June's prompt: downpour
"I do hope this wretched rain will end soon," O'Brien commented as she secured a coiled section of dark curls to Cora's head.
Cora murmured indistinguishably without so much as glancing up at her reflection. Her eyes were fixed on the way her fingers absentmindedly played with the necklace she had opted not to wear.
The night of the disastrous garden party a rainstorm had blown in and stayed. For weeks a torrent of water continuously poured from the caliginous sky, adding to the dolorous atmosphere the pronouncement of war had brought upon the house.
"Everything is always so much worse when it rains," O'Brien continued, her fingers gentle and caring as she worked.
"I'm not so sure bright sunlight would do anything to help," Cora muttered, speaking for the first time since O'Brien had come in to dress her for dinner. Her fingers tightly gripped her necklace as hot anger began to sear through her veins. "My son would still be dead and his lordship would still be determined to leave. At the least the rain doesn't hide behind false and insincere sentiments of concern."
O'Brien visibly winced and took a step back.
Suddenly realizing how her statement would have sounded to her maid, Cora spun around and laid her hand on top of O'Brien's, gently tightening her grasp as though trying to massage away the sting of her words. "Oh O'Brien, I'm sorry," she murmured. "I don't know what came over me."
"You needn't ever apologize to me, milady," O'Brien whispered, patting Cora's hand.
Guilt still swirled in her stomach as O'Brien resumed her work of pining up her hair. Out of the entire household O'Brien had been the only one who had seemed to give any thought to her well being and the last thing Cora had wanted to do was hurt her. But the more she pushed away her pain and anger, the more determined it was to force its way out. It had been several weeks since war had been declared and the anxiousness and dread over Robert's appointment was eating her alive.
The very afternoon war had been announced, Robert had put in his offer to serve. Cora had known he would. She had seen the determination in his eyes when he had gazed at her across the lawn after his asseveration. It was a look she had seen only one other time— fifteen years before when he had informed her of his decision to join the fight in South Africa. And just as he had done then, he had once again unilaterally resolved to go off to war and, beyond being terrified for him, it hurt. It hurt her tremendously that he could so easily decide to leave her right after the loss of their son. She had thought to contest his choice, to try and persuade him to stay with her. But ultimately, she decided to say nothing.
While Robert had initially been comforting and attentive as they mourned their son, the pronouncement of war had caused him to withdraw from her. A small part of it was due to his physical presence being required at the House of Lords, but it was the other part— the emotional distance between them— that wounded. It cut her deeply and forced her darkest fear to the surface. Despite her every effort, she couldn't dispel the idea from her mind. It ran circles in her head, taunting and tormenting her. She wished Robert would allay her fear. But there being the slightest possibility that he would confirm it, kept her silent and from raising any objection to his joining the fight.
"There we are, milady," O'Brien stated softly, gently sliding the last pin into Cora's hair.
Cora nodded her head, but remained quiet. She kept her eyes down as she internally rallied herself to leave her room and join her family for dinner.
When she didn't move, O'Brien lightly placed her hand on Cora's shoulder, her touch barely felt. "Is there anything I can do, milady?"
Finally, Cora lifted her eyes to meet her maid's gaze in the mirror. "No," she whispered. Tears pricked at her eyes and she looked away, gulping down the sudden lump in her throat, before she flicked her eyes back up and forced a small smile. "There is nothing you can do."
With another fortifying breath, Cora rose to her feet and crossed the room to the door. She placed her hand on the knob and twisted, cracking the door before stopping suddenly. She looked back over her shoulder to O'Brien who was gathering up the discarded clothes.
"O'Brien," she called, her voice quiet, "thank you for your support these past few weeks… I-I don't know how I would have managed without you."
O'Brien glanced down at the clothes in her hands, contrition writing itself across her face. In the back of her mind, Cora realized she had probably made her serious maid uncomfortable. But what she said had been the truth and she had an inkling she was going to need even more support in the coming weeks.
"It wasn't any trouble, milady," she answered. "I was happy to do it."
"Perhaps," Cora stated. "But I wanted to thank you all the same."
"I'm so sorry, milady," O'Brien whispered.
The weight of O'Brien's statement struck her, but not wishing to prolong the exchange and make the other woman feel even more awkward, Cora bobbed her head in appreciation and stepped into the hall.
A certain unnerving stillness had settled upon the house like a spell, capturing it in a chokehold of silence. Beyond the faint tattoo of rain pattering against the windows, not a sound could be heard as Cora descended the stairs, the soft thump of her footfalls swallowed in the noiselessness.
