1923

Thomas folded the letters and placed them in the envelope, sealing it carefully. It was time to play his trump card. The latest showdown with O'Brien almost got him fired, very nearly sent him to prison. She had exposed him to the entire household in a way that he had never expected. It was clear the gloves were off and when he had given John Bates those three little words to repeat to O'Brien, Thomas knew he would have to act swiftly before she delivered the final death blow. It was only a matter of time before she retaliated, this time making sure to crush him completely to hide her dirty little secret. He wasn't sure what it all added up to, but he was certain it was something that would lead to O'Brien's ruin. And that would make him very pleased indeed. Thomas had always known the woman was a viper, to be dealt with carefully, but until her venom had been trained on him, he had underestimated her bite. He would not make the same mistake twice.

O'Brien entered the servant's hall from the kitchen. Thomas dropped the envelope on the meticulously arranged breakfast tray.

"This came for her Ladyship in the post." O'Brien nodded at him and continued up the stairs, turning before she could see the slick upturn of Thomas's lips as he spun on his heel and began his day.

Cora bit off a piece of toast and chewed slowly, absorbed in the Sketch. With Robert in London, she had not felt a need to rush into the day these last few mornings. Taking a sip of tea, she noticed the letter near the saucer. Picking it up, she examined it, noticing no return address. Intrigued, she peeled away the flap and carefully eased out the thin paper. Two letters emerged from the compartment of the envelope.

Lady Grantham, I have enclosed the following letter that has fallen into my possession, with a heavy heart. It seems there is a traitor in your presence and it weighed heavily on me whether to expose her or not. However, I cannot withhold the truth any longer and leave it to you to decide what you would like to do with the information enclosed. My deepest sympathies in having to alert you to such treachery. A friend.

Cora almost giggled at the conspiratorial tone of the letter. It was quite dramatic, even for her tastes. What could be going on? She wasn't usually involved in such intrigue. Carefully opening the second letter, her eyes devoured the words hoping to make sense of the first correspondence.

My dearest Sarah, your tale of her ladyship's soap was most distressing. I was horrified to read your words and could not believe the young girl I once held on my knee and read stories to could be capable of such an act. I believe your words of regret, but the only way to atone for your actions is to ask forgiveness, from your God and from Lady Grantham. I hope you find your way to yourself once more. Yours, Uncle Peter.

Cora's brow furrowed deeply and her teeth played with her bottom lip as she thought hard about what this man could have been referring too. Had O'Brien changed her soap? Would that have been such a horror? She scanned the letter again, as confused as when she first read it. There had to be more than what was said in the correspondence. The sender of the first letter spoke of treachery and betrayal. O'Brien obviously confessed something to this uncle Peter of hers, but what? And how had this letter fallen out of O'Brien's possession and into hers?

At the bottom of this Uncle Peter's letter, he had signed off formally as Vicar O'Brien, Old Clee Church, Grimsby. Suddenly, Cora was eager to start her day. She rang for O'Brien impatiently. Moments later, the woman appeared.

"O'Brien, I actually have some business I need to attend to. No need to pick anything fancy, just some sensible day traveling clothes. I'll be gone until dinner most likely."

"Yes your Ladyship." O'Brien made fast work of dressing the Countess. She thought about carefully prodding her ladyship's destination from her, but something about the look on her face, the schooled detachment and the stick straight pose of her back silenced her. The woman meant business and O'Brien knew when she was in a certain mood meddling usually ended with Cora's oft suppressed temper snapping.

Riding in the car, Cora fingered the pieces of paper she had held onto all morning. Now that she was on her way to Grimsby, she wondered if she hadn't acted in haste. She had no idea how she was going to approach Mr. O'Brien. She couldn't very well introduce herself and ask if her maid had confessed something to him that involved her. The car came to a slow stop, interrupting her thoughts and she looked out the window, to see the small church they had come to.

"This is it, milady." Thompson declared, cutting the engine and opening her door.

"Thank you." Cora replied, slowly stepping onto the road and wandering up to the church. To the left she saw a rectory, and walked in that direction.

Waiting on the steps, Cora felt her stomach tighten and her heart quicken. She could hear someone on the other side of the door approaching before it opened. An old man stood before her with a genuine smile and a lift of his eyebrows.

