They were standing at the railing, the stiff sea breeze billowing all around them. Both of them were glad for their warm winter coats, and, albeit begrudgingly, Robert had to admit that he was grateful that Bates had insisted he take a scarf outside.
"How do you think the girls are getting on back home?" he asked suddenly.
He was staring far off into the distance, out over the choppy seas beneath the ship's bow. To her, his voice sounded near and yet frightfully distant at the same time.
Cora turned to face him, steadying herself with both her hands still firmly holding onto the railing as the winds caught in the hem of her thick woollen coat. Her brow was furrowed when she hesitantly replied: "What makes you say that, Robert?"
Then it was on Robert to turn his face away from the cold breeze, turning to look at his wife huddling so close to him. She was so close that he could swear he was able to see small flecks of gold among all the light blue in them, just around her pupils. If gazing into her eyes was the only thing he could do for the rest of their lives, he would honestly admit to being perfectly content. The fear and then the reality of losing her made him realise that.
"Oh, it's just — you know how Mary and Edith are, they never got along too well, not even when they were so very little and especially not when they grew up. I just hope they manage on their own in the big house, surrounded by the children," he replied, averting his gaze back out to the restless sea. He found strange comfort in looking at the waves, despite the queasiness the motion caused him. Maybe it was the turbulence that both, the sea and his restless mind, shared.
He had never done too well on boats and ships, especially when the sea was as rough as it was that day. Somehow, though, he had found that staring into the deep inky blue depths of the ocean beneath seemed to help. Still, he already felt the beginnings of another wave of sickness arise in him.
"Darling, they have both grown up, as you said. They might not be as close with each other as we had always hoped they would be, but they are not the young girls fighting about who will get the next frock or the nicer hat or who gets to play with the newest doll first. They haven't been for some time, in case you hadn't noticed, my dear. Not living in the same house did them well, as did their husbands and children, I believe."
She smiled softly at him, not that he took any notice of that. He was not looking at her. No, he was still staring out into the distance, his greying eyebrows knitted together in concentration. Cora let her eyes wander over his side profile, tracing his strong nose and the gentle curve of his lips, thinking of how they felt pressed to hers in a kiss. Not lingering on that thought for too long, though, she noticed the loose and wrinkly skin on his face and how gaunt his cheeks looked, causing his cheekbones to appear much more pronounced than they ever had. This entire situation was all taking quite a toll on him, she knew. He had not eaten well ever since his mother had died, or maybe it was because of her diagnosis — or maybe it was the combination of both that caused his loss of appetite.
Her Robert had always been on the chunkier side, never quite being able to say no to a second slice of whatever pudding Mrs Patmore had prepared for them. He had always appeared to be rather burly with his tall frame and broad shoulders, but his face had had this boyish charm that had drawn her in. His kind expression and gentle eyes were what she had adored from the moment she laid her eyes on him — they were what had told her that he was a good and kind man, unlike so many others of his station. His kind and loving eyes that looked at her with such adoration were still the same, they had not aged like the rest of him.
His warm gaze that could turn into an icy and harsh glare instantly when provoked, which luckily happened not too often. Cora much preferred the softer side of him, because she knew that that was who he wanted to be — and was. He had told her countless times, in the privacy of their bedroom, how much he resented himself for raising his voice on some occasions, losing his temper much quicker than he would have liked to.
"I know, I know. But I still can't help but wonder. I wouldn't want to come home to find Carson, Tom, and Bertie at their wits' end because of some silly argument that evolved into something bigger."
There was a pause, both dwelling on their respective thoughts. Cora could not help but smile at the image her husband's description called to mind.
"I guess I just want them to finally get along, at some point they will be all that is left of us," Robert finally sighed, looking quite pensive.
"I am sure we won't come home to find Mary and Edith in a screaming match while Bertie and Tom are cowering under a table and Carson hides behind a pillar," Cora replied with that same smile. She did not want to think about his mention of what and who they would leave behind upon their deaths, she could not — not if she wanted to keep her emotions in check.
Her husband couldn't help but break into one of his deep and hearty laughs at that. The image that appeared in front of his mind's eye was just too hilarious not to. Tom and Bertie cowering under a table was one thing — he knew that Mary and Edith both had them in check, but to imagine Carson hiding behind a pillar was simply too much for the Earl.
"Now that would be quite something to come home to. Worst of all, I could have seen something like that happen only a few years ago. Not any more, though, you are right. They have both grown up and matured a lot, especially in recent years. But they will always be our adorable little girls to me, no matter what."
