Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Part 1

1914

When it had first occurred, life in the Abbey had still seemed rather peaceful. The war had begun and the first lads were called to the front, but the circumstances at Downton Abbey were almost as they had been before. Of course, the inhabitants were in a nervous state and one couldn't stop a slowly increasing hectic, but the relative tranquillity of life inside the Abbey told nothing about the Great War that started somewhere out there.

Robert and Cora still held on to their daily walks on the grounds every morning. Sometimes they walked in mutual silence, lost in thought about the unsure future. But more often than not, they spoke in soft voices as if the tenderness of their conversation could appease the raging storms outside their bubble.

They didn't always keep their usual route but chose a slightly shorter one, and Robert minded slowing down his pace. He didn't want to overexert his wife. While one of her arms hooked onto the crook of his arm, the other cradled her protruding belly. She was seven months pregnant and carrying their fourth child. After a nasty incident two months prior, Robert's heart leapt ever so high in his chest when he saw Cora with her round belly. He could still remember the feeling of ice clutching his guts as a breath-catching Carson told him that "Lady Grantham had fallen… apparently, she slipped after taking a bath." Robert had rushed up the stairs, but couldn't ensure Cora and the baby's safety and had to wait for the doctor to do his work.

They had been lucky. Dr Clarkson had said if she had fallen on her belly or her side, he couldn't have prevented a miscarriage, which would have been dangerous, not only for the child. But the baby and its mother were relatively well and had to rest for a while in bed or on chaise longues that the servants prepared for her all over the house.

Now it seemed as if the fright was forgotten over her bettered state and the serious events outside the estate. But Robert thanked God silently every time he caught sight of her growing and glowing form. He would never forget the horror that had accompanied the uncertainty so viciously.

It was one sunny morning on their walk, and Cora nearly felt as if humming a soft tune, when it first occurred. Robert was talking about his latest correspondence with the war office and Cora was close by his side. It took her a while to comprehend the ticklish sensation on her inner thigh. Her breath hitched and her steps slowed, but Robert didn't seem to notice.

"Robert?" she whispered. His head turned to her and his talk ceased as he took in her white complexion. He turned fully to her, his arms holding her slender upper body firmly.

"Cora, what is it? Are you not feeling well?" the tone of his voice was preoccupied. She could feel the streak of moisture trickle down the inside of her leg. She didn't know how to explain it to Robert. Oh, how he despised hearing anything related to female health!

"It's… it's just…" she uttered, not able to find the words to explain what was happening. She didn't know herself. His eyes grew wider, awaiting her explanation.

"I think it's better if we go back. I need to lie down," she breathed finally.

Cautiously, Robert led her back to the house and brought her to her room, where he left her to her lady's maid at her explicit request. He couldn't stand O'Brien, but he had to admit that she cared for Cora diligently, especially during her pregnancy. Cora rested for the remainder of the day and she declined their joint walk the next morning. He didn't convince her otherwise but even encouraged her to stay in bed.

Cora's suspicions had been confirmed when O'Brien had helped her out of her walking attire. Her fear must have been mirrored in O'Brien's wide eyes as they took in the red streak and blotches. It hadn't been as much as Cora had fantasised on the way back to the house but it was indeed blood. The lady's maid had been particularly attentive and had helped her clean her up rather motherly. She had asked Cora if she should call for the doctor but Cora had tried to calm her. It had only been a few droplets of blood. That happened. It wasn't unusual. Yet she herself was worried, so she allowed O'Brien that if her state didn't worsen in the meantime, to bring the doctor in the course of the next day when everyone was occupied. Cora, in fact, felt better already by the evening. Robert seemed to accept her fragile state without further inquiry. He was somewhere on the estate when Doctor Clarkson came the next afternoon.

"It is nothing to worry about by now," he stated after examining her. "We should keep a close eye on that, however. We wouldn't want to risk anything. Your age and your former accident are risk factors that we needn't forget," he insisted with a serious face. Cora nodded. His response eased her nerves a bit and she was relieved that he took her problem seriously without starting to panic as she had feared Robert would.

Once again, Cora took more to resting in the next days and weeks. Robert supported every effort that was made to go easy on Cora without knowing she had a palpable reason to avoid exhaustion. He missed her on his walks but talked her out of joining every time she uttered the thought. Her mother-in-law was not so gentle. Violet scrunched her nose every time Cora failed to host tea. Sure, she understood the precarious state her daughter-in-law was in, but her son's instant defending rebukes made her think this was one of the overprotective interventions he had adopted since Cora's accident. The Dowager Countess had first been as shocked and then as relieved as everyone else at the great house when Cora had fallen. She was quite surprised herself by how great the compassion and anticipation were that she felt at her daughter-in-law's surprise pregnancy. The relationship between the two ladies was at a peak before the war, and the pregnancy only served to strengthen their bond. But now, Violet was quite irked by the extent of her daughter-in-law's laziness, for she didn't even come down to dinner every day anymore. Violet visited her in her room regularly, and to her, Cora appeared to be a paragon of vitality. She lounged between cushions, her eyes wide awake, her cheeks rosy, her complexion as healthy as that of a young first-time mother.

Now, Violet stalked up the stairs. She was very irritated by her son's announcement that they had to do without Cora this evening. Again.

"Is she ill, Robert?" Violet had inquired.

"No, Mama. But she is pregnant," he had returned in the same calm but firm tone she had chosen. Violet had merely rolled her eyes. There had been many pregnant ladies under this roof, but never had their state been an excuse to miss three dinners in a single week.

It appeared Violet had to sort this out herself. She knocked on the door to the Mercia bedroom. Cora's bright voice answered from the inside, and at her entrance, Violet took in Cora's snuggled-up form on the chaise longue.

