She felt awful. Absolutely abysmal.
She was still quite sleepy, even though by now she had been up for hours. Especially when sleepy, she had always tended to be quite the broody character and she knew it. Her need for a solid night's rest was increasing with age along with her need to have someone, him specifically, beside her to feel safe out of habit. As such, she hadn't been granted that good slumber and it showed. Sleep had seemed to evade her for the majority of the night, the conversation with her daughter just before she went upstairs keeping her wide awake. And as a result, she had been so harsh to poor O'Brien for the entirety of this morning. Her maid had only just left her to her own devices after taking her lunch tray away and touching up her coiffure, which had started to come loose. That had been her fault as well; she could not manage to sit still enough for O'Brien to fully fasten these tiny pins that always kept her hair in place. Instead, she had snapped at that poor woman for taking so long, even though it was no fault of hers.
Cora had requested a certain black day dress to wear that day, one she wore quite frequently. It was her favourite out of all the black mourning dresses she owned. Not that she particularly enjoyed wearing any of them, but that one just so happened to be the most comfortable. Visibly remorseful, her maid had come in with the dress she was wearing now already draped over her arm to tell her that the dress of her choice was still not fully dried and ready to be worn again just yet and that she had taken it upon herself to choose this in its stead. It was really only a minor inconvenience, she did not plan on going out after all, but it was enough to ruin her already unpleasant morning further and add to her sour mood.
The entire time her maid had helped her get dressed, Cora had been thinking about that conversation in the library the night before. She had been so harsh to her daughter, maybe unnecessarily much so. Cora had felt sorry for it the instant she had stridden out of the room and it had kept her awake for the majority of the night. Not sorry enough to go back and apologise, though. It was not Mary's place to meddle in their affairs and speak to her like that, she was still her Mama. What Robert and her were doing or not was none of her business.
She would go and talk to him eventually, as soon as she could bear to look him square in the face without immediately seeing Sybil writhing in agony on her bed in front of her mind's eye. How long that would take would have to remain to be seen, and until then she would stay away for everyone's sake.
It was not that she did not want to. She wanted to talk to him, very much so! She missed talking to him and having him close. She missed waking up to him in the morning and falling asleep with him next to her each night. She missed everything about his presence in her bedroom and everywhere else and she knew that it would make her feel less alone and help her to suffer less from this unbearable sadness day in and day out if only he was next to her. And yet, even just thinking about his mere presence in the dining or drawing room every evening filled her with so much dread that it made her angry. This was his doing, his and that Harley Street doctor's. If they had listened, if they had not been so pigheaded, their Sybil would still be here.
Cora did not want things to be this way, she wanted him close and yet she could not bring herself to allow him in. Not even the fact that he must be struggling just as much as she was, according to Mary, could tip her over and ask him back. She was not really angry at him specifically any longer, but his actions had left her feeling so disappointed and hurt that she simply could not allow herself to forgive him. Only looking at him transported her back to that awful night, showing her images of poor Sybil lying in that bed so still after everything that had happened before. And that's what made her angry and resentful. And she was angry at life, at how curiously unjust it could be sometimes.
Wrapping the shawl O'Brien had just draped over her shoulders tighter around herself, she stepped up to the window in her room and looked out. It was a sunny day and undoubtedly quite warm by the mere looks of it.
Cora, however, felt cold. Icy cold. And this chill did not come from the room temperature; the embers of the fire from the past night were still gleaming slightly in the hearth. This cold came from deep within, from the very depths of her soul.
She let her eyes wander across the lush green lawn down below. There in the distance, their black hats shielding them from the warm summer sun beaming down on them, she saw Mary and Edith walk across the lawn next to each other, engrossed in chitchat by the looks of it.
A mournful smile tugged at the corners of her mouth — even in death, Sybil had that way of connecting people and bringing them all closer together. If only she was there to see it with her own eyes. She had spent years of their childhoods trying to get her sisters to get along and now it seemed she had succeeded.
It had brought all of them closer together, this tragedy.
Everyone. Bar her and Robert. Cora knew for certain Sybil would absolutely loathe to see it.
Maybe Mary did, after all, have a point the night before. Maybe she should go and talk to him and end this misery for all of them. Just when she was about to decide to go seek him out right then, her maid's voice rang out from the doorway once more.
"I am so very sorry to interrupt you again, milady, but Mr Carson just handed this to me."
O'Brien had quietly entered the room again, holding the butler's silver tray in her left hand with a single black-rimmed envelope on it.
