Golly, what a night, pt. 3
Robert, please join me for tea this afternoon.
That was all the little note had read. Well, not quite. There was also his mother´s scribbled Mama and he could tell that she must have written the note quite hastily.
This was just what he had wanted to avoid, her meddling in his life. It was complicated enough, even without her interfering.
Almost a week had passed since the cocktail party at their house and yesterday, Cora had given him an ultimatum to move back into her bedroom, their bedroom. He so wanted to stay in the close quarters of his small dressing room. The room was quaint and decades ago he had found that very fact to be the reason why he found the room to be so suffocating, too small to breathe and think. But now that had been just what he needed.
Then there she was, standing in the doorway between their rooms and he could see the faint glow of her bedside lamp illuminate her from behind. It was late and Bates had just left after tending to him. He felt bad having kept him up much later than usual, but truth be told, he had dreaded going up that night, even if it was just to his dressing room. So instead, he had stayed behind when all the others had gone upstairs, and his mother had been taken back to the village along with Isobel.
Robert had sat there on the red upholstered stool in between the settees in front of the fireplace, still swirling the whiskey in his glass. He had poured it over an hour ago, but didn´t take a single sip. He kept swirling it around the tumbler, looking deep into the amber liquid, the motion in combination with the crackling fire behind it calming him. Then he took a look at the old clock on the mantelpiece and knew he couldn't put off going upstairs any longer for the night, it wasn't fair on his old friend who was waiting to go home and be with his wife.
But what was he supposed to do? She had given him a chance, invited him into her bedroom again, but could he? He knew he should, and he did, but only after she had given him an ultimatum. No matter how angry he was with her, with himself and with the world, he would never do something to willingly hurt her further. Not after she had forgiven him so gracefully all those years ago, when he had finally plucked up the courage to come clean about his mistreatment of her while she had been so close to dying in the room next door.
So he had moved back to her bedroom, but sleep had not come easy that night. Normally, her presence in the bed next to him calmed him, but last night it kept him up. What would happen now? Would she just do what she did at the party - brush it all over and never talk of the very apparent elephant in the room? Would she keep silent until one day it would all explode and be shot back at him?
His thoughts were running rampant inside his head the whole night through and they did not stop during the day, either, no matter how much he had wanted them to stop, just for a single minute.
Robert right about then cursed his decision to walk down to the village instead of taking the car as usual. He had told himself he needed to walk to clear his head and to wake him up a bit further, but he was yet again drenched in the rain and still had to sit through a reprimanding tea with his mother and then walk back again.
What a stupid decision. But then again, he knew all about those.
He had barely knocked at the door when Spratt let him in, taking his coat and hat from him to put them somewhere to hopefully dry at least partially and then announcing his arrival to his mother.
Unsure what to do, he entered the drawing room and, rather reluctantly, went to his mother to greet her.
"Ah, Robert. You received my note then. I was worried it might have been too late when I sent it up to the house," she said in her unmistakable tone.
"It arrived at luncheon; I had plenty of time. But why did you summon me in such haste?"
"After dinner last night, I just couldn't take it anymore. What is the matter with you and Cora? You two have been at odds with each other since the cocktail party, which was rather a success, I might add."
That's the thing with mama, you never know when to expect a compliment, so you don´t. And when she does grant you one, she buries beneath something else.
They sat down for tea, Robert pouring the hot beverage into their cups as Violet took a slice of cake from Spratt.
"Nothing, mama," he finally replied as he set the pot down.
She did not even have to say anything, just a look had been enough for him to think about his answer.
"Well, at least nothing you need to concern yourself with."
"You are my son, Robert, and you have chosen Cora all those years ago when I was nothing but against it. You have proven me wrong over and over again, you have proved to me that you made the right choice, you have found true love with her, and you have been happy, I could see that over the last decades. So forgive me, but when I see that you are so uncomfortable standing next to your wife, sadness written all over your face, with you looking anywhere but at her, when on any other occasion there was nothing anyone could do to stop you from looking at her all night long, I do have to concern myself with that. Your happiness in life will always be my concern. Now, my dear boy, what is it?"