"Mama! It's you!" Cora exclaimed and put down the book she had been reading next to the tea service.

"Cora, my dear," the Dowager began as she approached the chair in front of Cora's chaise longue. "Are you ill?" she asked after she had taken a seat. Cora clasped her hands in her lap and looked softly at her counterpart.

"No, Mama. I am all right," she stated with a smile.

"Right. That's what Robert said as well, and that is also how it looks to me. Then I see no reason why you shouldn't attend dinner as everyone else does," Violet commanded with a purse of her lips and a tight grip on her cane. Cora sighed.

"Yes, I know," she relented. "But Dr Clarkson said I should take it easy." Of course, Cora wanted to take part in normal activities. Of course, she wanted to attend dinner, and walk with Robert, and be there when her daughters received the news of another of their friends being called to the front. But she neither wanted to disrespect her husband's and the doctor's suggestions nor to overexert herself because she didn't miss the growing exhaustion and discomfort her state held.

"Well, doing basic activities such as attending dinner certainly counts as taking it easy. I am sure of that, Cora," Violet rebuked. And of course, she was right. Dr Clarkson had only recommended being attentive to her body's signals and avoiding overly demanding physical activity. But Cora saw how it appeased Robert's nerves when she stayed in her room as soon as the first slight discomfort arose.

"Cora, don't let Robert's unrest get the better of you. If there is no further reason, I'll expect you downstairs this evening." Violet patted Cora's knee before she rose from her seat slowly.

The rest of the family was slightly surprised when the Dowager Countess demanded resolutely to wait with the dinner until the hostess appeared.

"But, Mama, Cora is resting," Robert insisted.

"Well, she is done resting." And in a lower voice, she added, for just Robert to hear, "You should stop coddling her so much."

And without fault, the lady of the house glided through the door in a bright red evening gown, carrying her belly with both hands as if it wasn't attached to her body and she would risk it dropping to the floor otherwise. She was a vision. Robert's breath stopped, and he forgot his worries for a moment. Violet smirked over one more of her triumphs. Nothing could have made this day better than changing the course in the big house for the better, and clearly, she had done this today once again. The girls hurried to help their mother to a just vacated armchair. And Isobel let no time pass to pester her with questions about the progress of her pregnancy.

"How very forthcoming of the ladies' quartet to acknowledge Cora's state, but she hasn't been pregnant since yesterday. I hope I'm shocking no one when I say it's rather old news," Violet interjected. Robert turned to her with a look of distaste, but Cora smiled, for she knew her mother-in-law was right, and she was thankful for being saved from the inrush.

"Do not suffocate her. I assume she is at least as much looking forward to dinner as I am," Violet continued.

Cora nodded. She turned to the butler. "Carson? Is the dinner all ready?"

"Yes, my lady."

"Then let us go through!"

As dinner went well and didn't leave Cora exhausted, she took her mother-in-law's words to heart and got more active in the following days. She softly silenced Robert when he restricted her activity too much, and she tried to squeeze his concerns away as she took his hand between her palms and looked deep into his worried eyes.

"Robert. Listen. I am alright. I will tell you when I'm not feeling alright. I can do simple tasks. I can do more than occupy a chaise longue. So, please, let me."

And Robert let her be; with a wakeful eye, but he didn't tell her what to do anymore. He looked at her with grave concern when he thought she was overdoing herself, and Cora tried to consider it.

Chapter Text

Part 2

When it happened the second time, Robert wasn't there. Cora was hosting tea, and Violet was quite happy about it. The ongoings at Downton appeared to have as much of their usual order as possible. Violet looked on with contentment as her daughter-in-law instructed the servants to hand out the tea to the female family congregation present. Her three granddaughters sat one next to the other on a settee; their sedate peace only explicable by the sombre thoughts about the war on everyone's mind. Their bitter forlornness created a strange harmony between the feuding sisters.

"Thank you, William. Well, look what a lovely day it is," Cora nodded towards the sunny windows. Her chipper voice seemed oddly misplaced in the glum atmosphere of the drawing room. Her joviality stayed unrequited.

Violet was the only one to engage in conversation with Cora. "Where is Robert?" she asked.

"He is visiting some of the tenants with Jarvis," Cora explained.

Violet nodded. She sipped her tea and assessed Cora with a lingering look. Her round belly was very much swollen, and there was no way to miss it anymore. It was a bit unseemly that Cora didn't wear maternity gowns of the type she wore during her previous pregnancies but took advantage of the newest fashion and wrapped her round stomach in a simple combination of a loosely-fitted blouse and a high-waisted skirt. It looked nice and fine enough on her daughters but a bit middle-class on her pregnant body. Violet was all for Cora partaking in the usual daily tasks, but she looked as if she wanted to lend the footmen a hand and help them pick up the settee to rearrange the room, and this was actually a bit too much for Violet.

"Why didn't you bring your nice red maternity gown to the dressmaker? I am sure they would have adjusted it for your current form."

Cora raised her eyebrows. The ever-present smile died out for a second. "I thought about it, but these skirts make do just as well, I found. And I was growing a bit weary of the red gown. If anything, I would have had to commission a new dress altogether, and that wouldn't really have been a worthwhile investment. A few more weeks…" Cora made a careful glance at the servants, but they seemed occupied. In a low tone, she added, "… and I'll pop."

Edith looked up and scrunched her nose, appalled. Sybil let out a rare chuckle.

"It is always a worthwhile investment." Violet was stern. "Any investment that doesn't make you look like a fraught solicitor's wife is worthwhile."

Mary's head shot up. It took her a second to control her expression, but she was clearly struck by her grandmother's statement. Matthew was still the only thing on her mind. Everyone knew it, but no one dared to mention it.