"Good day madam." The man's voice was fluid and soft with a soft lilt of the vowels.

Cora cleared her throat. "Yes, hello! Are you Vicar O'Brien?" She couldn't keep the tremble out of her voice, and clasped her hands together.

"Oh no, no. I'm afraid he's with the good Lord now. I'm Vicar Daniels. May I be of assistance."

Cora looked down, tapping her finger to her leg, wildly thinking of something to say. She looked up quickly, with wide eyes. "Oh, what a shame! I'm sorry. It's just that, well...my father in law knew Vicar O'Brien. He too has passed. And well, my husband never knew his father really and after learning about his association with the vicar, I had wondered if maybe they had exchanged a correspondence, any anecdote I could gather. For my husband, you see."

Cora tried to look as sincere as possible, letting her eyes and mouth droop in disappointment. She couldn't believe how easily the lie had formed and the words had flown out of her mouth. She chanced a look at the old man standing in front of her, with the sympathetic frown. Her heart stuttered, wondering if she had just paved her way to hell.

"You know, I believe we have the vicar's old letters here. If you follow me into the archives, we can see."

"Oh, you are too kind!" Cora breathed, meaning her words. She followed the man deeper into the building and was brought to a small room full of boxes.

"Here we are." Vicar Daniels proclaimed, reaching for a small box. He blew the dust off of the cover and wiped the sides off with a handkerchief before handing it to her. "I'll leave you to look through his effects. I hope you find what you are looking for."

Cora took the box and quickly thumbed through the letters and tokens left behind. Her shoulders shook as a shiver ran across them, feeling out of sorts going through a stranger's personal belongings. She had almost reached the bottom of the box, when she spotted an envelope with the vicar's name scrawled on it in her lady's maid's writing. It was the only one she had found and she snatched it, placing it deep within the pocket of her overcoat. She closed the box quickly and left the room almost bumping into Vicar Daniels.

"Any luck?" He inquired.

Cora shook her head nervously. "No I am afraid this was a dead end. Thank you so much for your time though." She hurried out the door to the waiting car and asked Thompson to head back to Downton.

Cora sat on her bed, watching as the sun set over the hills. The dressing gong was muffled through her closed door. Swallowing, she sat straighter, waiting for O'Brien to enter. She reached for the letter laying beside her as the door to her bedroom opened.

"Good evening, milady." O'Brien stated before walking to Cora's armour, rifling through the clothes hanging there.

"O'Brien, I'm feeling rather poorly. I don't think I'll be going down. Please inform Lady Mary."

O'Brien paused, puzzled by the detached, methodical tone of Cora's words. She looked over at her. The Countess continued to stare out the window, her hands clenched in her lap. She did look rather pale in the fading light.

"Should I fetch Dr Clarkson?" Cora shook her head. "Would you like a tray brought up?" Another head shake.

"That will be all for the evening O'Brien. I'll change myself before bed." The practiced speech of earlier was beginning to unravel and O'Brien detected a tremor in the last of Cora's words. Realizing this was not the time to pry further, O'Brien nodded, unsure if Cora could even see the action, and left the room quickly.

Cora released a stuttering breath as O'Brien left the room and closed her eyes, the words of the letter seared into her memory already and relentlessly playing out in her mind. Uncle Peter, I must confess a horrible thing I did. I don't know what overcame me. It was a moment of pure evil. I was angry at my lady and I acted without thinking and now a helpless babe is dead. I could have killed her as well! And then I'd be truly damned. I thought she was looking for my replacement and so I wanted revenge and I placed a bar of soap by the foot of her tub. Knowing, no, hoping, she'd not see it. I'm sorry to burden you with this, but it is eating me up. How do I find forgiveness for such an act? Please, can you find it in your heart to counsel me on this? Sarah.

1914

Taking one more moment to soak in the warmth of the bath water, Cora closed her eyes and her hand rested on her stomach. She concentrated, hoping to feel the baby move and after a few moments, she could feel the barest of tickles under her skin, like butterfly wings fluttering against the wall of her body. She remembered that feeling from so long ago. If it hadn't been for the small bump just beginning to form in her mid section, Cora would sometimes forget that she was pregnant, so unexpected a development it was. But now, with the first signs of gentle movement the reality of this baby could not be denied. She and Robert were bringing another life into this house. It made Cora smile as only the thought of a baby with Robert's nose and her eyes could.