Robert looked up from his plate with his untouched cake on it, quite astonished at her words. He drank a sip of tea to stall having to answer his mother.
Heaving a deep breath after swallowing his tea, he then said: "I have lost my temper, I let it get the better of me and it was because of her. And now I don't know what to do."
"Robert, don´t talk in riddles. I am too old to spend whatever time I have left solving riddles. Just say it, boy," she snapped at him, while still having a smile on her face.
Suddenly, he felt like he was a little boy again, meeting his mother after tea for an hour and somehow, she always knew what he had got up to that day. It was rare that he escaped her reprimands about the propriety of his actions, especially as a young boy.
"Do you remember the art historian who came with Charles Blake to have a look at our Della Francesca?"
"Oh yes, Simon Bruckner, was it?"
"Bricker, but yes. You do know that he came to stay a few times to take a closer look at it, right?"
He waited for her to slowly nod her head in understanding before he continued.
"Well, this has everything to do with him. He invited Cora to go to an art gallery in London when she was there a few weeks ago. I originally wasn't planning on joining her because of a meeting in York. That, however, got cancelled and so I wanted to surprise her and made reservations for us. I was at Rosamund´s, waiting for her to return. It was almost midnight when she did - he had asked her to dinner, and she went with him. I was angry that night and said things that I really do regret and worst of all, I didn't even mean them. Just when I thought Cora and I had got past it, he asked himself here again. That was last week, the day before the cocktail party. He wanted to take some photographs of the painting for his book or something. I had a bad feeling about it all, but I had a regimental dinner in Sheffield to attend. Originally, I was supposed to stay the night as it is a far way from Downton, but I just wanted to get home. The dinner gave me quite a headache, so I decided to return after all and when I came home, I found him in the bedroom. In our bedroom. And he was clearly trying to make advances on her. She looked so uncomfortable with him there. I gave him a chance to get out, keeping my temper in check, but he kept talking about her in a way not acceptable at all, and then I had enough. So, I lost it and punched him. Not just once, and had Edith not knocked to check everything was alright, then I don´t know what would have happened. I suppose you noticed my hand? Well, this is why."
Violet sat there, listening to his story patiently, her face not showing any reactions, only her eyes quickly flickering down to his still tightly bandaged right hand while he just stared into the depths of his teacup.
"But why does that put you so at odds with your wife? You looked as if you were being tortured standing there that night, and at every dinner since. You haven't looked at her once last night. Surely, she's not at fault. You said yourself that she looked uncomfortable with him being there."
"When he had finally gone and left the room, I expected… Well, I don´t know what I expected, to be honest, but certainly not this. She just stood there and said Golly, what a night. That's it. I can't make any sense of it, but ever since this happened, I have just been so angry. Angry at him for having the audacity, angry at her for her response, angry at myself for losing my temper? I honestly do not know, possibly all at once."
They sat in silence for a bit after this, awkwardly sipping their tea and eating bits of cake. It was Violet who broke the silence shortly thereafter, finding it getting increasingly harder to bear.
"But what are you the angriest about? Surely you know that?"
"Everything, mama. Just… everything. This whole situation is impossible for me, and she goes about her day as if nothing had happened. We are all to blame for the parts we played in this, I know. I was not supporting her enough, he kept openly flirting with her and she let it happen. She asked him back and defended his motives to me when I questioned them. And then she just ordered me to come back to her bedroom last night, as if I had no right to be angry, as if I had dreamed it all."
"Did she ever, in all the years you have been married, give you any reason to doubt her faithfulness and her love for you?"
Robert pretended to think about it, even though he knew he didn't have to. He had never had any reason to doubt her at all, and even her replies to the flirting could be seen in an innocent way. If anything, his wife had more than enough reason to doubt him any chance she got.
Violet took this as an answer, she knew her son and daughter-in-law quite well after all.
"Right, that's what I thought. So why are you angry at her?"