"Don't you like our new dresses, Granny?" Sybil asked placatively.

"They are very well, but they are no maternity clothes."

"Well, I like them," Cora said. "And it won't be of any importance much longer anyway."

Violet was about to fortify her opinion when the dog's barking disrupted them. Isis lay at one of the large windows and, till that point, had looked calmly outside. Now, she couldn't hold her excitement back. She barked loudly, jumped up, and pressed against the window. Cora followed her look and quickly found Isis's source of agitation. Robert and Jarvis were walking past the window, and Isis had to stay inside with the boring group of women.

"Isis," Cora tried to quiet the dog. "Shh, Isis, it's alright." But Isis was frantic and beside herself that Robert seemed to have forgotten her.

"What is the matter with the dog?" Violet inquired. She was convinced that a dog wasn't supposed to behave like this inside the drawing room.

"Oh no, did Papa forget her?" Sybil said full of empathy.

Cora got up with a suppressed groan as Isis still didn't calm down. She went to the jumping dog and patted its head. "No, he wouldn't forget you," Cora cooed. "I'm sure he will pick you up for a special round through the forest maybe." Cora cowered next to the dog, trying to appease her with a hug. But Isis wasn't to be appeased, especially as Robert left their field of vision now. Isis clawed at the curtains, and Violet groused in the background. The nice curtains. Cora felt the tug in her abdomen as she struggled to get up again. But she managed. She pressed her hand against the wooden window frame and pushed herself up from her cowering position.

"Off, Isis!" Cora said. She took Isis by the collar and pulled her away. "He will come and pick you up soon. You have been very patient. I promise –" She stopped when she felt the trickling between her legs. She let go of Isis, who barked one last time and curled up at the feet of a settee in disappointment. Handling the dog had been more physical than Cora's activities had been lately. And now she paid the price. There was no pain, but she knew the drops running down the inside of her thigh were blood.

"Mama?" Edith queried.

An eerie silence filled the drawing room. With a delay, Cora noticed that all eyes were on her. The disappointed Isis began whining and scurried back to Cora.

"Cora? Is everything alright?" Violet asked. "You're deathly pale."

"I… I think I just need to lie down for a moment." She harrumphed nervously. Isis ran tight circles around Cora's legs, trying to inch her to the armchair nearby.

Robert knew that something wasn't right when he saw in what frenzy Isis was. The sweet dog was beside herself when Robert returned from his meeting with Jarvis.

"Dear girl, did I forget to take you with me?" He patted the dog's head and leaned down to kiss the fur between her ears. "I am sorry. I will make it up to you."

Though when Robert beckoned Isis to the main entrance to go on another walk with her, as she deserved, Isis wanted none of it. She gave a raspy bark and waited impatiently in front of the large staircase. Putting a paw on the first step, she begged Robert to follow her upstairs. Robert was confused, and Isis's agitation settled as a strange sense of premonition in his chest. He gave in and took her up the staircase. What had happened while he was out? What was going on with his dog?

When Isis nudged him down the hallway and Robert realised in which direction she was taking him, he sped up his steps as all his thoughts immediately revolved around Cora.

Cora.

He had to think of the incident a few months prior, when Carson had urged him to her room, and her fall had frightened him lastingly. Now, Isis's urging agitation seemed so similar to Carson's flustered state back in the summer.

Cora.

Robert reached the door to her bedroom and realised that he was breathing heavily. He took a second to gather himself before he knocked on the door.

"May I come in?" He entered the room without waiting for an answer.

He immediately noticed the doctor. Dr Clarkson was already packing his instruments back into his leather bag and turned his head surprised to the unexpected intruder.

"Lord Grantham!"

"What? What is happening?" Robert's head swivelled quickly to the bed and then back and forth between the doctor and his wife. Cora was lying on the bed and covered herself with the white sheet when Robert came in. She was dressed in her nightgown as far as Robert could see. Her wide eyes were full of surprise and, luckily, held no trace of pain.

"Dr Clarkson. I demand an explanation. This isn't your regular visit," Robert's voice was too loud for the gentle atmosphere of the room.

"I was called in, your Lordship, because Lady Grantham suffered some, well, slightly, alarming symptoms."

The doctor's Scottish lilt always transported a worrisome notion, Robert felt. It was hard for him to take in anything else after Dr Clarkson said that. He looked back at Cora, who shook her head appeasingly at him. The look of worry on her face applied to his panic and not her own state.

"It is nothing dramatic, and we have it all under control, milord. It was merely a minor bleeding, and I advise her to stricter bed rest now."

"Bleeding?" Robert heard his own voice as an unpleasant shrieking echo in his ears.

"Nothing dramatic. She isn't hurt. It can occur during pregnancy. Some women have it." Dr Clarkson's explanations did not help Robert in the least. On the contrary, the idea of what awfully nasty things some women suffered in their pregnancies made Robert shudder.

"It's alright, darling. Really." Cora chimed in. Robert noticed her open palm lying as an invitation on the sheets on his side of the bed. He took two strides to reach her and sat down on the edge of the mattress to take her hand in his sweaty one. He was going through it.

"Would you wait in the library, Dr Clarkson? Carson will pour you a whisky," Robert said without taking his eyes from Cora's porcelain skin in his grasp.

"I have another patient…" Dr Clarkson set to argue, but he quickly remembered who he was talking to. "Of course, your Lordship."

Robert waited for the sound of the closing door before he lifted his eyes to his wife.

"Cora." He said her name, and finally, his voice was soft. It held a tone one would use when talking with a child with leniency. "What are you doing? You're frightening me so."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I don't want you to worry." She pulled her hand from his grasp and brushed her fingers over his forehand to smooth out the furrows he hadn't realised worry had dug into his skin.

