Robert watched her from a safe distance from outside the stone building and saw how she slowly crouched down in front of the polished light grey stone through the opened door. He watched her lay the wreath of white flowers they had brought with them to the edge of the cemetery at the foot of the stone memorial, running her delicate fingers over one of the roses. He saw her tracing her father's name inscribed on the stone ever so gently, her index finger lingering on the last digit of the year of his death — 1891.
The bench Harold had put up a few feet away from the stone for his mother to sit on when she visited their father was anything but comfortable, he was sure of that, but he was glad to see her sit down on it nonetheless. The day before had cost her greatly. After all, she danced with Harold and then insisted on dancing with him as well. In the evening, when they had all danced and enjoyed themselves more than enough, she barely made it up to their bedroom and then fell into bed, utterly exhausted.
The short walk from the gates of the cemetery to her father's mausoleum had been strenuous enough and she needed that break on the bench. She had clung to his arm a lot more than usual, it almost felt as if he had to drag her to the small yet impressive building standing in between several quite similar ones.
At first, Cora just sat there, thinking of her late father while looking at his name engraved on the stone in front of her. She tried to recall as many things about him as she could, a task she found to be so incredibly hard all of a sudden, now that she was sitting near his final resting place. All she could think of was that he had been rather tall and had dark hair – both traits she inherited from him.
Unable to come up with much more than that by simply thinking about him, Cora started talking to him as if he were there, sitting next to her on the bench. Keeping her freezing hands clasped in her lap, fidgeting with the rings on them, she said: "You would be so proud of Harold if you were still here with us. He got married yesterday to a fine young lady after so many years. I never thought there would come a day when my wild brother would even think about settling down, but he did at long last. Or at least he will, and I have never seen him this happy. At least not since he was a boy hiding under your desk whenever his teachers were trying their best to get him to read poetry. You know, he always preferred maths to his other classes, simply because he only ever saw you do all your accounting all day long and rarely read a book for pleasure. Come to think of it, I still remember that one incident, Mister Burns came running to Mother, saying that Harold had run away and was nowhere to be found. Upon that, Mister Burns, Mother, a few of our servants and I ran across the grounds and searched the entire house for at least two hours without finding even a trace of him. And then we decided to ask for your help in the end, only to discover that he had been with you the entire time. He was sitting on your lap as you did your calculations, and you simply said that he had been hiding under your desk and wouldn't leave you alone, and so you let him stay."
Cora remembered that day in such detail all of a sudden, the scene crystal clear in front of her inner eye. She saw her brother at maybe six or seven years old, sitting on Isidore's lap in his dark blue shorts and pressed white shirt, his gaze fixed on the many numbers written in their father's spiky scrawl on the paper in front of him. She recalled her father scribbling away on the many pages spread out on his desk, his left hand keeping Harold still in his place on his knee. She remembered the usually brown or grey suits her father always wore, even when at home — even though the suit jacket was hanging over the back of his big leather chair most of the time and his ties were either loosened or fully discarded to the side when he was busy working. Suddenly, as those few details bounced around her head, she remembered it all.
The deep voice that used to tell her bedtime stories when she had been but a young girl who refused to go to bed without one, and even a story read by Nanny simply wouldn't do. She had not realised it as a child, but he had almost always made those stories up on the spot instead of reading them from a book. She remembered his twinkling green eyes that were almost always filled with mirth whenever they looked at her. She recalled the way she had to almost skip just to be able to keep up with his pace when they walked somewhere together when she was young, his long legs travelling so much faster than hers. She still saw her younger self being carried around the house on his back when she had begged him long enough on some occasions, and how she giggled the entire time. Cora remembered his distinctly deep laugh, how boisterous it always seemed, and the way it reverberated in his chest and seemed to bounce off the walls and filled entire rooms with such ease. She recalled how it always started with a light chuckle coming from deep within, how it rumbled in his chest before he finally let out his big, guffawing and contagious sounds of amusement.
She missed him. She always did – he had been taken from all of them far too soon by the same disease she was now living with — or rather slowly dying from. But being there at his final resting place once again made her feel so close to him. Closer than she had felt in decades, maybe even closer than ever before in her lifetime.
"I wish you could have met your granddaughters, I know you would have adored them, all three of them. I was about to write to you when we found out we were expecting Mary, our oldest, when Mother's telegram arrived that told us of your death. I can only imagine how excited you would have been at the prospect of becoming a grandfather. Our girls would have loved meeting you, and Robert would have taken us to America as often as possible. Now, our little girls are mothers, too, and their children are all angels."
Cora stopped again, this time thinking of Sybbie and George, of Marigold and Caroline and little Peter. Oh, how she lived spending the afternoons with them.