Robert then tore his eyes away from the depths beneath and turned his back to the ocean. He leaned his back on the railing while clutching his belly with his right hand, recovering from his boisterous laugh of seconds ago. He loved laughing, he truly did, but it also hurt just where they put the stitches in his belly a few years ago when his ulcer had burst. His slightly reddened face was met by a wide smile of her own. She was more than happy that she managed to make him laugh, he had been so awfully glum the entire week their journey already lasted.
"I am glad that Edith finally found her perfect match after all her misfortune. She truly deserves all the happiness with Bertie and the children."
"But what about Mary? I am concerned for her, Robert. Henry might be a nice-enough man, but I doubt he will make her happy in the long run, nor will she him. Don't get me wrong, I am not saying that they are ill-suited for one another, but they are not quite right for each other, either. There must be a reason that he stayed away all year. Surely, work can't have been all that demanding that he barely managed to write a few letters and telegrams."
The light atmosphere that had surrounded them on the deck after her funny remark about Tom and Bertie hiding under tables had shifted, and turned much more serious than before. Her concern was not only in her words, but also in her tone, and Robert saw it most clearly reflected in her eyes. Mary had had her fair share of struggles, but so had Edith. Still, they never had to worry about their eldest as much. Maybe that assessment had been wrong. Still, he could only look at his wife questioningly. When she did not reply to his puzzled expression, he put his hand on top of hers on the railing.
"Cora, Henry is not Matthew. Mary and Matthew truly had a chance at the sort of happiness that I found with you so many years ago. They were on par within their marriage, something that Mary values and needs. His death was such a tragedy — after it happened, I never thought we would see her smile, ever again. Not even seeing her son seemed to lift the mist that surrounded her for so many months. I was so pleased when she eventually found joy again that I told myself to do my very best to keep it that way. Henry did make her happy, in the beginning, and he challenged her in a way she needs to be challenged. That is the only reason I agreed to their union, not that my veto would have made much of a difference anyway — Mary never does what she is told in situations regarding love, she told me so herself many years ago. I can only hope to god that they find a way back to one another after this long separation and that he does not hurt her more than he already did, even if she would never admit to that. All I am saying is that we should try to help her as best we can in this scenario that should never have been in the first place."
Just then, another sudden gust of wind swept over them, this time taking his hat with it. Robert only barely managed to catch it with his slightly frozen fingers, moments before it would have sailed down to forever be swallowed by the deep sea surrounding them.
"I think we should take that as a sign to go back inside," she laughed while putting her gloved hand on his left hand, which had been resting on the wooden railing.
"We probably should, it is quite cold."
"Yes, and I wouldn't want you to get seasick again, darling."
Cora's arm found its way to the crook of his and together, they slowly walked back inside to warm themselves up in their suite.
Phyllis Baxter watched the two silhouettes retreat arm in arm in the distance, standing at the railing herself. The sea breeze was biting at her face, but the fresh air also did wonders for her rather low spirits. She would never admit it, but she missing her dear Mister Molesley quite a bit already.
She watched how heavily her mistress leaned on her husband, relying entirely on him to keep them from toppling over when yet another wave crashed into the boat, rocking it from side to side.
She was concerned, very much so. Not only for the Countess because of her recently increasing fatigue, but also for Lord Grantham. The man had seemingly aged so much within the last few months alone, it was startling sometimes. She would never say a word to anyone though, it was not her place.
"Getting some fresh air, Miss Baxter?"
The voice startled her. She had not heard anyone approach her, least of all the usually telling thud of his cane. Surprised, she turned around to face him.
"Mister Bates, you startled me! I did not hear you approach."
"I am sorry, truly. Though I would have been quite surprised myself had you heard me come closer over the crashing of the waves against the ship."
The two shared a small smile, both listening intently to the sounds around them for a minute, how the ship broke the waves and how the spray splashed around them.
"I am worried," he simply said, the words spoken matter-of-factly into the open space surrounding them.
"Are you, truly? Because so am I," she replied, her eyes lingering again on the two retreating people at the end of the deck about to return inside.
"I am, even though I have no idea why exactly. I guess they just both look so tired and worn out. His Lordship barely sleeps, judging by the dark circles under his eyes, and her Ladyship has been sleeping a lot, as you and his Lordship have both told me. Both are not ideal things to happen, and they have never before for as long as I have been working for them. You know, I had to change and take in almost his entire wardrobe in the last weeks. That alone was concerning enough before, but now this hurried trip to America? That truly worries me. I can only hope that things will get better soon, at least once we return to Downton in a few weeks. Otherwise, exhaustion could potentially take over for both of them, and I would not want to see that happen."
"You are quite right, Mister Bates. And I hope so, too. In the end, however, it is not for us to concern ourselves with their private lives. They would tell us if there was anything to truly worry about. This must all still be related to the Dowager's death, or else they would have said something already, I am sure of that."
"I so hope you are right, Miss Baxter. For their sakes and everybody else's."