Season five is full of drama and angst...and I find myself glomming onto Joanna Froggatt's mention in the Manners of Downton that Anna never gets to wear pearls and I find myself writing some fluffy little plotless vignette based on that. Eh...yeah.
John Bates said exactly the wrong thing.
"I'm glad that Lady Mary has bobbed her hair." He leaned back in his armchair, comfortable as a man in his castle can be. "It means that we are home earlier now that you're not giving her hair a hundred strokes and plaiting it up every night."
His wife's hands tightened on the mending in her lap. The lady's maid who rarely spoke ill of her ladyship said, "I do wish that she'd taken me with her to the hairdresser. I have no idea how to style or dress it now. I'm in terror of doing it wrong. And her hatpins won't stay, nor any of her hair ornaments. I'm quite sure the Grantham tiara will fall right into her soup at some important function." Having run out of breath, she began to pick out out the too tight stitches in her sewing.
Bates raised his eyebrows. He'd obviously misstepped but was unsure how to proceed. "I have the greatest of faith in you, Anna," he finally said.
Just as quickly as the flame had leapt up, her temper died down. With a little shake of her head, she gave him one of her sideways smiles.
He turned sly. "What will she wear for dinner at the Hartleys' on Thursday?" he asked innocently.
Sure enough, Anna began to prattle on about her choices for the gown and shoes and jewellery. Sipping his tea, Bates nodded to encourage her.
"I think the long rope of pearls will be best—if she still likes them. Pearls aren't very modern." The fire was back in her words.
"Pearls are timeless," Bates noted.
A rare expression came to her face; she was hiding something from him. She half-turned in her chair.
"Anna?"
"Just remembering something. A time when I was silly."
He had to tease her. "A rare event indeed."
"Mr. Bates—" she warned him.
"You must tell me. No secrets, remember?" That tender spot which was still sore.
She put aside her sewing. "Alright. It's just embarrassing, that's all."
He motioned her to come to him. Rising, she crossed to nestle on his lap.
"That's better," he rumbled against her hair as he wrapped his arms around her.
"I'm not on your bad leg? You're not uncomfortable?"
"No, and yes." He shifted a bit.
"Silly man." Her warm breath tickled the tender skin of his neck, right where his starched collar chafed it near raw by the end of the day.
"Your story," he prompted. He wanted to hear it before he became too distracted.
She carefully picked the dark wool lint from his white shirt's sleeve. "I told you; it's foolish."
"Go on now, girl."
"When I was first maid to the young ladies..." She lay her head back on his shoulder and gazed up at the ceiling, lost in her memory. "Oh, such an honour!"
He could feel the quiver of pride in her light weight. He tightened his hold.
"Lady Mary received that long rope of pearls on her sixteenth birthday, along with me...That is, I was promoted to serving her and her sisters. But she as the oldest was the only one who truly needed a maid. Nanny still helped Ladies Edith and Sybil to dress for day, although Lady Edith did kick up a fuss about it."
He loved listening to her low lilt. It didn't matter what she talked about. But he made encouraging sounds nonetheless. "Pearls," he murmured.
"Yes yes." She snuggled closer. "So I was tidying up one afternoon after dressing Lady Mary, and gave in to temptation."
"Oh, I do like the sound of that." Perhaps the end of the story could wait—
But now she was well into her tale. "Mr. Bates," she scolded, capturing his wandering hands. "I opened her jewellery box...Just to touch, you understand?"
"Yes, I do," he whispered at her ear.
Her fingertip traced the outline of a long necklace down his waistcoat. "But then I wondered..."
"What they would look like on you?" he suggested.
"Yes." She hid her face under his jawline and he could feel the heat of her blush.
He cupped her cheek, giving her further shelter. "And you were caught?"
"How did you know?"
"I can feel it in you. All these years later."
"Not that many years," she said tartly.
He quickly went on, sidestepping traps again. "Not the Countess?" he asked.
"No, thank God." She wriggled upright and clasped her hands in her lap like a confessing schoolgirl. "Or I'm sure I would have been sacked."
"Who could ever sack you?"
"Never good to walk in on your maid wearing the family jewels!" she pointed out.