The water began to turn tepid and it encouraged Cora to grip the sides of the tub and push herself up out of the soapy water. She smirked, thinking how in a few months, this would not be possible as her center of gravity shifted. Deep in thought, she stepped fully onto the floor with her left foot, raising her right leg to join it when she felt the jerk of her body downward, her leg pulled from under her. Flailing for something to hold, she turned toward the bathtub but she was on the floor before she could blink, a small gasp escaping her as her tailbone crashed onto the marble tile, followed quickly by the rest of her. Lying on her back, Cora held her breath, her heart beating wildly in her chest, waiting. The door behind her flew open and she could see an upside down O'Brien standing over her, hand to her mouth.

"Milady!" O'Brien quickly crouched down. "Are you alright?"

"I don't know…"Cora whispered, afraid to move.

O'Brien gently gripped Cora's shoulders and pulled her to a sitting position, feeling the tremble starting in the other woman's shoulders. O'Brien's own hands were shaking as helped Cora and she took a few deep breaths, trying to calm the nerves set on fire by what she'd done. O'Brien was about to send up a silent prayer that no damage seemed to be done when Cora groaned in pain and doubled over. Groaning louder, Cora gripped O'Brien's arm like a vice.

"The baby's...coming." Cora panted, the pain like hot daggers in her insides. Her vision began to cloud over as her body screamed with the intensity of it. She looked down and saw the blood. It pooled out of her and around her like a moat and she could barely make sense of it until suddenly it became clear. She was losing this baby. On her bathroom floor.

"Holy Mary, mother of God." O'Brien said somewhere behind her and she was aware of the maid scrambling to her feet and getting towels, handfuls of towels and placing them before her, as though it would help.

"Where is Robert?" Cora wrapped her arms around herself, leaning against her legs and waiting, already spent, for the next waves of pain to take her over, each one worse than the last. There was something about the pain of childbirth, when you knew it would not lead to a shrieking, pink child after it all, that was gut wrenchingly unbearable. She vaguely wondered if she would die too, and when pain gripped her mid section and twisted it like a dish rag before radiating throughout the rest of her body, she hoped it would be soon. She was no longer aware of the screams leaving her mouth, the strangled cries of "Cora, Cora" that Robert whispered in her ear, his arms as he lifted her off the floor and placed her on their bed, naked and writhing and covered in blood. She was only aware of the hole being burnt into her heart, tearing it with guilt and loss and what ifs.

1923

O'Brien sat at the servant's table, attempting to stitch a stocking but unable to concentrate. She glanced from the clock to the Mercer room bell to the clock. Thomas entered the room and paused in front of her.

"How's her Ladyship?" He asked, his face a neutral canvas.

O'Brien pursed her lips and lowered her eyes, looking at him carefully. "What's it to you?"

Thomas shrugged. "Just asking. Gone half the day yesterday and ill last night. Has she even rung this morning? Hope she's not coming down with something."

O'Brien watched him walk up the stairs, her insides in a tight clutch. Something was going on, and he knew it. She discarded her work and headed to the second floor, stopping in front of the bedroom door that was more familiar to her than her own. It wasn't often that she found herself knocking on it, unbidden, but it had gotten extremely late and O'Brien was beginning to wonder, if not worry. Silence was the only reply and she opened the door carefully taking in the made bed, obviously not slept in. There were no clothes discarded on the floor and the armour remained closed. There was no sign of the Countess. As an after thought, O'Brien opened the door to Lord Grantham's dressing room and was surprised to see that room empty and untouched as well. Leaving the dressing room, she wandered into the gallery, perplexed.

"O'Brien, what are you doing in my father's dressing room?" Lady Mary asked in a clipped tone, looking down her nose as was her custom. O'Brien would one day like to box this woman's ears and see how high and mighty she was then. But instead, she plastered on a smile that felt more like a grimace on her face.

"Looking for her ladyship. She hasn't rung all morning and she was ill last night. I was concerned. But she seems to have gotten herself up and dressed and out of the house."

Mary squinted at her. "Really? Mama?" She played with her necklace, deep in thought as she left O'Brien in the gallery and headed down the stairs, intent on finding her mother.

