I wrote this one while sitting at my mum's bedside together with my father a few weeks ago now, which may or may not have influenced parts of the dialogue in this chapter a lot. I still hope that you do not find this too out of character for everyone.
"Miss Baxter and I have finished packing your suitcases and sent them down just before the gong was rung."
Bates was adjusting the bow tie sitting over the stiff collar of his dress shirt, which was still slightly crooked to one side, when his words pulled Robert out of his own thoughts. He hadn't realised he had been silently staring at his reflection in the mirror almost the entire time his valet had helped him get dressed for dinner.
Neither of them had talked before that night that went beyond greeting. It was not all that unusual for them to speak so little while going about the business of readying Robert for another family dinner. Sometimes, they both needed those minutes of mutual silence in the otherwise always-busy house.
"Thank you, Bates. I never asked this afternoon – what did Mrs Bates say when you told her about the trip? I can only imagine how hard it must be for her to say goodbye for several weeks again so soon after last time, especially with little Johnny in the picture. It must be quite hard for you to have to say goodbye to both of them."
Robert managed a small smile, thinking of his friend's son. Little Johnny had quite a close bond with his own grandchildren, especially with George. Robert honestly liked to see it.
"Oh, she will manage, and it is of immense help that Johnny gets to stay in the nursery here during the day, the both of us are truly very grateful for that opportunity you are giving us. Otherwise, none of it would be possible, milord. And she also said that she can only imagine how important this journey must be when you arrange it in such haste, and I have to agree with her – we all did."
"It is very important indeed, and I am ever so grateful for everything you and the others are doing for us."
He nodded at his valet, looking at him through the mirror before giving himself another look over and deciding he needed to brush his hair again. And maybe get a haircut soon after landing in his wife's homeland. Cora always said she liked his hair slightly longer, liked it when it was beginning to curl, especially in the back. It reminded her of the young man she first fell in love with, she said. But it was not quite to his taste, no matter how much he loved it when she ran her hands through it.
Bates was then brushing down the black dinner jacket as he looked imploringly at his employer through the mirror.
"You would tell us if we had to worry about anything, wouldn't you, milord?"
Robert immediately looked away and busied himself with adjusting his cufflinks that in truth needed no adjustment at all. It gave him something to do other than stare at his old friend through the looking glass, trying to come up with a reply that would hopefully appease his valet. He couldn't lie to Bates, not after everything they had gone through together over the course of the last three decades. But Robert found that he could not quite tell him the truth either, at least not quite yet.
"Eventually, yes, I think so."
Those five words were all that John Bates needed to hear to understand at least to some extent the nature of their rather hurried journey across the pond. And it worried him even more than before.
Dinner was over — it had finished a while ago, actually. Robert heard the door to the library open and close again shortly after. He heard the footsteps approaching but did not turn around to see who had entered, he was too lost in his thoughts to take proper notice.
He had helped Cora back up to their bedroom, had waited for Baxter to finish getting her ready for bed and then kissed her goodnight, waiting for her to fall asleep at her bedside while holding her hand. It had not taken long, despite the fact that she had slept almost all day. Her body finally took the rest it desperately needed. A few minutes after he heard her soft snoring start to fill the room they had shared for the past 39 years, he carefully extricated his hand from hers and went back downstairs to help himself to another drink. A last one before he would have to rely on his brother-in-law to bring at least something to the table that contained any alcohol, no matter how illegal acquiring that would be.
"We knew we would find you here," said Mary as she and her sister walked into the scarcely lit room and joined their father near the fireplace.
Robert turned to face them, half-surprised, his half-empty glass of what his daughters could only assume was whiskey still held firmly in his right hand.
"You did?"
"Yes, of course. You always come here to stare into the flames when something is troubling you," added Edith upon sitting down next to her sister.
Both of his daughters sat there, looking up at him. Their dark dresses made them appear even paler than they actually were, the black fabric being a stark contrast to their light pink skin that appeared almost white in the low lighting. Not even the warm orange flickers of the fire could help in making them look less sallow.
"You do know me too well, then," he chuckled dryly before emptying his drink in one swift motion.
He turned back to face the fire, but not fully, not with his daughters there. He did not want to make them feel unwelcome in what he had selected to be his brooding space, much like it had been his father's before.
None of them said a word for a while, they all just looked at the slowly dying flames dancing in the fireplace and listened to the light crackling noise the embers emitted.
Eventually, Edith broke the silence in her usual soft voice.
"Papa, why are you going to America, truly? This all seems so odd, even under these circumstances. Surely Doctor Clarkson recommended some form of treatment or therapy to Mama?"
Edith and Mary both looked at him with their big dark eyes, silently begging him to finally tell them the full story they both knew he and Cora were still keeping from them all.
Robert had dreaded this discussion. He had known that it was inevitable, that he would have to tell them, eventually, and sooner rather than later. And then there it was – and he couldn't blame them for wanting to know given their hurried impending departure. It was all quite odd, they were right. And they had a right to know, they had been kept in the dark long enough.