She made her way into the drawing room and found her three girls already there, waiting without a word spoken amongst them. Mary and Edith had occupied much of their time in the past weeks closed away, nursing their wounds over their respective broken engagements, and only appearing for meals. And even ever cheerful and optimistic Sybil spent her time sitting quietly, consumed with worry of the many acquaintances who would soon be shipping off to war. The new demeanor of her daughters broke her heart, but there was nothing Cora could do to help them through. Neither Mary nor Edith wanted comforting from her and darling Sybil hadn't wanted to burden her, despite Cora's protestations to the contrary.
As Cora moved towards the chair by the fire, Sybil glanced up from her place on the pink settee and gave her a small smile, one Cora forced herself to return.
Robert had yet to join them, but Cora didn't find it surprising. He had started a habit of nursing a pre-dinner drink in the library, sparing himself the strained wait for dinner, and would appear when the meal was announced. But when Carson entered a few minutes later and Robert still hadn't joined them, Cora felt herself starting to become anxious. She hadn't seen Robert since he left her room to dress for the morning.
"Carson, is his lordship not joining us?" she asked, her voice belying her disquiet.
"He told Mr. Bates he wasn't feeling well and would take a tray in his room, milady," he answered, his surprise at her lack of knowledge evident.
Cora nodded her head in understanding and turned to her daughters. "I'm going to check on your father," she stated. "Don't hold dinner for me."
Preceding her daughters out of the room, she made her way towards the staircase. Even though they hadn't said anything, she could feel their confused and curious stares burning into her back. But she kept her gaze firmly fixed ahead as she mounted the steps.
Reaching Robert's dressing room door, she rapped her knuckles against the wood and waited for him to bade her to enter. But upon not receiving a response, she cautiously twisted the knob and pulled the door open.
The chamber was empty with a fire burning away in the fireplace, indicating Robert intended to remain in his dressing room. Hesitantly, Cora entered and called out, unsurprised when she didn't receive an answer. Crossing the floor, she cracked open the dividing door and quickly running her eyes around her own room. It too was empty. She closed the door and leaned back against it, heaving a sigh.
Spying a slip of white resting on the bedside table, Cora picked it up and unfolded the paper. Guilt at reading Robert's correspondence without permission prickled in her abdomen, but she forged ahead. Her eyes rapidly scanned the page as she tried to register the information. The sound of the dressing room door clicking open interrupted her third survey of the letter.
Cora wasn't sure who was more surprised, her or Bates. But he recovered first.
"Forgive me, milady," he stated. "I wasn't aware there was anyone in here."
"No don't apologize." Cora glanced down at the paper in her hands before returning her attention to Bates. "Do you know where his lordship is?"
"His lordship received that just before the gong," Bates answered, gesturing to the sheet of white in Cora's hands. "He told me he was going for a walk and if he wasn't back by a certain time, to bring a tray to his room as he wouldn't be joining your ladyship downstairs."
"And he's not come back?" Cora clarified.
"Not to my knowledge, milady."
Returning the letter to the bedside table, Cora straightened her shoulders and met his gaze. "Thank you, Bates," she stated, the corners of her mouth twisting into a small smile. Walking around the bed, she moved to the door. "I'm sorry for interrupting your work."
"If I see his lordship, should I tell him you were looking for him?" Bates called as she stepped into the hall.
Turning back to face him, she thought for a moment before murmuring, "No, it can wait."
Spinning on her heel, she walked down the hall at an even stride until she was certain she was out of Bates' sight. Once she was far enough away, she picked up her pace and hurried down the stairs. Her thoughts were consumed with getting to Robert as her feet propelled her through the Great Hall, into the entryway, and out the front door.
After only a few moments in the downpour, Cora's dress had started to cling to her form, the saturated fabric weighing her down and cumbersomely tangling around her legs. The chocolate curls O'Brien had painstakingly arranged only a short time before, slowly slid out of the pins and tumbled free, the soaked hair sticking to her neck and face. Belatedly she realized how foolish it was for her to run off into the dark and drenched night, particularly without a coat and still so soon after her fall. But she didn't allow her hesitations to stop her. Robert would only have gone out into such weather if he had been truly upset and she wouldn't rest until he was safely back at the house.
Precipitation continued to fall in sheets as she raced down the gravel path. The large, soaking drops whipped against her, the liquid blurring her vision. She had a notion of where Robert may be and she desperately hoped she was heading in the correct direction. But the rain made in nearly impossible to see. Straining her eyes against the onslaught of rainfall, she could just make out the Temple of Diana not too far off. Cora hitched up her heavy and sopping skirts and hurried across the slick and squelchy grass to the dry refuge the Greco-Roman structure offered.