After a half hour of searching the house and then the grounds, Mary saw the distant outline of her mother at the furthest corner of the estate. Cora was staring ahead of her, her shawl wrapped tightly around her and made no move as Mary approached, and then sat down.

"Mama?" She asked gently.

"Oh?" Cora startled and turned to her daughter, offering a half smile that didn't reach her red eyes.

"O'Brien says you put yourself together this morning. And you skipped breakfast. Are you still feeling ill? Should you be out here?"

Cora patted Mary's hand. "I am fine, dear. I just needed some fresh air."

Her mother went back to looking at the horizon as Mary studied the pallor of her face and the circles under her eyes and the way she bit her lip hard, as though holding something in. All Mary's life, she had chided her mother for her emotional displays. So American, she would think as a young girl when a sentimental date would bring tears to her mother's eyes, when she would fawn over every little milestone she and her sisters achieved. She would roll her eyes at the many touches and kisses and hugs, knowing it wasn't what the English did. But she also knew her mother had this other side of her as well, the side that went silent, that was void of all emotion when she was angry or deeply upset. She was better than the English in these instances, bottling up the unpleasant feelings until they made her explode. Or ate her up.

"Mama? Are you sure there isn't anything wrong? Maybe we should go inside and O'Brien can bring you some tea?" Mary tried one last time, knowing not to push her mother too forcefully.

"The thought of that woman in my presence makes me physically ill, Mary." Cora whispered.

"What do you mean? What happened?" Mary stared at her mother intently. Cora handed her something, still staring straight ahead, unseeing.

Mary snatched the papers out of her mother's hands and read quickly, then read them all again, her hand moving slowly up to her mouth and covering it as the full implication of all that was written hit her.

"Oh my God."

1914

Mary entered the room quietly. The doctor was gathering his things and rolling down his shirt sleeves. Mrs Hughes and O'Brien passed between them and Mary looked down quickly, trying not to gape at the mountains of bloody sheets weighing their arms. She glanced back up to find the doctor studying her as she took a few deep breathes. He took her carefully by the arm and led her to a deeper corner of the darkened room.

"She'll pull through, I'm certain. It was questionable for a time. She's lost a lot of blood so she needs plenty of rest for the next few days. I've given something to help her sleep. I'll leave more with you by the nightstand. It will help with pain as well."

"The baby…?" Mary's words faded at the sad shake of the doctor's head.

"He was much too early to survive. Now, I'll go see your father."

"He's in library." Mary's words cracked in her throat.

The doctor nodded and then left quietly. Mary turned toward the bed, and slowly made her way to it, sitting close and taking her mother's cold hand in hers. Even in sleep her brow was strained, her face drained of all color. She tossed a little, a moan escaping her dry lips, pain not allowing her to rest fully. Mary laid her head down on the bed and kissed her mother's hand gently, letting the tears fall as the full impact of the day hit her. Her brother. Dead. Her mother. Almost. She knew her father would fly up here as soon as the doctor released him and his anguish would be more than she could bare.

1923

"I wish your father were here."

Cora's voice brought Mary out of her own thoughts and she looked down, just realizing she had grasped Cora's hand. She felt her lungs struggle for air as her anger increased, and her mother's flat voice fueled it more. The urge to run into the house and do bodily harm to that vile woman was more than she could take. She stood abruptly.

"She needs to go. She needs to go right now." Mary paced in front of her mother.

"I need to speak with her, obviously." Cora rose off of the bench and met her daughter's eyes, her detached facade finally crumbling before Mary. She hid her face behind her hands as her grief came out in a torrent.

"Oh Mama.." Mary stepped forward, taking her shaking mother into her arms. Her heart ached for her, having to relive this tragedy. It ached in a way that it hadn't a decade ago, now that she was a mother herself. "Would you like me to be there?"

Cora shook her head. She pulled away from Mary's embrace, wiping her eyes and rounding her shoulders. "I need to do this myself."

The dinner gong rang and Cora stood from her settee, her stomach churning. She stood in front of the bedroom windows, her arms wrapped around her middle, waiting for the door to open.

"Are you feeling better, milady?" O'Brien asked evenly.

Cora nodded, "Much. Thank you."

