A/N: So, this is an idea that started in my head a few months back, before I properly put pen to paper (or more accurately, finger to keyboard) on anything, but it's just now that I've managed to let it develop into an actual fic. I feel like Anna would find it almost impossible to get a good night's sleep since John's arrest/trial, but something also tells me that she's generally a 'night person' anyway (if her introduction in the series is anything to go by), and I suspect that she would have had quite a few sleepless nights since, oh, maybe around April 1912 onwards...?
Story follows the general narrative of DA S1 & 2, and begins within 'S3', with frequent jumps back in time (hopefully it's easy to follow).
Title borrowed from the She & Him song of the same name, although it doesn't really have any bearing on the fic. (I was toying with the idea of calling it 'Sleepless in Downton' - maybe that could be the sub-title...?)
I'm aiming to update once a week, but you may have to give me a bit of leeway (what with work, and real life and all *pssssh, real life - what is up with you?*) I do have a schedule though...my goal is to get it finished before the S3 transmission date, but I probably shouldn't tempt fate.
As ever, I don't own Downton Abbey: that honour goes to Julian Fellowes/Carnival/ITV.
I hope you enjoy.
Anna closed the door behind her, hearing it give out a small creak that barely broke the quiet of the room. She propped herself up against it, letting herself slouch slightly as her daytime façade fell away fast from her demeanour. Surveying the dimly-lit space, it seeming to have shrunk within the few hours it had been vacant, she let out a sigh. "Here we go again," she said to herself and the silence.
It was not a prospect she relished: another long night, devoid of almost any semblance of serenity or respite, although she really should have been used to them by now, or at the very least built up some kind of defence. She would have to try to come up with something soon, otherwise she really would be of no use. This night, just at its beginning, was to be the same as all the ones that had gone before it and the many that lay ahead. She had tried not to keep count of those that had gone by, although some place in her mind was unfailingly conscientious in marking them, imprinting them within her. Instead, her conscious self noted the landmarks. One of them had passed just two nights ago: five hundred and forty nine. It wouldn't be that long to a thousand, yet at the same time it would be an eternity. Innumerable milestones along her road, stretching out far into the horizon, much further than her eye could see. Hours upon hours upon hours. As she took off her apron and dress, unpinned the frill from her hair and let out the first lacing of her corset, she sighed deeper.
This night would be even longer. Mrs Hughes had given her leave an hour earlier than usual, the house being virtually empty; only the Earl was there at present, Lady Mary having gone to London with Mr Crawley, and the Countess and Lady Edith in Ireland visiting Lady Sybil to see their grandson and nephew for the first time. For the past year and a half, and every night without fail, Mrs Hughes insisted upon dismissing Anna a little before everyone else, even if it was only by ten minutes. "It might just be enough to set you off to a good sleep; God knows you need it." The gesture had not gone unnoticed and uncomplained about.
"I don't see why she should still be getting special treatment, not while the rest of us are expected to work well past our bedtimes. Twenty two years I've been here and not once have I been let off a second before I should, though I work my fingers to the bone."
Miss O'Brien, the embers of empathy she'd possessed long since burnt away. Anna braced herself for a tirade about how she should have 'shacked up' with someone about to be convicted, lest it give her a longed-for early night, before Mrs Hughes interjected.
"Anna works extremely hard, I dare say much harder than any of us, and she deserves all the rest afforded to her. She also doesn't squander hours of her working time out of doors puffing away on cigarettes."
O'Brien shot a sharp look across the table at Anna, who turned her head away, arose and went towards Mrs Hughes. "I'm very thankful, Mrs Hughes, but I'm perfectly happy to stay here and do whatever needs to be done before I retire."
"There's no need," Mrs Hughes began, "We're only making needless work for ourselves as it is. You never know what wonders an extra hour can do." She smiled at Anna, knowing that her words while appreciated were severely doubted by the younger woman. "Besides, I have the final say down here. Now go and get yourself to bed." As much as she would have rather taken on all the work that remained and everybody else's tasks for the next week to occupy herself for as long as she could, Anna had long since learnt that there was no use in arguing with the housekeeper, and so did exactly what she was told.