He had to lower his gaze to her lap. A shaky sigh left his lips. She was so sweet, but he was so worried.

"Robert?" Cora whispered. The tenderness wrapping her syllables turned into concern. Her fingertips' gossamer-like touch burned into his hairline. The pictures of her tortured body after the fall haunted him. Her purplish-blue green-wilting hip wouldn't leave his mind. The more tenderly she tried to soothe him, the more brutal memories came back to him. Her whimpering that shook her in her sleep as she relived the accident in her nightmares following the nights after her fall. Her tear-streaked, red-blotched face upon his hasty barging into her room. "Dr Clarkson will be here, darling. Any minute, he'll be here. It'll be alright." After the first moment of the shock stealing his breath, Robert hadn't stopped talking caringly to her. Her body was wet from her bath and tears and sweat. She was tossing weakly in the bed, wrapped in towels, sheets and a slipping dressing gown. Once, Robert's gentle voice flipped into a loud bellow when a male servant arrived with an armful of new towels in his wife's bedroom, and her dressing gown was exposing much more than this male servant should see. "GET OUT!" The servant's eyes widened. Robert's anger grew. His wife's bare chest shouldn't be deemed with such a look. But luckily, the servant knew to flee the scene as quickly as possible. When Robert turned back to Cora, he realised that it wasn't his wife's breasts that had shocked the servant so. O'Brien was holding up the towel she was changing for the new ones. The once crisp-white terrycloth was deep-red. This was much more blood than had greeted Robert initially. Yes, the fall had prompted Cora to shed a little blood from where she shouldn't have during her pregnancy. But Robert had thought it had ceased by now. He didn't think it right to drench an entire towel now. For a fraction of a second, his gaze met O'Brien's, her small eyes wide in panic. Then he bowed over Cora's twisting and whimpering body in a desperate attempt to shield her from the horrors outside of their bubble. She shouldn't see the blood. She was already experiencing the pain. She didn't need to see the cruelty as well. Distantly, Robert was aware of the lady's maid and an arriving Anna taking care of the red catastrophe of Cora's lower body. And he ran his hands over her head and face and shoulders and breathed warm words at her, of what meaning, he couldn't remember. Cora's sobs ebbed away slowly and she relaxed ever so slightly against his arms, occasional twitches passing through her body. A lifetime passed until the doctor arrived. But in the end, Robert couldn't criticise him for that because the doctor left his wife's room with the best message of all. Cora and the baby would overcome the scare.

"Hey. Darling," she whispered. Her fingers still traced his hairline. He cleared his throat, but that only increased the prickling in his eyes.

"I'm sorry. It's just… I can't stop thinking about the last time, the last time he was here and something was wrong. And you were bleeding back then, too. And I just can't have anything happen to you, Cora."

Cora took his hand between both her palms and pulled it to her lips. Her kisses were warm and calming. "I know." Her breath was hot on his skin. "But I'm alright now. I'm not hurting, and I just have to be particularly careful until the baby is born."

Robert finally had somewhat reined in his emotions and pulled free of his wife's soft touch. He stood up and brushed over his suit. "I'll talk to the doctor. And you do not move."

Cora gave him a tight-lipped smile. She nodded her head to the door, and Robert left.

Chapter Text

Part 3

Sybil was in a sombre and pensive mood most of the time. She was irritated by everyone who wasn't. The horrific reality of the war didn't leave room for a light mood. Sybil was worried, but maybe even greater than her worry was her frustration with being unable to do anything about it. She knew it wasn't right that she sat idly on a settee all day while folks were fighting for their lives.

Most recently, another issue had appeared that caused Sybil to worry next to the war. No one really wanted to talk about it, but she wasn't blind to her father's concern. Her mother was tied to the bed till the birth of the baby because this unforeseen pregnancy turned out to be more complicated than anticipated. The great consensus in this house was that everything would be all right. No one dared imagine a different outcome for the Ladyship's pregnancy. All the servants, as well as her grandmother and her sisters, didn't allow themselves critical thoughts about that matter. But Sybil didn't think much of censoring one's thoughts. She knew that maybe everything would go well. It would be best if it turned out that way. But there was the possibility that it wouldn't. And that was what occupied her thoughts more than praying for a safe birth. No one cared about the potential bad turns of events, so she did. It was hard for her to neglect the matters of the war as the lives of thousands actually weighed much heavier than the lives of one or two. But she quickly realised that, contrary to the many lives threatened by the war, Sybil could somewhat control the safety of her mother's and sibling's lives.

Next to her father and O'Brien, Sybil was the most frequent guest in Cora's bedroom. She asked for her mother's wishes and tried to read her medical state. She tried to accompany every doctor's visit and learn from his comments to potentially become his left hand. She tried to do all she could because otherwise she would go mad.

"Is there anything you need, Mama?"

Sybil's fingers ran restlessly over the edge of her mother's bed. She sat on a chair, always prepared next to her mother's bedside.

"It's alright, my darling. I'm perfectly fine."

"I want you to let me know when that is not the case," Sybil said with emphasis.

"You sound just like your father."

Her mother smiled, but she looked exhausted. For a moment, Sybil thought it must be taxing to assure everyone at all times that one was doing fine. But then again, Sybil didn't want to take chances, so she wouldn't grow soft on her mother and decided to continue her regular inquiries about her state.

"It is not much longer until the baby is born," Sybil said as if to both appease her worries and alleviate her mother's stress. She rubbed her palm over her mother's shoulder.

The smile that showed on Cora's face now had more substance than her last one. Her teeth showed when she grinned and said, "Are you excited to have a little sibling?" Before Sybil could muster an answer, she added, "My Babygirl."

