On His Way
John studied his hands as he sat on the single servants' bed. An electric lamp hummed on the bedside table; its warm glow suffusing the small room with light, and casting strange shadows on the walls. A half-window looked out at a courtyard, blades of grass worked their way through the again panes. John watched the outside world continue as a yellowing ball of fur streaked past the window. A moment later, the yelping monster returned and scratched at the soil near John's window.
John rose on suddenly unsteady legs and crossed to the window. Opening it ever so slightly, he stuck a hand out to pat the dog between the ears.
"Good girl, Isis." He murmured, more to himself than to the bouncing canine. After a moment, John pulled a small biscuit from the plate at his bedside and offered it to the dog. Isis took it greedily, lowering her head to gobble up the treat. John caught a glimpse of a red ribbon concealed beneath layers of Isis' fur. Careful not to disturb her, he untied the ruddy fabric from the dog's neck. Isis finished the biscuit, and licked John's hand in return. Cringing, he withdrew his hand and Isis bungled off to play elsewhere.
Wiping his slobber-covered hand on a rag, John examined the ribbon as well as the message attached. He stared at the message for what could've been hours, unable to open it. Every doubt John had buried over the past few hours suddenly unearthed itself. She had changed her mind- didn't want to enter into the mess that was John's life. She had sent the dog with a message somewhat different than the planned one "I don't love you- I could never love you- this has gone on too long- goodbye." Rejection after rejection swirled around inside the man's head until he could no longer breathe nor clearly think. He considered tossing the paper into the fireplace, pretending this had never happened, even leaving Downton to escape his non-existent heartbreak. Finally, in a fit of nervousness, John unrolled the parchment his fiancée attached to the rosy ribbon.
A smile, small but sure, spread across John's face as her read the short yet elegant message:
"Ready."
Shoving the paper roughly into his pocket, John closed the window and crossed to the closet mirror. More terrified than he thought himself capable of, John stared at his reflection.
A stranger stared back at him. His eyes crinkled at the sides, as the corners of his mouth pulled tugged slightly upward. A faint blush peeked through newly shaven stubble. He looked dignified, profound, and ready to take on the world. His posture was erect, confident. The man smiled wider as John regarded him with wonder. Who was this man who smiled so readily? Who had he once been? The man straightened his jacket reached for the cane that leaned against the doorframe.
John frowned as his hands brushed the well-worn wood grain, and the man in the mirror suddenly became the tired, aging valet with whom John was so well acquainted.
He didn't deserve her.
Shaking his head, John attempted to remove these lingering doubts from his mind. Today, he would smile. Today, he would laugh. Today, he would allow himself the smallest satisfaction in pronouncing his lover's new name.
Gripping his cane with newfound determination, John tapped his fading bowler onto his head and began the journey to the front gates.
Branson met John at the door. The blonde youth looked tired- and more than a little suspicious. John wondered for a moment who he waited for.
"Going to town, sir?" The chauffer inquired quietly, leaning in lose so John could hear.
"As a matter of fact, yes." John responded, upraised. Perhaps they had not been so careful as he thought.
"Could I give you a lift?"
With a start, John studied Branson closely. After a moment of strained silence, Branson continued.
"Lady Mary left a quarter hour ago. I asked her if I may escort her, but she insisted that I stay and offer the car to you."
John nodded. Anna had thought of everything, hadn't she? As he thanked Branson and set his cane in the carriage, John wondered idly, "Had she thought of Everything? Surely she could not accomplish- could not expect…" John accepted long ago that Ana would not be his "proper wife" for a very, very long time- even after they were wed. After all, where could they go? "Perhaps she had accomplished it?" John daydreamed. "Perhaps she had secured a room somewhere. Surely Lord Grantham would not mind- under the circumstances…"
"Any place particular?" Branson questioned, pulling John back into reality.
He'll know soon enough anyway, John surmised momentarily.
"Ripon Registry Office, if it isn't too much trouble."