Again, this chapter (or at least parts of the dialogue) has/ have been influenced by my own personal experiences and those of my family, but I still hope it fits the characters of this story as well.
And I would like to thank those of you who keep reading and reviewing this story. Seeing your comments and reading what you think of this always makes my day! Without further ado...
The cobbled streets were unfamiliar to him. He had walked them before, many years ago, but still - It all felt incredibly foreign to him. Though it wasn't the cobblestone beneath his feet or even the different accent reaching his ears from all around them that gave him this feeling – it was the vastness of everything. The streets were wide, as were the pavements, and there was enough space to move everywhere one so pleased without bumping into other people. He had walked the narrow cobbled streets of Downton all his life, he had seen his fair share of cities like Ripon or York. Not even London as the capital could begin to compare to the vastness of this place — despite being many times bigger, both in population and area. He always felt small and insignificant when walking around hectic London, but that was nothing compared to this.
They strolled through the streets and Cora pointed out so many things they passed along the way as she clung to his arm. He could already only barely remember half of what she had been saying and pointing out to him. She had shown him the park where she used to go to take a walk with her family back in the day. Then they went to pass by the house where the nice grocer had lived, whose daughter had been one of her best friends when she was a young girl living here in Newport. Harriet Bridges had spent many afternoons with Cora ahead of her departure for London in 1889, trying to calm her frayed nerves, she said.
She would have loved to meet her again, her darling Harriet, but she couldn't. Like so many others, she had died from the Spanish flu almost a decade ago and Robert was yet again reminded of just how lucky a man he truly was that his Cora got through it, that she survived, especially after things had been looking so grim back then. He shuddered simply thinking back to the words the doctor said back then.
If she makes it through the night, she'll live.
Robert shook his head slightly to get rid of those gloomy memories and instead steered the two of them to a bench a little to the side near the entrance of a park. "Come, let's sit for a few minutes and take the scenery in," he said softly, yet also firmly.
He had said that very same sentence a few times that day already – every time he heard her breathing get more laboured or felt her steps slow down slightly, he would be on the lookout for the nearest bench for them to have a rest on. They were fortunate enough that the weather was still nice, with no rain or even snow in sight, despite it being the end of November already. It made being outside the whole day much more enjoyable. Nevertheless, they should start making their way back to the house again soon in order not to be late for dinner — the sun was already almost fully gone, Robert noticed.
Neither of them said a word for a few minutes while they were just sitting there on that big wooden bench, Cora still clinging tightly to this left arm, her head leaning on his shoulder as best she could with her big hat on. Robert listened to the sounds surrounding them; the cries of the seagulls flying over the harbour nearby, the sounds of the motorcars rattling along the streets, the chatter of people passing them by while talking animatedly in their American accents.
That caught his attention. He had to concentrate to understand what the people were saying in their – what he thought to be lazy – way of talking. To him, it felt as if they just did not care enough about anything to pronounce their words properly, and he did not appreciate that one bit.
He could not understand how something sounding so foreign and lazy to his ears could ring out so softly, like gentle music washing over him, whenever his wife spoke. Even after her decades of living in England, she still had kept parts of her accent, but he didn't mind, not in the least. He found it very endearing whenever she slipped into that slightly foreign lilt, or when she spoke his name and rolled the r in that particular way of hers.
"Robert?"
And there it was, the way she said his name – it made his heart flutter and swell within his chest, as it had for so many decades now.
"Mh?"
"We should probably get back to the house, it is almost 6 and Mother has dinner served at half seven. We still need to get changed once we're back."
Robert turned to face her, his view mostly obstructed by her black hat. "You're probably right. But let's take a motor, we have been walking around all day and you must be exhausted."
She didn't reply, and he took that as confirmation that she indeed was exhausted, and how could she not be? Even he was starting to feel quite tired after strolling through the streets for hours and he was not the one with a terminal illness destroying his body from within.
"I was truly sorry to hear of Violet's passing so soon after your return from France. I wish I could have been able to make the journey across the ocean for her funeral, but alas I am too old and the ravages of time are not lost on me, either," Martha said when they were all gathered in the drawing room after dinner to enjoy some more light conversation and — to Robert's great relief — some whiskey for him and Harold and port for the ladies.
"I know you were saddened by the news, but why would you have wanted to attend the funeral? You never seemed to particularly like each other, Mother," Harold said, looking at his mother with a slightly amused and also quite quizzical look on his face.
Martha turned in her seat to face her son, shooting him an almost disparaging look before replying: "We may not have got along too well, but I still would have liked to pay my respects to her. She was the mother of the man who has made my Cora happy for all these years, who cared for her and gave her a home so far away from her own. I know that she was a difficult and strong character, but I know that I am as well. And I shared her high regard for proper manners and values. In a way, she was family, and I would have liked to have been able to pay my due respects."
Cora gulped. They had reached the topic of death. She had known that it was only a matter of time until her mother would take up this discussion. And how could she not with her daughter and son-in-law dressed in black from head to toe, obviously in full mourning? They were contrasting the otherwise colourful interior of Cora's childhood home quite starkly everywhere they went, especially in the drawing room they were in with its pale green walls.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Robert nod appreciatively at Martha before taking a sip of his whiskey and looking at her. He had a solemn look on his face, no doubt thinking of a fond memory he shared with Violet. She also knew how glad he was that Harold had his connections that still supplied him with the odd bottle of alcohol whenever he needed it, despite prohibition still being very much apparent in all of America. Robert had got so used to having a drink with his dinner and afterwards that it was hard for him to go without these customs. Even though he consumed a lot less alcohol since his burst ulcer a few years back.