"I cannot imagine my life without them, just like I cannot imagine my life without my darling Robert," she said after a few seconds, her voice firm and still gentle. "Mother once told me that you were not at all keen on going to London to find me a husband, that you would have preferred me to marry an American and stay closer to home. And maybe I should have done that. Maybe that way I could have said goodbye to you when your time came far too soon. But I want you to know that Robert made me so very, very happy. He gave me everything in life I could have ever hoped for and more. Of course, there were hardships and even some heartbreak, but our love was always stronger. You never got to know him truly, not in the way I got to. You never saw my Robert after he had fallen in love with me. I know that you were concerned about his intentions regarding our marriage, but he was always open about it and I knew we could make it work. And we did. We forged our lives together, brought up our daughters and got to spend time with our grandchildren, and I will forever be grateful that you let Mother have her way and bring me to England. I have led the very best of lives, and I have been so incredibly privileged and cherished and loved. Just like you are. There barely is a day that passes when I do not think of you, even after all these years. You have been gone for so long, and still, many things remind me of you. I can only hope that someday, someone might say the same about me; that even long after I am gone, they will remember me in the small things. Maybe they'll smile fondly as they do."
"They will, I will make sure of that."
She had not heard him enter, his footsteps on the cold stone floor having gone unnoticed by her until he had come to a halt beside her and spoke quietly.
The snow on his coat and hat was already beginning to melt, the temperatures inside the mausoleum being quite warm compared to outside. Robert had wanted to grant her privacy in her final goodbye to her father, but he had to step inside to find shelter from the thick, fluffy flakes of snow the harsh wind was blazing about outside. This visit was something she needed to do on her own – she did not need him for this particular part of their journey, and so he regretted having to intrude in such a vulnerable moment.
The weather outside was getting worse and worse with each passing minute. The winds started to pick up and blew the thick snowflakes in every direction.
"I am so sorry for intruding, darling, but I'm afraid that we will have to start to make our way back very soon. There seems to be a full-on snowstorm brewing up there. The poor chauffeur is still waiting outside in the motor to take us back to your mother's house whenever we are ready to leave. And you must be freezing cold in these conditions, even though it is warmer in here than I anticipated."
"Do not worry, Robert. We will go, shortly. Just another minute, please?"
She looked at him, her big blue eyes filled with her tears – tears he had not noticed before. When he slowly nodded in agreement to her plea, Cora then patted the empty space on the wooden bench next to her, inviting him to sit with her.
Without hesitation, Robert walked around the bench and took the seat she had offered him, now looking at the stone ahead of him just like his wife had done before. Without turning his head, his hand took hold of hers in her lap, trying to still her fidgeting movements.
The two of them just sat there, completely lost in their own thoughts, for a few more minutes. He never let go of her hand and she was grateful for that, the sense of security his presence next to her offered was more than welcome.
"Robert?" she asked, her voice just above a whisper in the draughty mausoleum.
"Yes, dear?"
"Take me home, please."
He turned to look at her, searching her sunken face for the true meaning he knew she tried to somewhat veil. It took him a while to understand that she did not just want him to take her back to her mother's house near the coast in Newport, but that she indeed meant Downton. The grand house that had become her new home four decades ago, on the other side of the ocean, when she had to leave Newport behind. The place she had grown so accustomed to and incredibly fond of over the last four decades. The place that had slowly become her home, that had seen most of her life unfold, the place that truly felt like home to her.
Goodbye, father, until we meet again, she thought when she looked back one last time as they left the grave in their wake.
The way back to Martha Levinson's Newport house was quiet, the veil of silence that had fallen over them as they had entered the cemetery earlier still hanging over them as the motor slowly rolled through the broad streets in the constantly worsening weather conditions.
As they were nearing the long driveway leading up to the mansion, Cora broke that silence: "Did you truly mean what you said?"
Robert, who had been holding her hand while gazing out the window, turned to look at her surprised and said slightly quizzically: "What? That I would make sure people will remember you and think of you fondly long after you are gone?"
She nodded slightly, her throat suddenly incredibly tight, making her unable to utter a response.
"Yes. And I know that Mary, Edith, and Tom will do that, as well. We will all make sure that the grandchildren will remember their Granny and the many happy afternoons they spent with you. I will make sure that the village never forgets the countless great things you did for them during your time as Countess. I promise that I will ensure that people will remember the lovely, intelligent and compassionate Cora Crawley, who saved the entire estate and married such an undeserving man like me; the American Countess who even earned my Mother's trust and approval. I promise that I will cherish your memory for as long as I shall live, my dear. My love for you will never falter, not until the last breath has left my body and I am reunited with you, at last. All that I wholeheartedly promise you."
Her face was hidden under the wide brim of her black hat, but he knew without seeing her face that she was crying, and so he pulled her into his arms, rubbing soothing circles on her back. He only let go of her still silently shaking form when the footman opened the door for them after they had stopped in front of the main entrance.