Finishing brushing her hair, she looked at herself in the mirror she sat in front of, observing for herself what Mrs Hughes had seen and been so concerned about in her face. She did look quite awful, the sleeplessness and exhaustion of months taking its inevitable toll on her. Her eyes heavy-lidded and ringed with darkness, made more noticeable in contrast to the pallid complexion of her face. Tiny lines had started to settle upon her forehead and she swept her fingers lightly over the creases before pulling both hands to her head exasperatedly. She hoped she didn't look this bad in the daylight, and definitely not when she went to visit him. Even though she knew better, believed him fervently when he said he would love her however, whatever, whenever, she still retained some vanity, more for him than herself. In this unusual position, it was one of the few small ways she could show that she was a good and dutiful wife, striving to bring some light and hope into his life when he was surrounded daily by darkness.
In the earlier months she had looked forward to the hours of night, willed them to close in quicker than they did. They were a welcome refuge, a sacred haven. As the dusk fell upon the day, she could similarly shroud herself in her despair selfishly and unseen; writhing, wallowing, sobbing with heaved breaths into her pillow, until worn out, she would manage to slide into dreamless drowsiness, able to forget it all for a little while. But it was not long until that phase was replaced with one that had persisted ever since; the interminable nights, lying awake, waiting patiently for the sunrise to free her but temporarily. She was still in a cocoon here, shut off from the vastness of the rest of the house, but her mind had opened up into whole other realms, wide and expansive, unending and unrelenting. She was unable to escape from her thoughts as they charged and consumed her. She was always thinking, thinking only ever of him, at every moment. How was he this very moment, how had he been the hour before, the one before that. She hoped they hadn't been cruel to him, allowed him some peace. She wished she was with him, that he could be there with her. The thoughts of him never leaving her head; she would feel worse if they ever did. But some sleep, just a mere hour undisturbed, would be wonderful. Maybe it would bring easier thoughts.
Before she pulled back the covers and blankets and climbed in, she carefully kneeled down at the foot, resting her elbows on the bed and joining her hands together. She did the same thing every night; said a silent prayer for his safety and wellbeing. There was a time when she would also pray for his release, but she knew deep down that was too much to ask for now: nothing had come to light, not even the slightest scrap of evidence for or against, inexistent expectation fading. It was pointless to plead for the impossible, and in the circumstances it was his welfare that mattered to her most so that's what she appealed for. He would tell her that was pointless too, but she knew it wasn't. It was the very least she could do: the only way she could think possible at present for some part of them to be together at all times. That was more than enough reason to keep on doing it.
She gently blew out the candle at her bedside and settled down. Oh, she hoped Mrs Hughes was right: she wasn't sure how much longer she could exist like this, on very little sleep and with her energy fast depleting. Her first thought was to clamp her eyes shut regardless, to try and force slumber upon herself, but that would be no good: whenever she did that, all she could see in every corner of her mind was the dull, damp, cold cell. John shivering in the shadows, tossing and turning, crying out as his knee convulsed in pain; crying out in desperation. Her eyes stayed firmly open.
It occurred to her, suddenly, that she was hardier than she had imagined, that she had vastly underestimated her ability to run quite well on little sleep; had in fact been accustomed to sleepless nights at Downton for years upon years. When all of those nights had passed by she'd never complained: she'd done quite the opposite. The thought struck her so clearly and she nearly burst out laughing in the dead stillness because of it. Maybe she had become finally quite delirious. But no, what amused her was perfectly reasonable: that the source of her present insomnia was one and the same as it had ever been.
She lay on her back in her bed, blankets riffled every which way around her, staring up at the ceiling. She had gotten really rather frustrated now. Every method she had tried had been to no avail. Pacing about the small length of the room was fruitless, and painful to perform on tiptoe; she had little inclination for getting any serious reading done; any sheep that she'd herded in her head had seemed to have made a swift dash from their pen. The last resort was to shut her eyes tight, hoping that some synapse would be fooled into thinking she was already in a deep sleep, but after half an hour, and with every other part of her still wide awake, she gave up on that idea.