Entering the tower on the ground floor, she shut the door behind her and swiped her hand over her face, flicking away the excess water. Expertly making her way through the dark, she found the wooden stairs that lead to the upper level, years of clandestine meetings guiding her steps. She eased the trap door open and swept her eyes around the circular room until she saw Robert standing by one of the large windows opposite the trap door. His back was to her, his gaze firmly fixed out the dark window. Carefully, she stepped out of the hole, her feet softly thumping against the wood floor, and started to move over to him.
"You needn't have come after me," he murmured before she had taken a step. "I can't think it very healthful in your current condition."
"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked, deciding to remain by the staircase. The stiffness of his posture told her he wouldn't welcome her comfort.
"Forgive me, but I wasn't in the mood to watch you try to contain your glee at my disappointment," he answered, a bite in his voice.
"Do you really think so little of me?" she returned, her own tone hardening. "I know what this meant to you, Robert."
"Please don't pretend you're not happy at the results."
"I'm not pretending, but two things can be true simultaneously."
He scoffed in disbelief and shook his head. "Well don't allow your joy to burn too bright. I've decided to write Robertson and see what he says. He was a decorated general during the Boers and should have some sway."
Cora's breath caught in her throat as her blood froze in her veins. "Surely you don't mean to apply again?" she asked, her voice a whisper.
He didn't respond, merely continuing to stare out into the darkness.
Tears stung the corners of her eyes and she rapidly bat her lashes to keep them from falling. "Robert?"
Turning his head, he looked at her for a moment, the harsh lines in his face softening as though he was going to answer her inquiry. Instead, he heaved a sigh and returned his gaze to the window, saying, "Go back to the house before you catch cold. You're still recovering."
Cora stared at him in shock for a moment, before taking a calming breath and crossing the floor to him. She had to at least try. Gently, she placed her hand on his arm and lightly squeezed. "Don't dismiss me as an unruly child in need of Nanny. I know how disappointing it is for you to have been rejected but—"
He stepped away from her and moved to the other side of the room, his determination to keep as much distance as possible between them obvious. "You couldn't possibly understand. So please just leave the subject."
"Well I could try if you would—"
"You don't understand my duty to Downton," he snapped. "How on earth could you possibly understand my duty to my country?"
Her eyes hardened to ice as she drew herself to her full height and straightened her shoulders until they were taut. "I am not a simpleton Robert," she hissed. "I know what love and duty are, but sometimes those can only go so far."
"The more you speak, the more foolish you sound," he remarked. "I'm going to write to Robertson and he will no doubt have something for me. So just drop it, Cora."
The ire and pain she had been suppressing for weeks finally breached the walls she had so carefully constructed around them and roared out of her with a sudden intensity. "I need you here!" Her voice echoed around the empty room and she breathed with effort as she tried to regain some of her lost composure. "Don't you have a duty to me or is your country really more important to you than I am?"
"That is hardly fair!" Robert fired back, eyes narrowed and body tensed. If he was shocked by her outburst, he didn't show it. "Those are hardly the same thing."
"Aren't they?" Cora exclaimed. "I left my country and crossed an ocean for you. I dealt with mockery and scorn just to become the wife you wanted, a wife you could be proud of. And you have the gall to pretend as though I don't understand sacrifice or duty?"
"Oh don't act as though there was some great and noble sacrifice on your part," scoffed Robert. "You came here to trade your money for a title to whoever would have you to bolster your own image. Your greatest difficulty was choosing which family to buy!"
Cora recoiled as though he had physically struck her, hot liquid rapidly flooding her eyes. Taking a sharp breath, she looked away and wrapped her arms around herself. Her earlier fight fled her and she began to tremble. Although if it was from the pain of his flippant remark or being soaked to the skin, she couldn't tell.
"I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice thick with remorse. "That was extremely uncalled for."
"Do you blame me?" she asked, her voice barely audible and tight with unshed tears. "Is that why you are so determined to leave?"
He was silent for several minutes. Heavy rainfall continued to pound on the room, the sound filling the otherwise silent tower. Cora wasn't sure he had heard her until she saw him come to stand in front of her and gently place his hands on her upper arms.
"No," he answered, his voice low but adamant. "I could never blame you. It was not your fault."
Slowly, she raised her eyes to his and he dropped his hands, leaving her bereft. Reaching out, she grasped his hand in hers, interlocking their fingers. She squeezed and massaged his palm, hoping the tightness of her grip would make him understand.
"Then accept their decision," she whispered, her eyes beseeching him as she held their clasped hands to her chest, "and stay with me…please."
His gaze softening, he brought his free hand up and gently cupped her cheek, the tips of his fingers lightly tangling in her soaked curls. Tilting her face up, he bent his head and pressed his lips to hers. Cora let out a relieved sigh and moved to wrap her arms around him, but he pulled away before she could.
"I'm sorry, Cora," he whispered, before disentangling from her and leaving the room.