She bit her tongue, detecting the slightest wavering in her voice. She stood straighter and turned, looking into the questioning eyes of O'Brien. The woman knew something was amiss. Cora felt disgust in that moment and she could not keep it from reflecting on her face. She watched O'Brien comprehend the change in her and her head tilted in question.

"I received something. In the mail. It may belong to you." Cora held the first letter out to her maid and visibly recoiled when their fingers touched. The reaction was not lost on O'Brien. With trembling hands, the woman read the anonymous post script and then the letter from her uncle. She swallowed the gasp bubbling in her throat.

"Of course, my curiosity was piqued. I thought it might be some practical joke on you, frankly."

"Milday, I can explain." O'Brien stuttered, back peddling.

"I don't need your explanation, O'Brien." Cora said quietly, each word perfectly enunciated. "I already have your explanation. In your own writing." Cora gave the woman the last letter she had.

O'Brien only needed to glance at it to know what it said. She remembered the day she'd written the words. "How?"

"I followed the trail that was left to me. By my 'friend'. I went to your uncle's church, lied to a poor old priest and stole a letter. It appears that your wickedness has rubbed off on me after all of these years."

"I never meant for what happened, to happen." O'Brien's voice shook and she swiped angrily at the tear that escaped. "It was an accident."

"An accident?!" Cora's laugh was harsh and tinged with a sob. "I remember that day, O'Brien . It is seared in my mind like a curse! You told me the soap was under the tub. You lied!"

"I was angry, milady. I wasn't thinking! I saw it there and moved it in your path without really thinking." O'Brien's words came crashing out together. She shook with relief and fear. Her world was falling apart, but finally she had released the burden of her secret.

"I had forgotten about the baby in that instant. I just thought you would slip and the worst that would happen was a bruise. But then I came out here and I had your gown in my hands, the gown that was getting too tight and I remembered and I tried to call out to you but it was too late." O'Brien's words drifted to a whisper. She couldn't take the hard look of hatred in Cora's eyes any longer. She looked down at her hands and she half expected to see the blood that had been there almost a decade ago.

The other woman's sorrow was tangible. Cora's rage left her in an exhausted rush and she felt herself deflate, sinking to the settee and putting her head in her hands. "I want you out of this house O'Brien. It would be better for you to be gone before his Lordship gets back."

O'Brien nodded, mostly to herself. Of course this was the only way. She stepped toward Cora and then stopped. "I have regretted that day every day since. If nothing else, I hope you can believe that."

Cora looked up at O'Brien, her face drawn. "I do believe it O'Brien. And maybe one day I'll find it in myself to forgive you. But right now, the betrayal I feel is of such a nature that I have never experienced before and it will take some time."

"I'll be gone in the morning, your Ladyship." O'Brien stated quietly and went to leave the room. The clearing of Cora's throat stopped her.

"I won't be able to write you a letter of recommendation. I'm not that generous, not knowing what I know now. But I will ask Mrs Hughes to write one for you."

O'Brien stared at Cora and swallowed the lump in her throat. "I'd say that is generous enough, milady." O'Brien left the Countess's room for the last time.

The servant's table was full when O'Brien descended the stairs. She saw Thomas look up and meet her gaze as she entered the room. The smug smile on his face undid the emotions she had been holding back since the confrontation with Cora.

"You deceitful little rat!" O'Brien spat at him. The voices in the room immediately stopped, everyone looking at her with their mouths open.

Thomas slowly put down his fork and wiped his hands before rolling his eyes at her. "Well, Miss O'Brien, how do you figure this is my fault?"

"You sent her the letter!" O'Brien said, pointing her finger at him.

"Oh, so she connected the dots did she? Did you receive your walking papers?"

"You don't even know what happened, so don't act so smug." O'Brien retorted.

"Will the two of you kindly show some decorum! What is Mr. Barrow referring to? Walking papers?" Carson asked, the irritation evident in his voice.

Thomas got up. "I do believe Miss O'Brien has been sacked." The others in the room gasped. "Oh, don't go feeling sorry for her. It's only what should happen to the person who killed the heir."

Carson choked on his wine, "What in the world?"

