corner and stepped lightly into the room, nodding silently at Mary who sat in a rocker by the window, her son in her widow's arms.

"Sorry," said Tom. "Come on, Sybbie, let Aunt Mary get baby George to sleep."

"No," said Mary. "It's fine. Really." She tried to smile at her niece, who was on tippy toes trying to see the baby. Mary turned her son so Sybbie could see him better, and the little girl gently put her finger in George's hand and giggled.

The two adults watched her, envious of her ignorance of the recent family tragedy.

Sybbie's nanny poked her head into the room. "There you are, Miss Sybil." She turned to the girl's father. "Time for her nap, Mr. Branson."

"No," Sybbie started to protest as the nanny scooped her up.

Her father leaned in for a kiss on the cheek. "Off you go, darlin'."

"It's all right," said Mary. "It's nearly time for baby's nap, too."

Sybbie peered over her nanny's shoulder as she was ushered out. "Baby sleep."

Tom's eyes followed his daughter until she was out of sight. "That sounded like a command."

"She is a Crawley, after all."

Tom nodded knowingly. "I'm glad they'll grow up together, but I fear she's going to be quite the bossy boots."

"Oh, I don't know," said Mary, gently patting her son's back. "He'll be Earl of Grantham someday. Boys seem to grow into that. I doubt he'll be a pushover for long."

"Not with you as his mother."

A small, welcome chuckle escaped Mary's lips. "I'm afraid you're right. We Crawleys do have a bit of a stubborn streak. And poor George got a double dose."

They grew silent, each deep in thought remembering the missing Crawleys who would never see their children grow. Mary turned away to look out the window.

She stared wistfully for a while. "It's nice to think of children running about in the gardens again," said Mary. "I know it's not your ideal, but Downton was a lovely place to grow up. It was like a fairyland. It seemed you could explore a secret new spot every day for years."

"It is big, I'll give you that," said Tom. "It's hard to imagine your father playing on the lawns in short trousers, but it's easy to imagine you and Edith and Sybil going for walks and picking flowers."

Mary chuckled. "You imagine wrong. I'm sure we did our share together, but if I'm honest, I spent most of my hours following Papa and Carson around." Her eyes warmed at the memory. "Poor Carson, bless him, I think I stayed up nights thinking of things to order him to do. I think I sent him and Papa out into the rain once with torches to search for my invisible cat. I refused to go to bed until they returned."

Tom laughed. "Did they find it?"

"They claimed they did. Of course, I told them they'd brought the wrong one. I'm sure I was horrid. It's a wonder either of them still speak to me."

"What about Edith?" asked Tom. "Was she full of mischief?"

"Not really," said Mary. "At least not in the same way. She was more likely to help Mama or Granny with their sewing or creative things. She played piano; well, we all did, but she's the only one who really took to it."

He almost hesitated to ask, but couldn't resist. "And Sybil?"

Mary smiled up at him and shrugged. "Sybil," she said warmly, "was always sneaking away from her lessons. We'd find her up a tree somewhere, rescuing things or bringing home strays." She cocked her head, half-teasing. "No offense."

Tom nodded, proud to be the last stray she had taken in. "She must have driven your grandmother mad."

"She did," said Mary. "She'd come back with scraped knees and torn dresses, and I'm pretty sure it was Sybil who put a toad in the pocket of Nanny's favorite sweater, though I blamed Edith for it. Mama didn't mind her antics too much, though. Papa pretended to, of course, especially when Granny was around, but he'd always give in. Being raised the way he was, I think he secretly liked her independent spirit, and it probably reminded him of Mama. Sybil was our American sister. You know, Mama's money may have saved Downton, but she kind of shook things up around here when she married Papa. Not only did my parents always share a bedroom, we girls were brought up around our parents, every day. We practically had the run of the house, unless they had people in. Papa and Aunt Rosamund didn't have that sort of access, not even to Granny. But Mama insisted she have a hand in raising us, and whereas Papa and Rosamund were left behind while their parents traveled the world, my parents rarely left Downton, and if they did we usually went along."

Tom touched the sleeping baby's cheek. "It's hard to imagine leaving them behind, even for a holiday." He admired his nephew for a few moments, trying hard to imagine what sort of future awaited the young lord. Already bearing one of his grandfather's courtesy titles until he came into his earldom, he didn't look particularly aristocratic; in fact, he looked peaceful in slumber, with not a care in his new world. It wasn't that long ago that Tom would have hated everything this child represented, but now he found himself wanting to ensure there was a Downton left for the remaining heir to inherit.

Mary broke their shared silence.

"Tom," she said. "Thank you."

"What for?"

"For not asking how I am."

"I know how you are."

"I know you do," said Mary. "Better than anyone."

"I'd like to tell you it gets easier, and I guess in some ways it does, a little, but I still think about her," said Tom quietly. "Every day. Sometimes I look at Sybbie and I see Sybil, just for a moment, in her eyes, or her smile, or some little mannerism. And then sometimes, I get caught up in working around the estate, or playing with Sybbie or talking to someone and it hits me that I haven't thought about Sybil, and that terrifies me more than anything."

Mary rose from her chair and gently placed her son in his crib. She took her brother-in-law's hand and squeezed it until Tom squeezed back.

"Don't go anywhere," said Mary. "Please. He won't admit it, but Papa will need you now."

Tom nodded at her, knowing what she had said was true, but also knowing there was more. Mary was her father's daughter, though, and neither dealt comfortably with expressions of emotional honesty. He started to leave, but was stopped by Mary's voice.

"Tom?" She waited for him to turn back to her. "When I was younger I hated the idea of having a brother. I guess I was jealous that he'd automatically be the crown prince of Downton. Then Matthew came, and I tried to hate him for the same reason." She tried to smile past the memory. "I hope Sybbie doesn't come to resent George."

"I'm sure she won't," said Tom. "Your grandmother once told me that this family sticks together. I'll raise Sybbie to be proud of him."

'Thank you for that," said Mary. "And I can honestly say I'm finally glad to have a brother."