"So...Not Lady Grantham," he said slowly. "Then...Mrs. Hughes."
"On the nose." She tweaked the end of his nose.
"And did she tear a strip into you?"
"But proper." She shivered like a doe and he had to take her back in his arms.
"I can't see Mrs. Hughes being overly harsh."
"I was still new to service in the household. She keeps a sharp eye on the young girls. It's the age when we're most prone to stray."
He felt a pang of guilt. "I wasn't aware quite yet how much trouble that I could have gotten you into when I brought you supper. She did dismiss Ethel for dallying with a fellow after all."
"Ethel did more than dally," Anna pointed out. "That night, if Mrs. Hughes had caught us...I don't think she would have told Mr. Carson or the Earl. But if we'd crossed that line—"
"She has a soft spot for you; she would have understood," he said firmly.
"I hoped that I had her trust. But you..."
He made a low sound and gave her another squeeze.
"You were a temptation," she murmured.
His chuckle became a laugh. "The first time my appeal would be rated with jewels." He nudged his cheek to hers. "The pearls and Mrs Hughes—"
Anna returned to her tale. "They didn't even look pretty on. This great heavy rope was so long; it hung past my waist. And just looked silly with my maid's uniform."
"The string don't look heavy," he said idly. He was distracted again, plucking the top buttons at her dress' back so that he may lay a palm upon her spine, feeling the warm, softly-downed skin. "I suppose the weight is not in the pearls themselves, but in what they represent," he said.
She turned to him quickly. "Just so!" She was always pleased when their thoughts were aligned.
"So perhaps not a length of pearls for you; something more delicate," he mused.
His Lordship had recently cleaned out his own jewel box and had passed along a few cufflinks that had lost their mates, two gold studs because he preferred black onyx now, and a large golden pearl tie stick that the Earl thought was too Diamond Jim. John had meant to sell them for their savings account, but instead he'd buy lovely piece for Anna...
She seemed to read his mind. "I was not making some hint, Mr. Bates!" she scolded, wiggling free from his hold. "You will not waste money on a babble for me."
Rather than argue, he changed the topic. "We best get up to bed," he said, giving her a peck on the lips. "I must go up to the Abbey early tomorrow and ask the gardeners to prepare a grave for his Lordship's poor dog."
"Oh, she's dead now?"
"Not when I left the Earl, though he believes it would happen tonight. He has her with him in the dressing room."
Anna stood and shook out her skirt. "He loves that dog like a child," she observed with no judgement.
Bates carried their teacups and cake plates into the kitchen and when he returned, Anna was folding up her sewing.
Taking a closer look, he recognised the fabric and trim on the garment. It had been Lady Mary's coat when she was in a family way. As usual, Anna would have to shorten it a great deal for her own use. For a brief moment, he dared to hope what it meant that she was doing this now. A box lived a silent existence, tucked away at the back of a cupboard in the room that they no longer called the baby's room, filled with Master George's and Miss Sybbie's out-grown things, and a few gowns hung in there was well, already shortened.
He blew out one oil lamp, waiting for Anna to mount the stairs before following with the other, lighting their way.
She would have told him if there was news, he was sure of that after their recent disagreement. So he must store the hope away, tucked among the sailor suits and lace-trimmed little dresses.
As he carefully tread the stairs, balancing the lamp and his cane, he decided to take the Earl's castoff bobs and babbles to a jeweller instead of selling them. Have him cast a broach in the shape of a rose with the pearl at the center. After all, Anna was his country rose, the type with many scented pale pink petals.
They entered their cold bedroom and shivered out of their clothes, into nightwear and under the covers. When John pulled Anna close, he smelled the roses. In the past, she had always smelled of lavender, sachets suffusing her clothing with the sweet odor. She'd changed them to rose petals this past year. Perhaps the scent reminded her of their cottage and the vines that covered it as she went about her duties.
It made him think of warm summer evenings with the faded petals drifting around them like snow as they strolled home. Maybe by next summer, Anna would be wearing that coat on the walk.
"Good night, my precious jewel," John mumbled.
"Foolish man," she whispered back, but stroked his cheek in gratitude.
~ end