This led him down another road still, one he had not travelled the last few days. Was he really angry at her, still? Or was his judgement just clouded, again? He willed himself to think about her, something he had tried not to do for the last week. And no, he felt no anger when her face appeared in his mind. All he could think of was her bright smile beaming up at him, the way her blue eyes twinkled whenever he lost himself in them. Oh that twinkle, he could even see it when she was looking at him through the mirror on her vanity, when he was standing several feet away. No, there was no anger there, just love.
Violet interrupted his musings by clearing her throat the way she so often did.
"Are you sure that your problem lies with her in this matter? I know you, Robert, and I know you love her too much to really be angry at her."
"I guess you are right, but what am I to do? I can't just pretend that none of this ever happened."
He sighed, looking down at the slice of cake he had barely touched.
"No, you obviously cannot. But you can try to get past it."
His mother really surprised him today. When had she ever been so understanding? And when had she ever been on Cora´s side? He thought she would have jumped at the chance to have something to use against her daughter-in-law and it had pained him to no end that he had been the one hand it all to her.
"And how am I to do that, mother? You said I looked like I was being tortured when I was standing or sitting close to her. That is because that's precisely what it feels like. How can I get past that?"
"You obviously must make peace with yourself, dear boy. Your problem is not with Cora, and I dare say not even with Mister Bra- whatever his name is. Your problem lies solely with yourself, and you must come to terms with this. Try and work it out, and then things will soon look up for you and Cora again."
"I guess you are right," he mumbled, his mind focusing on what she had said. It seemed he had a lot more thinking to do and he was not looking forward to it. Staying inside his head had never got him far.
"Figure yourself out and then try to make amends with Cora, that is all you can do."
"I will, mama. Can I excuse myself a little early? It seems I still have a lot to do today."
Violet smiled softly and rang for Spratt, telling him to telephone the house to send the chauffeur down. She was not about to send her son walking back up to the abbey in the heavy rain when he had quite this much on his mind.
"And remember, make peace with yourself first, and then maybe buy her something nice. Every apology is so much more acceptable when there is a gift involved. And now off you go, my dear boy," she said when he bid her goodbye, the chauffeur waiting outside for him.
That night he stayed in the library until late again, mulling over what his mother had said that afternoon. He knew what she meant when she said he needed to make peace with himself. Because this was a problem that truly lay with him, he could see that now. The burning rage he had always felt towards Bricker was only a dull and miniscule emotion in comparison. He knew he would never have to see him again and he was certainly more than alright with that. And whenever he thought of Cora, all he felt was love. So, his mother must be right, mustn´t she?
Then he thought back to the night before, when Cora had told him to come back to her bed if he had never let a flirtation get out of hand. And then it hit him like a car slamming into a brick wall at full speed.
She had forgiven him. When he had told her about the kisses he shared with the maid, Jane, she had forgiven him. She had believed him when he said that nothing more had ever happened and would never happen, that it didn't mean anything to him. She had said that she was just as much at fault for his dalliance with the maid, having neglected him over her duties during the war. She had trusted him, trusted the words he said. She had trusted him after he had kept it secret for many weeks.
And now, there he was, interrupting the situation before anything had happened, Cora clearly uncomfortable with it all, and he didn't trust her. He kept thinking she must have wanted it, even though her eyes had pleaded with him to please make the art historian leave. He had not trusted her, and he should have, just like she had all those years ago.
This was all his fault, and he knew it. Strangely enough, that realisation did not weigh as heavy on his mind as he had expected it to, which he was glad for.
His mother had been right. He needed to find peace with himself first. And he had done that now, he knew why this all had upset him so terribly much, why it kept him up at night.
Now all he needed to do was figure out a way to mend the cracks in his marriage. He so hoped it was not yet too late for him to attempt that.
He set his untouched glass of whiskey down on the mantelpiece of the library and got up the stairs, a plan already forming in his mind. He would need to tell Bates to wake him very early the next morning. He had quite the journey ahead of him after all.