"Mama," Sybil lamented at being infantilised by this slightly dated term of endearment. But she was excited. If she wouldn't worry so much, she wouldn't be able to contain all the excitement at the prospect of being the older sister for once. Nothing against Mary and Edith, but she was quite certain she would be a splendid if not ideal older sister. She wouldn't make the little one take her side in arguments or do all the tasks she didn't like. She would show and teach them all the things she knew and liked best. She wanted to make her sibling's life as great as possible.

"I am very excited. The little one will be the luckiest child there is."

Her mother's smile lines deepened. Her eyes became glassy, and Sybil was glad she was with Mama at this moment because Mary would have been annoyed at her too-American emotions. But that was just because Mary lacked the ability to handle other people's emotions. Sybil didn't mind her mother's tears. She liked it when her mother was real.

Robert was in Ripon. Sometimes he had to get away from the estate because he would go mad worrying, so close to Cora but unable to help improve her condition. In Ripon, he did what he could within his means, one of which was standing at the jeweller's counter looking for the right gifts to get Cora for delivering their youngest child. He would buy her beautiful jewellery now with a somewhat clear head that he could give her when his emotions will be all over the place over the new addition to their family.

"Do you know what sort of pieces you are looking for, Lord Grantham?" The man around Robert's age looked at him over the rim of his glasses, his look full of professional knowledge and subservience to the Earl.

"Not particularly. Only that I want them to be significant. Grand but not grandiose." Robert thought he wasn't making sense, but he didn't let his uncertainty show.

The jeweller nodded while scanning the accessories under the glass counter. Robert assumed the man didn't know what his words meant either, even though he nodded.

"My lord, is there a certain stone you think of or maybe one you don't want to see at all?"

Robert was about to deny when a certain assembly caught his eye.

"These."

"Garnet?"

"I guess."

"Do you like them, my lord?"

The jeweller had his back turned to Robert as he opened the display cabinet behind the counter.

"Yes, in fact I do."

They looked like Cora's dress, which made her sparkle the most. Robert loved her in that deep red gown. These earrings were meant for her.

The jeweller showed him the rest of the jewellery set that went with the earrings and other garnet pieces. They all looked great, but Robert's thoughts were elsewhere. He saw Cora before his eyes. Cora all in red. Cora beaming. Cora twirling around him on the dancefloor. He would do anything to allow her to be this healthy and young and cheerful again. Probably, this jewellery was a meagre attempt, but, oh, he so hoped it was only a matter of time – short time – for Cora to be the old Cora again.

"Yes, yes," Robert answered a question of the jeweller he didn't quite catch. "I would like to take the whole set."

The set consisted of a festoon necklace, a lariat necklace, the earrings that inspired Robert, and a matching bracelet.

"Very well, my Lord. I will prepare it for you."

"May I… may I ask a question?" Robert had a sudden intuition to ask what he'd rarely asked before.

"Of course, my Lord."

"What does garnet stand for? What symbolism does it have?"

The jeweller turned to Robert and paused his activity of packing up the valuable pieces. He cleared his throat quietly and this expression of professional knowledge returned to his face.

"Well, garnet is generally known to portray love, protection, and friendship."

Robert nodded. That was right.

"In more ancient terms, garnet was perceived as a stone of wellness. It represents the flow of blood in a healthy body. So, it is said, a garnet stirs the heart and keeps it beating. Is this still the right stone for you?"

"Oh, yes. Absolutely."

When Robert left the shop and not much later Ripon, he was satisfied with his effort and achievement.

…

When the birth came closer, Robert grew more frantic. He felt like he was running out of time while at the same time waiting restlessly for Cora to overcome the dangers of this pregnancy. By now, she was as round as she had gotten the last three times and while Robert delighted in this beautiful sight of her, the thought of her having to give birth made him sweat.

When he finally came up with a solution on how he could help her, he was all the gladder.

The first one he wanted to tell about his awesome idea was Sybil. She was at Cora's side all the time now, practically acting as her personal nurse, and she would surely appreciate his flash of genius.

"But why?"

She looked at him totally puzzled.

"What do you mean, 'why'?"

"Why doesn't Doctor Clarkson perform the birth? I don't understand. He has accompanied and treated Mama throughout all of her pregnancy," Sybil argued.

"Yes, but he is a simple village doctor. Your Mama's pregnancy isn't as ordinary as that of a farmer's wife. At this stage, she needs a specialist to get that baby out of her safely. Doctor Clarkson didn't manage to prevent her bleeding from reoccur–" he caught himself. His tongue felt numb and tasted metallic after carelessly voicing the specifics of her ailments.

"Sybil, I don't trust him," was his resolution.

"Well, but I do." His youngest daughter looked at him challengingly. For a few seconds, Robert was speechless in the face of her audacity.

Through gritted teeth, he brought out, "It doesn't matter that you do. I have commissioned Sir Philipp Tapsell with her birth, and you do not disagree with me openly. Is that clear, Sybil dear?"

He saw her seething with anger, her lips pressed tightly together. He was a little surprised when the outbreak he anticipated didn't come, and she just turned on her heel, stomping down the carpeted hallway. He didn't like having to be stern with his daughter, but the most important thing was securing Cora a safe birth, even if that meant being at odds with other family members.

Doctor Clarkson, naturally, wasn't amused by this decision either. But he had much more composure than Robert's daughter. At first, at least. His quiet way could be misleading.

"I know what I'm doing, my Lord," he insisted in his Scottish earnest. "I do not doubt Sir Philipp Tapsell's expertise, but he doesn't possess special tricks to make this birth safer than I'm capable of. To be quite frank, Her Ladyship's birth bears the risk of stronger bleeding, and under our care, she either makes it or not. But the chances aren't higher with Sir Philipp Tapsell."

Robert's neck and face were aflame, itching with hot fear at Clarkson's blunt and dooming words about Cora's birth.