"But this only makes me wonder again – why did you come here with the house still in mourning and without announcing yourselves first? That is not like you at all," Martha said, looking at her daughter sitting on the embroidered yellow settee near her. She saw the troubled expression on her daughter's face, thinking that the death of her mother-in-law must have really left a lasting impression on her, judging by her pale complexion and the many worry lines on her usually youthful face.
Cora looked up at her husband, who was standing a few feet away from her next to her brother. That look she gave him, though, was enough for Robert to set down his half-nursed drink and walk over to her.
Robert quickly sat down next to her, taking her hand in his and letting them come to rest on his leg. She looked at their joined hands and then up at him, searching for some quiet comfort ahead of what she had to say.
It never got any easier. She felt the same dread as she had the week before when they told their family back in England. Her stomach was in knots, her hands became increasingly clammy in his, and if she could, she would have run away from it all.
But she couldn't.
His eyes were on her, checking if she was ready to say it on her own, with his quiet concern for her barely concealed in his gaze. But she also saw his love for her reflected in those pale blue eyes she had come to love so many years ago – it reassured her that even if she couldn't finish, he would. Just like he had back home.
"Mother, Harold – we have come here because we have news we just could not share in a telegram or a letter or even over the telephone, it wouldn't have been right."
Martha's look of intrigue quickly turned into one of concern at the tone her daughter used, but she did not say a word. However, Harold did, and he voiced the first thoughts that came to mind before thinking about any of them.
"What is it? Have you lost Downton for sure this time? Are you getting a divorce? What could possibly be that important that you take up this long journey across the sea ahead of Christmas when your family is in mourning?"
"No, Harold, this is not about Downton or our marriage. Both are fine, thriving even." She turned her gaze away from her brother and instead looked at Robert again. Her Robert, who was still holding her hand in his, squeezing it reassuringly and flashing her one of his small encouraging smiles. It was subtle, but it was so very much quintessentially her Robert.
She smiled at him encouragingly as well, telling him that she was alright without having to say a word – she had seen the quiet question in his eyes.
"No, we came here because I have had news pertaining to my health, concerning news, on the day that Violet died. I have been feeling unwell for months and had our local doctor run some tests when we returned from France. He did confirm my suspicion, and we only waited until after the funeral to come here. Robert arranged everything so quickly when I told him I wanted to come here and then I completely forgot to inform you before we left England. I am sorry, Mama."
"Don't you worry about that, darling. You are always welcome home, with or without prior announcement," Martha then said, offering her a warm and encouraging smile. She couldn't hide her concern, though. She realised then that it was not only the death of Violet that had contributed to her daughter's concerning appearance. "But what news did the doctor bring that made it pivotal that you come here in a hurry?"
"I wanted to come here to say a final goodbye to Papa, say goodbye to my homeland and most importantly to you. I needed to tell you this in person. Mother, I have cancer."
Robert's eyes had never once left her, not for the entirety of the conversation. His gaze had stayed fixed on her, looking for subtle signs she could give him if she needed him to take over again – not even Harold's remark got him to drop his intense look. Upon hearing her say the words aloud, though, he had to involuntarily close his eyes for a second, taking a deep breath to steady himself. Hearing her utter those words was even worse than having to say the words for her. It made it all more real.
"Things can't be that bad, surely!" Harold exclaimed, now setting his drink down next to Robert's, as he, too, walked closer.
"I am afraid they are. We came now because we do not know how much longer I will be able to travel – and this journey and seeing you was important to me, so very important."
Martha still did not say a word, but she slowly stood up from her seat, leaning heavily on the armrest to her right, and closed the space separating her from her daughter.
Robert let go of Cora's hand, leaving her side to make space for his mother-in-law, who only took her daughter in her arms and held her as the usually strong older woman cried out in what could only be described as anguish. He saw that Cora was trying desperately not to cry. She was blinking rapidly to hold off the tears, but ultimately she knew she couldn't hold them off forever and so she let them roll freely down her cheeks.
Harold stood still, shocked. He looked at his mother and older sister, saw them hug each other so tightly, crying together. And he couldn't move, couldn't speak, not until Robert pulled him into the room next door, away from the scene.
"How could you?", he whispered.
Harold was angry, seething even, but his voice was eerily quiet in the small room. He wanted to punch the man standing close by, although he knew his brother-in-law was not to blame for any of this. No-one was. But that did not change the fact that he was angry, angry at the world and at the unfairness of it all.
"What?"
He then raised his voice as he repeated his words, letting some of the anger inside him seep through. "How could you? How could you let me harp on about my wedding yesterday when this is what you came to say? Why did you not say anything yesterday?"
"Harold, we couldn't. You were so ecstatic about the news you got to share. We just could not diminish that happiness by telling you about her illness. Not when we have never seen you so genuinely happy about anything ever before."
"How long do the doctors give her?"
Robert closed his eyes at that question. He clenched his jaw and his left hand balled into a fist behind his back. Just thinking of that part of the conversation they had had with the doctor pained him to no end, the reality of it all being so incredibly hard to bear.
"Three to nine months, a year at the most. But she won't be able to bear the travel any more, quite soon at that I am afraid. That is what we were told, and that is why we are here now. We had to take this chance while we still could," he replied, his voice clearly pained by this admission.
"How long will you be staying?" Harold asked then, his voice void of any emotions all of a sudden.
"We planned on staying here for two weeks so that we could be home at least two weeks before Christmas to rest before the festivities, not that there will be a lot of that this year."
Harold nodded, looking deep in thought.
Robert put his hand on his brother-in-law's shoulder in silent support. He understood only too well the thoughts that must be going rampant inside his head.
"Excuse me, please, but I think I should call it a night. Will you please tell Mother and Cora and say goodnight to them for me?"
Robert only nodded in response as he watched Harold hurriedly leave the room, before returning to the two women in the other room himself.