Cautiously, he set down his now-empty tumbler on one of the wooden side tables and closed the small distance between the fireplace and the settee they were occupying in two strides. He crouched down in front of them, taking one of their hands in each of his, and squeezed them gently and reassuringly. It was something he had always done when they had been his young daughters, fighting about something or other, and needed help in stopping their fights that often involved tears or snide remarks before escalating further. He hadn't had to do it in years, a decade even, and a small part of him was amazed that his knees still allowed him to crouch down without giving out. But it amazed him even more to see how little his daughters had changed in all these years, despite being fully grown-up women, and mothers now. In his mind, while he was crouching down in front of them as they looked at him with wide eyes, they were still just his little girls – and he was about to crush their entire world to pieces.
"Doctor Clarkson did recommend treatment, in London, and he explained it all this morning. He even left a plan with us to review. But your moth–"
He interrupted himself, unable to finish the sentence he had started. Somehow, the words he had started to say had choked him and he was struggling enough as it was, even without that.
His daughters did not speak, they let him breathe deeply and he felt Mary gently squeeze his hand, at which he smiled gratefully at her. He needed the silent reassurance.
"The recommended treatment would more than likely only be a temporary fix and it would be highly unpleasant and take away most of the quality of life she still has, which is why your Mama has decided not to go to London, to forego the treatment. She wants to stay here at home, with all of us, for as long as she can. I am taking her to America because she wants to say her goodbyes to her mother and brother, something she has to do in person."
Robert had hoped to keep his feelings concerning all of this to himself, but both of their innocent faces staring at him in utter disbelief made that almost impossible.
"Mama has decided what?" asked Mary after a while, a blank expression on her face.
"She can't have. Please, Papa. That cannot be," whispered Edith pleadingly, all remaining colour drained from her face.
He still held both of their hands firmly in his and tried to comfort them. He tried to stay strong while his daughters, his two incredibly independent and unbelievably strong daughters, started to cry. Just like they had after their Granny had passed. And suddenly he couldn't keep the tears in himself.
"I wish I could tell you something different. I truly wish I could. But I can't."
They could hear the honesty and pain in his words. Despite or maybe even because of his soft and gentle tone and the defeat that was evident in his voice, it was obvious to Mary and Edith that losing their mother was almost unbearably hard on him. His daughters had never seen him like this, Robert knew. And he was also aware that this likely did not help them in this situation, but he could not help any of it. He just couldn't.
It was Mary who pulled him closer, who buried her face in his right shoulder as her choked sobs rattled her body. Before long, her sister followed and clung to him for dear life as well. Robert closed his eyes and slowly let his arms circle around both of his daughters, pulling them closer to him. His hands started to draw circles on their backs in an effort to calm them, but the desired effect took a long while to settle in.
Cora mumbled something under her breath when he climbed into their bed an hour later, but he didn't understand her.
Feeling utterly exhausted, he slipped into their bed and turned on his side. He faced her small form on their bed and carefully scooted closer to her, trying not to wake her in the process. Robert gently pressed his lips to her forehead before putting a stray strand of hair behind her ear and out of her face, whispering: "Go back to sleep, dearest, tomorrow will be the start of a very demanding journey and you will need all the strength you can get. I love you, please never forget that."
He wasn't sure if she heard, or if she was even awake enough to hear him, but he didn't care. He needed to say it because it reminded him that she still was there in the bed next to him.
Robert settled down into their bed and just looked at her in the dim light of their bedroom, admiring her beauty. She was still as beautiful to him then as she was back when he saw her for the first time from across the ballroom forty years ago. No amount of weight lost, wrinkles gained, or the increasing pallor of her skin could ever diminish her beauty, not to him. Not when her sparkling bright blue eyes had been what had drawn him to her in the first place, along with her wide, yet always gentle smile that could light up any room, however grand or small.
The things that made her the most beautiful person in the entire world to him were still and would always be untouched by the ravages of time and disease.
It was true, he had not fallen in love with her instantly, it wasn't what some people called love at first sight. But she had intrigued him from the moment he had first laid his eyes on her. There had been something different about her that set her apart from all the other young ladies in that ballroom. He had danced with quite a few young women at his countless balls during his seasons, but no single dance was as memorable as the one he had shared with a certain Miss Cora Levinson from Newport, America. Later he had realised that it had been the kindness and open-mindedness she exuded that had drawn him to her, along with her quiet intelligence, love, and warmth. She wasn't boasting, like so many of the others, and she was well-mannered. Cora had a kind soul, anyone could see it.
Yet, she had chosen him all those years ago over her many other suitors, despite his less-than-admirable initial reasons for courting her. He truly was the luckiest man on earth and he would do anything for her. Even if it meant letting her go without putting up a fight against the disease. He would bear it, for her.
He lay there, simply looking at her in the dark room, until he couldn't fight the tiredness within his body any longer. He fell into a deep and peaceful slumber, one that lasted the whole night through – something that hadn't happened in weeks.