"So, you say you cannot ensure Her Ladyship a safe birth?" he boomed.

"I can do the best I can. And, even though I know you're averse to it, allow me to say, her best chances might be a caesarean section. Does Sir Philipp plan to–"

"No, he doesn't," Robert cut in. "I'm not engaging him to slaughter her." He was more furious than he'd thought possible.

"Please, forgive me, my Lord." Doctor Clarkson looked truly afraid, but still, he insisted. "Your wife's symptoms suggest that she might be suffering from a condition called placenta praevia, which means," Robert twisted in agony at Clarkson's medical explanations, "her placenta partially, if not entirely, blocks the opening of her uterus."

Robert lifted a hand for the doctor to stop.

"I can only see how serious it is once the birth has started. In the worst case, only a caesarean section can save her – and the baby's – life."

"Stop! I won't hear your prophecies of doom. I'll let Sir Philipp evaluate Her Ladyship's state. And I sure hope he doesn't see the same necessity as you for these brutal manners."

Fortunately, Robert was relieved by Sir Philipp Tappsell's evaluation a few days later.

"Your wife is in fine health, my Lord. I only see the usual complications of a woman at her age giving birth. And she is not the first one to successfully deliver a baby in her late fertile age. I won't perform a caesarean section, my Lord."

Robert felt a small, relieved laugh bubble up in his throat. He clapped the London doctor on the shoulder.

"Thank you, Sir Philipp. Would you like a drink?"

Chapter Text

Part 4

A biting, icy wind twisted around the castle on the fateful day. Everyone was feeling the harsh reality of winter; some more, some less. Cora mustered the velvet cases on her dressing table when the contractions bit into her abdomen. Robert had left them there yesterday with a cheeky smile.

"I prepared something a while ago," he said. "This is for you when everything's done."

"Oh, ain't I lucky." She patted the back of his hand as he carefully climbed into bed beside her. Her other hand was occupied rubbing her belly. "I just have to push this one out, and then I'll get a present."

"Cora." He looked at her with sympathetic, sorry eyes.

Now, Cora was happy she had something to concentrate on rather than the pain in her abdomen. She imagined what could be inside the velvet cases and breathed through the contraction before ringing the bell by her bed. Cora felt a sort of tension leave her as she realised that it was finally time. This pregnancy – this miracle gift at the last moment – had been quite the challenge to endure. The last few months, time had dragged on ever so slowly as to mock her for her precarious and somehow self-inflicted state. And now, she could finally do her part to bring it to a successful conclusion. Her lastborn – maybe the heir – was on its way, and Cora was elated, already exhausted but elated.

The door to her bedroom opened, and O'Brien appeared.

"Milady?"

"O'Brien. Would you inform the doctor, please? It is coming, I think."

O'Brien's eyes widened shortly before she regained her professional unexcited composure.

"Of course, milady."

Together with Sir Philipp Tapsell, who had been living at Downton for the last week in anticipation of the birth, Robert and Sybil arrived at Cora's bedside. The only one looking cooly unperturbed was Sir Philipp. Cora noticed, for a brief moment before Robert caught her attention, how Sybil eyed their London guest suspiciously.

"My dear, how are you feeling? Are you in pain?"

Robert took her hand between his palms without sitting on the edge of the mattress as he would usually do.

"I'm alright. Don't you worry, please."

"If you don't mind, we will get to work here now," Sir Philipp Tapsell interrupted them. It was his less polite way to disinvite Robert and send him away.

Robert squeezed her hand once more and then made his way to the door. Sybil had been busying herself at the water basin, preparing cool towels.

"The same applies to the young lady. This is no place to play around."

Cora could see how Sybil was fuming, but she silently complied and left the room as well. Now it was just the doctor, his nurse, and O'Brien.

Cora tried to catch her breath between contractions. This would be a long night after all.

There was a little blood when the contractions began getting closer and Sir Philipp Tapsell prepared the room for his work, but it wasn't a lot, and the doctor wasn't alarmed. So, Cora wasn't alarmed either, and while breathing through her contractions, she focused her thoughts on something else. She thought of the nice things that would come after the challenging act of giving birth was done. She thought of finally holding her youngest baby. She thought of the smell of a baby's head, only a distant memory of holding tiny Sybil many, many years prior. She thought of losing herself in the adoration of her baby's face. She thought of watching Robert hold it, totally in awe of their child. Cora couldn't wait to be a mother once again.

…

When she was crowning, Cora suddenly saw the bloody hands of the nurse. Alarm rang in her ears.

"Oh gosh! The baby… is it alright? All this blood," she wheezed, holding her belly that clenched in a contraction.

The nurse looked up at her for a moment, "The baby's alright. It's not the baby's."

And Cora was relieved. She knew that meant her mysterious bleeding had returned, but the baby was alright. So, she kept pushing.

It was when the baby was born that the real blood bath began.

The first snow fell as Sybil was forced to sit idly in the library. As unmoving as Sybil's exterior was, all the greater was her inner turmoil. Her mother was in labour and she wasn't allowed to help. She forced herself to look out the window because she couldn't stand to look her father in the eye. Sybil knew he loved her mother, but she feared it couldn't be stated in gentler terms; his choices were an offence to Mama, he was fuelling her demise.

When he had discharged Doctor Clarkson of his duties, Sybil had waited anxiously in the entrance hall. She had somehow hoped Papa would change his mind, or Doctor Clarkson would bring convincing arguments. But once her father set his stubborn mind to something, there was no convincing. When Doctor Clarkson had left the library, Sybil had intercepted him to get the information she wouldn't get from her father.

She had seen it in Clarkson's look.

"So, he is going through with it?" she asked as she blocked the doctor's way.