"Oh do, please do. He's very low just now and it will be wonderful for him to hear something good," Mary smiled, nervously twisting her hands in front of her. She could feel her sister's eyes almost burn a hole into the side of her face with, undoubtedly, a questioning look on her features but right now Mary simply could not explain. Not in front of Anna, no matter how much she trusted her maid. Some things just were not meant for the servants. As much as Mary thought of the slightly older blonde as a friend and confidante, this was none of her business. She was not even sure if she should share this with her sister.
As Anna set off again in quite a brisk walk back across the lawn, the two sisters followed her at a slightly slower pace. When she was confident that Anna was out of earshot, Edith asked curiously: "Is Papa really not doing well? I always thought he was taking it so remarkably well. In fact, I do admire him for how he manages the estate at the moment. I know that I certainly could not, my judgment would be far too clouded by all these memories and all the sadness."
"I'd say his spirits are probably even lower than Mama's at this very moment, and they have been very low ever since it happened. He is just trying to keep it all going for the rest of us. To make it easier for all of us, and especially for Mama. I assume it is a distraction from it all."
"I would never have guessed," Edith breathed cluelessly. A nervous flicker in her eyes, she looked ahead towards the library in the distance where their Papa would undoubtedly be, pouring over numbers she had not even the slightest clue of what they meant. And he'd also be alone, she assumed, and immediately felt bad for him.
For once, Mary did not have a snide remark ready to pass her lips. Instead, she simply walked on with a sad smile on her face.
They were following Anna back to the house in silence after that. Just when they had almost reached the door, Edith stopped Mary with a hand holding onto her forearm. Appearing almost scared with her brown eyes wide, she looked at Mary and pleaded: "You would tell me if there was something we could do to help them, right?"
"I would. Certainly, I would. But I don't know if there is anything, anything at all, that could help bring them closer once again. That was always Sybil's forte."
Clarkson had arrived a few short minutes ago, Spratt had let him into her sitting room immediately after taking his coat and hat off him as previously instructed. Now, there he was standing in the middle of her sitting room, looking entirely uncomfortable in these surroundings.
Taking the opportunity as it presented itself, he heaved a deep breath and then said into the uncomfortably stretching silence: "Now, let me preface this by saying that I am very sorry my persistence on the matter that night has caused this kind of trouble for Lord and Lady Grantham."
He was holding onto a folded and scribbled-on sheet of paper almost as if his life depended on it, a sign for her that he had come to a conclusion he was not fully comfortable with. That could only mean he had changed his mind and reevaluated his stance on the chances of the likelihood of poor Sybil's survival had they operated when he had posed the possibility; or at least he had changed his view on lying to ease suffering. And she was sure an apology was to follow swiftly coming from the Scottish man's lips.
At that, she could barely suppress her lips from twitching into a smile. Instead, Violet nodded benevolently as she stood next to the window in her study. To her, this was the least he could do, apologise and try to right the wrongs he had done. She only wished she did not have to all but force him into this. But if the outcome was as desired then it would have all been worth it.
With a pained expression on his face, the doctor then went on: "I have done quite a bit of research as you asked and I have come to the conclusion that my initial stance on the matter has not changed."
It took everything in her not to gasp in shock when she heard him say this. After all, she had been so sure he had understood her reasoning and then drawn the right conclusions from there.
But apparently not. Her eyes widened and she tried to find the words to ascertain she had heard him right. Sluggishly, she walked over to her armchair in front of the fireplace, depending very heavily on the cane in her hand to offer some much-needed stability.
The motor came to a halt on the gravel outside in front of her house. Robert didn't wait for Spratt to hurry out of the front door and along the path towards them. Instead he opened the door as soon as they were no longer moving and got out, followed at a distance by her.
Had Violet turned her head even just the slightest bit and not looked at Richard Clarkson standing there a few metres away from her, she would have seen this. And maybe she could have taken the appropriate steps to salvage the situation that was about to present itself to her. The simple turn of her head might have saved them all a substantial amount of heartbreak that would once again befall them, adding to their already heavy hearts. But alas, she did not turn her head and as such had no chance to prevent any of it — a fact she would repent for quite a while to come.
"I know it will come as yet another inconvenience to you, milady, and I am yet again most sorry about that. But I cannot in good conscience lie about this. Not with the knowledge I possess now through the research you asked me to do. I cannot lie, even to heal the bonds this tragedy has put asunder," he said strictly but not without a woeful undertone. To the doctor it was a matter of his medical integrity, which he would not jeopardise in this way. "I cannot and I will not."