O'Brien's face drained of color. Thomas ignored her and turned to his peers. "It seems that when her Ladyship was pregnant before the war, Miss O'Brien was a little peeved at her and placed her soap within slipping distance as revenge. And most of us here that day recall how her ladyship ended up on the bathroom floor. By slipping on her soap. And now, her Ladyship knows the truth." Thomas sat down, the smug smile still plastered on his lips.

The people around him had varying degrees of horror and disgust painted on their faces.

"You're despicable." John Bates said and Thomas was surprised to see it directed at him. He held up his hands in mock defense.

"Me? I didn't do anything to anyone." Thomas folded his arms and stared Bates in the eye.

Cora tried to read the words before her, but even the Sketch couldn't hold her attention. She had slept little the night before again and the compounding emotions of the last few days left her with a splitting headache. She was sure O'Brien was gone by now, and she was glad for it, but the dismissal did little in dissipating the depression her revelations had brought upon her. Mrs Hughes had been overly kind this morning when bringing her breakfast tray, assuring her that the house was running smoothly in case she needed to rest further. Cora was sure the entire staff knew some, if not all, of what transpired and it made her feel vulnerable and exposed.

The light knock on the door disrupted her thoughts. She imagined it was Mary, checking in on her. "Come in."

The door opened slowly and she took in a shaky breath, seeing the face of her husband peering around to her. His face was tight with concern and when he met her eyes he gave her a sad smile before hurrying over to her. Cora was certain that Mary had informed him of what had transpired while he was away.

"My dear," Robert said as he came to her and sat on the bed, taking her hands and studying her eyes. "How are you?"

Cora closed her eyes and leaned forward, resting her forehead against his. "I'm alright, I think. Still shocked. And hurt."

Robert pulled her into a proper embrace and her breath hitched. He rubbed her back gently, barely able to contain the rage he felt. It had taken twenty minutes of Mary calming him down before he came up to her room and still he was ready to run out of the house and find O'Brien at the train station. It was a good thing she had left before he had arrived home.

1914

Robert was awakened from his light afternoon nap by screaming. He startled in his bed and looked around quickly, unable yet to tell if he was dreaming. When the muffled cry of agony reached him again it propelled him up and forward, the sound coming from Cora's room and distinctly her voice.

Nearly ripping the door off the hinge, he looked around wildly, unable to locate her until he realized the commotion was coming from the bathroom. Running to the doorway, he stopped short and took in the scene. O'Brien was working frantically to stop the blood that was surrounding Cora, and Cora was sitting, leaning against the tub naked and shaking and moaning. Robert ran to her and knelt down, calling her name. Her eyes had already gone glassy and the strength of her earlier cries was diminishing as the blood continued to pump out of her. She was deathly gray and he could feel the panic bubbling inside of him as the direness of the situation hit him. Even before the doctor arrived, Robert knew the baby was lost and he knew that if they didn't get help soon, Cora wouldn't be far behind.

Turning to O'Brien and sweeping Cora up in his arms he yelled, "Call for Dr. Clarkson immediately."

The woman's horrified face took a moment to show that his words registered and when they did she ran from the room, leaving a trail of blood behind her. Robert brought Cora to their bed and laid her gently down, placing a blanket over her. He stroked her face as she balled up in pain.

"Shh, everything will be alright." Robert said around his tears. "Just hang on for me, Cora. Just hang on."

1923

Robert closed his eyes and steadied his quivering breath, remembering that day and how sure he was that he was going to lose her. Cora's voice brought him back to the present.

"I've spent all these years going over those moments in my mind, twisting myself apart at my carelessness. And now, I'll spend the rest of my days riddled with the guilt that I couldn't save him from that woman." Cora's voice was small and grief-stricken.

Gripping her shoulders, Robert pushed back from her and shook her slightly so that she would look at him. His face was stern and his voice gruff. "Don't ever let me hear you say that again. You were not to blame then and you are not to blame now. Do you understand?"

After a moment, Cora closed her eyes and leaned back into Robert. "I cannot help but feel responsible. How many years did you tell me to sack her? How many people did I defend her to?" Cora's voice was muffled against his shoulder.

"You saw a better side of her. Or at least, you wanted to. You cannot punish yourself for that." Robert took his face in her hands and kissed the tip of her nose, each of her closed eyes and finally her mouth. "We'll get through this, Cora. As we did back then."

Cora kissed Robert back. "Yes, we will."