"If you mean by that that he is hiring a London noble doctor and has relieved me of my services, then yes."

Sybil sensed his anger.

"I don't agree with him," she stated.

Doctor Clarkson raised his eyebrows, maybe surprised at the unexpected support. But both of them knew that this wouldn't change anything.

"Your father, Lord Grantham, that is, doesn't want to hear it, but Her Ladyship needs a Caesarean section to best assure her health. I'm honoured by your trust, Lady Sybil. As an, well, ally in this house, I can tell you, we have to hope that Sir Philipp Tapsell shares my opinion and is cooperative, which I doubt. My experience with London doctors of the nobility is sobering."

"But we have to make sure my mother gets the procedure if that is what is safest for her," Sybil insisted. "We can't let them risk her health. Surely, you'll be able to reason with your colleague, Doctor Clarkson."

"Lord Grantham made it clear that if Sir Philipp Tapsell evaluates the situation differently than I do, he prefers Sir Philipp's service over mine. Lady Sybil, I can't interfere if His Lordship's orders are this clear."

"But–"

"If you'll excuse me, they are waiting for me at the hospital."

He pushed past her to the entrance, where Thomas waited with the Doctor's hat and coat.

"The only thing we can do is hope," he concluded, touching the brim of his hat to say goodbye.

Sybil gritted her teeth because hoping was awfully little to do. She wanted to do something with more impact.

But it had come as Doctor Clarkson had said. Sir Philipp Tapsell had disagreed with him, Papa hadn't changed his mind and kept Doctor Clarkson at arm's length, and Sybil had nothing else to do than hope, like all the others did from the start, that the birth would go smoothly.

The pristine white blanket of snow that covered the grounds outside the window mocked Sybil with its calmness and purity. Her father probably enjoyed watching the relaxing spectacle of nature while waiting for his wife to fight God-knows-what battle upstairs.

Sybil grew restless and excused herself under the pretext of getting something from her room. She slipped into the main hall and was satisfied for a second to have escaped the stifling proximity of the library. But her worries were back as soon as she saw the busy movement of servants by the servants' staircase. She noticed them whispering and saw their furrowed brows. When she approached, they quickly disappeared down the staircase, but one of the maids she could catch.

"Please, Emma, tell me. Do you know how things are looking upstairs?"

"I've not been assisting with the birth, my lady." The young maid obviously avoided Sybil's inquiring look.

"But you have heard of the progress or state of things," Sybil insisted.

Emma's eyes bore into the stack of towels in her arms.

"You're meant to bring them more towels," Sybil offered.

The maid nodded.

"Is it because the baby's born or because she is bleeding again?"

Emma hesitated. Then, she said quietly, "The baby has not been born yet."

Now, Sybil nodded, her look one of determined seriousness. "Is it very bad?"

Emma's eyes searched the surroundings before whispering, "You haven't heard it from me, Lady Sybil, but Anna said O'Brien looked like she's been eye to eye with the devil. So, you can understand we're all scared. It is O'Brien after all."

"Thank you, Emma. That's all I need to know. I don't want to keep you from your work. And I won't tell on you." With that, she left the young maid alone and went in search of a hall boy to send for Doctor Clarkson. He was badly needed here. Sybil was fearing the worst.

The scary thing was that there were no immediate signs of warning. Everything was calm and misleadingly peaceful. No sounds, no screams that would haunt Robert till his last day on earth. Everything was alright until it wasn't. Yes, there was quiet whispering between the servants, and Sybil had her suspicions from the start. It was she who secretly informed Doctor Clarkson, who came too late to prove whether his technique could have saved Cora.

Only after nine hours of labour, when Robert impatiently went upstairs to pace the corridor and be nearer to Cora, and when he saw Anna, white as a ghost with the blood-drenched towels nearly running him over, did someone tell him what was going on.

Anna breathed heavily. She threw a glance behind her shoulder before answering Robert's breathless, "Tell me what's going on."

"I think this might be your last moment to speak to her. But don't tell him I told you to go in. Sir Philipp doesn't allow it."

Robert was already stalking to Cora's room on wobbly knees. When he arrived in front of the door to Cora's bedroom, he halted for a second, unsure whether to knock and afraid of what awaited him on the other side. But then Anna's words rang in his ears, "This might be your last moment to speak to her." And he barged into the room.

At first, he saw nothing. The bedroom was a flurry of people blocking his vision, scurrying from here to there and talking in hushed but agitated voices. Then, he made out the two doctors arguing quietly by the dressing table. Doctor Clarkson, who he now realised had really come on Sybil's demand (it wasn't just an empty threat she threw at him in their impatience growing in the walls of the library), caught sight of Robert, and the look in his eyes told Robert more than he needed to know. Clarkson wasn't one to triumph over being right. Robert realised at this moment, Clarkson was right more times than he wished to, and it seemed he was the one suffering the most from his dooming medical prophecies.

With a growing lump in his throat, Robert turned to the bed. Everything moved so slowly now, as if time stood still. It was a dreadful eternity until Robert saw Cora. Between the backs of O'Brien and the nurse Sir Philipp brought with him, Robert glimpsed Cora's worn face. She looked worse than Anna. Her face was not only white but ashen, the grey making her appear more dead than alive.

Cora.

Before her name could spill from his lips, a hand on his shoulder pulled him back.

"Lord Grantham," the silently snarling voice was threatening.

Sir Philipp Tapsell cornered him between the dressing table, Doctor Clarkson, and himself.

"I must warn you. The birth was more complicated than it should have been."

Doctor Clarkson inhaled sharply, but Sir Philipp ignored him and continued talking.

"We could have informed you of the good news a while ago, that your son is born," Sir Philipp Tapsell looked quite a bit proud at this. "But we were still occupied here." He rolled his eyes impatiently with a nod at the bed as if Cora were a nuisance.