She was still quite flabbergasted when the door behind her opened again suddenly. By the time she realised that Robert and Cora had arrived, it was all too late to change the plans and keep this tragedy from unfolding. She could not just throw any of them out, could she? No, it was too late for that. Far too late.
"Dr. Clarkson!" Cora exclaimed surprised right as Violet stood up from her chair in some sort of panicked trance. Her hands were starting to get quite clammy, and her heart was pounding when she began to realise what her well-meaning meddling would cause. She had rarely felt this way, but somehow this had thrown her more than anything she could recall. Her mind was spinning with possible scenarios that could follow the doctor's revelation to her and none of them were remotely close to what she had envisioned.
"Lady Grantham, how are you?" the older Scotsman greeted, placing the sheet of paper onto the Dowager's desk and turning to the new arrivals.
"Much as you'd expect me to be," she gave back instantly, keeping up a pained but not disagreeable smile.
Shamefacedly, the doctor looked down at the ground and nodded. The woman was already suffering, it was painfully obvious by just looking into her pale and hollowed-out and her red-rimmed eyes, and now he would be adding onto that just because his professional integrity meant more to him than keeping or rather restoring the peace for the aristocrats.
"Since you're here I have a few words of my own to say," Robert then interjected as he walked towards the physician. His mind had been made up as soon as his wife had left the room just an hour earlier when she had told him about this visit to the village. The expression in her eyes — all that hurt and disappointment and sorrow — had made him see that he needed to take certain steps towards a reconciliation soon or else he would lose her forever. And an apology to Doctor Clarkson was one of the very few things he could think of that would not cause even more heartache to befall her.
Defensively, the doctor tried to shy away from the Earl at first, but Robert was determined and continued: "I feel I owe you an apology, Doctor Clarkson. I can now see things a little clearer than I did that night and I realise that what you were trying to do would have been the right thing. I am beyond sorry for not trusting your professional opinion as our primary physician. This impossible situation we all find ourselves in as a consequence is-"
Richard Clarkson then held up his hands to stop him from going on. Which was just as well, for Robert had no idea how to finish that sentence, or really this speech. He had not thought of what he would say to the doctor since he had not anticipated seeing him quite this soon. And only thinking about it all then and there cost him immensely.
Violet looked at her son with concern not veiled at all. The fact alone that he chose to apologise astonished and worried her in equal measure. But she was also concerned about the outcome of this entire conversation if the doctor really went through with what he had just told her. She did not even dare to glance at Cora to see her reaction to Robert's apology.
While Robert and Doctor Clarkson were rather awkwardly looking at each other in silence, Cora just stood there behind them all, watching the scene in front of her unfold.
"Please, Lord Grantham, if you'll just allow me to say what I am here to say. Upon Lady Grantham's request I have done more research on the matter," Clarkson said, nodding towards Violet, and Robert took a single step back.
He would have gone further and stood next to her, but he just was not confident enough to walk back to the bookcase in front of which Cora stood. She would not want him there, he was sure of it.
"While I have not found substantial evidence to the benefits of choosing to perform a Caesarean on a mother with eclampsia published in England and the rest of the United Kingdom, I have found case studies from mainland Europe that suggest more positive outcomes with this treatment than with the traditional approach that my colleague urged you to follow. Most notably, physicians in Germany and the Netherlands have been advocating for this arguably quite aggressive form of treatment as of late as opposed to only treating the symptoms as they appear laswe do here. However, I will say that this still is not enough evidence to support a definitive answer to the problem we were faced with that night and the tragedy it led to."
They let the words sink in for a little while. It was a lot to take in, after all.
Robert was the first to breach the silence that had fallen over them following the doctor's explanations. "There really was a chance then," he breathed tonelessly. He was white as a ghost — a look most peculiar for someone as tan as he usually was, especially compared to his wife. At that moment, however, they looked equally pale, all colour drained from their faces.
"The horrors we would have subjected her to would have been certain and the trauma would have run deep. The path to recovery would have been a very hard one, and there is no use in trying to calculate the odds of her survival in the first place. A hurried operation is not ideal at all under any circumstances, pregnancy or not. It would not only have jeopardised her life but that of her daughter as well. But yes, had we operated when the symptoms first became evident, Lady Sybil could have stood a chance according to the studies I have found. A small one. Tiny, really, with all the possible complications."
"I do not quite understand what you mean to say, Doctor. Was Sybil going to die?" the Earl said, a lump already firmly lodged in his throat. This was all so confusing to him.
"I am not saying that. We will never find out whether Lady Sybil would have lived had we operated. A Caesarian is a risky operation, even more so when hurried along like this would have been. But, in my humble professional opinion, there was a chance nonetheless."
He avoided both Cora and Robert's eyes and only briefly glanced at Violet with barely hidden remorse and distress. Then, he straightened his back again and started walking towards the door with everyone's eyes following his every movement. At the door, he turned back around, nodded curtly without meeting anyone's eye, and said: "I wish you a good day."
The irony was not lost on him, he felt awful as he closed the door behind him. Nothing about this day would be good for any of them. This meeting's sole purpose had been to help Lord and Lady Grantham find together again in their grief, but all he had achieved was quite possibly causing an even wider rift between them.
For a while after he had left they all stood still, glued to their places. Cora still stood close to the door and Robert in the middle of the room, while Violet clung to the mantelpiece until her knuckles turned white after what Doctor Clarkson had just said before leaving. How could her plan have backfired like this? She had been so sure that this would bring the much-needed turning point. So sure.
Then, without another word, Cora turned around and quickly left the room showing no emotion at all. Her steps looked almost robotic with such little movement in her body, it certainly looked odd.
The look on her face reminded Robert of the one she gave him when she had come to talk to him that afternoon. And just like that afternoon, he stood there crestfallen once more and was left feeling unsure about what to do.
He had thought that with her seeking him out earlier, that maybe there was a chance she was allowing him back in again. Only he got ahead of himself and then ruined it all by saying something so stupid.
You look nice this morning.
He couldn't help but huff at his own stupidity. Of all the things he could have said to engage her in even the smallest of conversations, this had for sure been among the worst options. He should not have spoken his mind, no matter the truth in what he had said. She had looked very nice, indeed. But he had realised immediately how that had not been the time and place to remark on that. The disappointment and sheer sorrow in her eyes as she had left the library had pierced his heart and soul earlier and it had done the same just now before she left wordlessly.
He stared at where she had stood when they heard Spratt close the front door behind her. Then, he suddenly jumped into action and quickly made a dash for the door as well to go after her.
It was too late, though. When he rushed out the front door, her car door had already closed and the chauffeur had begun to drive off.
Robert stretched out his hand weakly, wanting to shout after her to wait for him but that would be to no avail, so he did not even attempt that. He walked to the opened gate and stood there. For a while he remained still, glued to his spot, looking to where the car had driven off to in the distance. Still reaching for it, still reaching for her.
Violet saw it all when her sharp eyes followed him first out into the hallway and then to her front garden. And she saw how he stood there, reaching for his wife as she drove off into the distance. She saw how his hand eventually fell limply to his side and how he even left his hat and cane behind, starting to trudge down the road leading up to the abbey with his head hung low a while later.
She watched it all unfold in utter horror and despair, unable to do something. This was the exact opposite of what was supposed to happen. This was the opposite of what her plan had been for. Instead of helping them find their way back to the other, it seemed she had driven them further apart than they had ever been.
Don't flirt with me, Robert.
Don't flirt with me, she had said. But he had not flirted, that had not been his intention. He merely wanted to remark that she looked nice to maybe lift her downcast spirits, or open up the conversation in hopes she would stay even for just another minute. But she had left, just like she had left him behind wordlessly in his mother's sitting room. And now he was slowly walking along the road up to the abbey where she had arrived a while ago and would likely be in her room again, hiding away.
Did he want to go inside now? Join them all for tea? Or should he just stay away and extend his walk for god knows how long?
Before he could make a decision on that matter as he was nearing the entrance door, he heard the butler's voice ring out.
"Ah, milord. I was wondering when you would arrive," echoed Carson's deep voice ahead of him. "Tea has just been brought to the library."
As he passed the butler and went inside, he weakly replied: "Thank you, Carson."
He ignored the questioningly furrowed eyebrows of his butler and walked straight ahead into the hall, making a beeline for the stairs and only quickly glancing at the opened door leading into the library as he began his ascent.
But there she was, standing tall with her teacup in hand. She was not hiding away as he had expected. Then he saw her break out into the smallest of smiles — maybe one of the girls had said something funny. It mesmerised him, this view held him enthralled, and so he kept standing there, simply observing.
"Aren't you going to join us, Papa?"
It was Edith standing near the doorway, about to enter the library and looking at him with a curious expression on her features.
It caught him off guard, and out of instinct he shook his head no. Lowly, he replied, barely audible to her: "No, not today."
Then, he turned and walked further upstairs to his dressing room, leaving Edith to go inside in confusion. He had seemed in higher spirits before when Anna had told them of the feat Murray had achieved in getting Bates out of the prison. But the effect that had had seemed all gone now.