The news of his son only rang distantly in the back of Robert's mind.

"What is going on?" he hissed. Not expecting much from Sir Philipp Tapsell, he turned to Clarkson. "Is it how you thought?"

Doctor Clarkson nodded. "It is as I feared. The placenta praevia caused Her Ladyship to lose a lot of blood. Too much."

Sir Philipp cut in, "Don't say–"

But Robert couldn't listen anymore. He bolted to the bed, pushed away O'Brien, and choked on his breath when he saw the mess.

Cora looked like a wounded soldier. Her face with closed eyes and parted lips was that of death; her hair was dull as if it had absorbed all of her light. She was tangled in the sheets and towels around her, and her nightgown was slightly askew as if on a thoughtlessly dressed doll. And all of it was smeared in her blood. The metallic stench hit his nostrils, and Robert clenched his teeth to counter the gag reflex that had always been his reaction to the smell of blood. This was really as bad as the battlefront. He shook his head. It was so much worse than the front. Robert fell on his knees next to her. Blindly, he searched for her hand while his eyes never left her face to look for a sign of life there.

"Cora. Cora, my dear."

Her hand slipped into his grip; cold, sweaty, and sticky. A laboured breath left her throat.

"Coradarling, I'm here."

She threw her head around. Her eyelids struggled open in search of him. Oh, her lovely eyes had lost their vibrance. The pools of blue had been drained of their water of life. How could her lovely eyes be so tormented? Weakly, she tried to keep eye contact with him. Her voice rasped lowly, unable to form a single word.

"Oh, Cora," Robert breathed. He brushed the back of his hand over her forehead. It was wet with sweat. "I'm so sorry." His eyes pricked. He clenched his teeth to keep from crying.

"Rrrob… Rrobert. It'ss a… boy," she whispered.

He buried his head in her neck. "Oh, Cora," he bawled. His sweet, darling wife didn't care about her own health. She only cared about their baby and the heir she had finally given him. He wanted to scream at her that he didn't care; that he didn't need the boy if he had her. But of course, he couldn't do that. She gave him the boy. She was dying in his arms and he loved her so, so he couldn't scream at her. Not even, to stay with him as she grew ever limper in his embrace, as her breaths got shallower and shallower that it became hard for him to perceive the movement of her chest.

In a panic that he was suffocating her, he let go. His tear-streamed face was exposed to the room, but he only looked down at the picture of misery that was his Cora.

"Cora. Cora." He gently shook her shoulders. Panic constricted his throat. He couldn't believe this was really happening. No, this couldn't be.

He turned to the doctors.

"Can't you do something?"

They didn't answer. Sir Philipp Tapsell evaded his gaze. Clarkson looked at him with honest sorrow in his eyes. He had told him so.

"Something! Anything!" Robert's voice grew loud and angry.

Doctor Clarkson looked at his feet and then shook his head. "She has lost too much blood. It's a miracle she survived the labour and gave birth."

To Robert's surprise, it was O'Brien who asked, "Nothing? There can be nothing done?" She sounded scared. Like a child, Robert's hope blossomed again at her question, and with big eyes, he looked at the doctor.

Clarkson shook his head again. "No. Look at her."

And Robert turned around to look at her again. A certain peace had settled on her face. She looked as miserable as before, as lifeless as when he had entered the room, but something had changed in her expression, as if she knew something he didn't. And then he realised that her chest wasn't moving at all anymore. The sweat was still fresh on her forehead. The linen she was wrapped in was still warm from her wet blood. But Cora was gone.

…

Everyone else had left the room. He had wished for a moment alone with her. The nurse had put away all the tools and utensils, so there were nearly no signs of the act that had taken place in the bedroom a few hours earlier. The two doctors had cleared out and waited in the library. O'Brien had begun cleaning up Cora before Robert sent her away.

Even though he was filled with tears to the brim, he felt strangely empty. He didn't manage to look at Cora, afraid it would hurt too much. His eyes were fixed on their joined hands, hers grey and stiff. Oh, what had he done! His brain frantically searched for a possibility to re-do what had been done wrong, for a way to get her back. Only that, more than any other mistake he had ever made, this one was terminal.

Finally, he looked at her face again. Eyes closed, lips cracked and unmoving. And even though she was and looked dead, she was the loveliest to him that ever existed. Oh, she was still so beautiful! So tortured and wronged, but still so beautiful and perfect. The tears flowed freely down his face now. They took his vision, and he got angry that they took away from his last minutes of being able to look at her.

What would he do without her? How could he ever let go of her hand? How could he ever take his eyes off her? He knew the answers were nothing and never.

Hoping for his vision to clear, he blinked and turned around, looking into the distance. The veil of tears slowly thinned, and he noticed a sparkle on the dressing table. It seemed O'Brien had opened the jewellery boxes, and as Robert still held Cora's cooling hand, he saw her garnet jewellery on her dressing table, the same colour as the blood that had drawn all life out of her. He bit down hard on his lip to muffle the strangled cry.

At this moment, another cry sounded from down the hallway. Seconds passed until Robert realised that what he heard had to be the cry of his son, painfully reminding him that his future wasn't what he was holding in his hand but something unfamiliar to him. And the only thing that had made him endure the unfamiliarity of new things had been his wife's gentle inching him into it.

Even though he saw no way of rising to the task, Robert knew he had to take care of their son as well as their daughters. Everything else wouldn't be fair to Cora.

So, he once again clenched his teeth and soldiered on.

Cora was buried with her garnet jewellery she only got to wear once, but for eternity.

One piece, though, a single garnet pendant, was saved from the casket, kept for Arthur, the last of her blood.