This wakefulness in the early hours was becoming a frequent occurrence for Anna; she'd spent most of the past week in exactly the same manner, getting an hour's sleep at most before being roused back into a very acute consciousness that lasted most of the night. What was particularly unsettling was that the insomnia was accompanied by a strange sensation in her stomach; not something that was strictly unpleasant, nor akin to sickness (though she had wondered a couple of nights previous whether the meat in Mrs Patmore's stew could have been to blame, but alas, she had been proved wrong) but entirely unlike any feeling she'd experienced before: fluttering, burning, tingling with a fierce intensity. It refused to go away as much as rest refused to find her.
She half-sat up, propping herself on her elbows and swivelling her body to face the adjoining bed on her right side. "Gwen," she whispered fairly loudly. "Gwen, are you awake?" The turning and shuffling under the covers along with a muffled moan told her that her friend and roommate was not. Anna lay back down, resuming her enthrallment in gazing at the fine cracks on the ceiling, before deciding that she'd had quite enough. A change of scenery was what was needed, she thought. That, and her usual remedy for sleeplessness. Getting out of bed, she pulled on her bed-jacket and crept stealthily out of the room, making her way softly downstairs.
Even though she was quite sure that not a soul would be up at this hour, she made sure her steps were silent as she padded along to the hall, candle in hand. As she approached the doorway, a large yawn escaped from her, along with an accompanying tired whimper at it. Embarrassed for no reason, she said "Oh dear me," and rubbed her hands across her face before continuing into the room.
"You sound quite worn out."
Anna wasn't sure if she was hearing things, that her sleepless state was to blame for conjuring up illusions. She rubbed her eyes once more, blinking in the dim candlelight, and then she took the figure in, sitting alone at the table, book in hands.
"Mr Bates," she said, startled, but with an instinctive smile in her voice as she did so. He smiled warmly at her in return, his eyes crinkling softly, and she felt the fluttering at the centre of her stomach increase, whirl faster. She realised with a certain horror that she was standing in front of him in her nightgown, and pulled her bed-jacket tighter across her chest. She noticed that neither did he appear as she was used to seeing him; in a white under-vest with braces across it, and his hair looser than of a daytime. He looked very attractive, she thought. A burning flushed across her cheeks at the train of thought her mind had entered into, and the whole situation before her. She found she was hovering hesitantly in the doorway, and felt quite silly for not making any decisive movement. Her feet shuffled awkwardly beneath her.
"I didn't know you were down here. Forgive me, I didn't mean to disturb you. I'll leave you in peace with your reading."
He shook his head. "I'm not getting all that much done anyway, I don't think I'm in quite the right frame of mind for it. Please, don't leave on my account. Really, this is more your place than it is mine…" Pushing his chair with as little noise as possible, he made to rise from the table.
"Oh no, Mr Bates, I insist…please don't feel you have to…not when you've made yourself comfortable…" Anna found she had rushed into the room, going across to him and holding out her arms to take his, before getting a grip on her senses. She really was not thinking properly; he wouldn't want or need her to help him up like he was some incapable invalid. Realising this, she instead took a step back and held her hands resting against her as she looked up at him. "Why don't we both stay here?" she suggested, out of nowhere. "If you don't mind, that is…"
"Of course I wouldn't," he replied before she could continue further. "It would be very good to have the company." He smiled at her again as they sat down across the table from each other, and her eyes flickered to the floor for a few seconds shyly before she answered his with her own. A short silence fell between them, but all of her initial unease had completely deserted her.
"So," he began, "are you often up wandering about in the small hours?"
Anna laughed softly. "Well, not quite. It could be quite useful though; I could get through so much cleaning, and quite surprise Mrs Hughes when she awoke and found there wasn't anything to be done!"
He joined her in laughing; she hadn't heard him do so before, it was such a nice sound.
"I don't really wander anyway; I just come here when I'm having trouble sleeping. It doesn't happen all the time, but often enough, I suppose." She thought about telling him of the particular sleeplessness she'd had over the last few nights, but for some reason refrained. "I think I'm something of a night owl, anyway. I always seem to quite come to life once the night comes, even if it's been a horrendously long day. I much prefer it to the morning: oh, I'm just horrific of a morning, really terrible."
His eyes shone in the near-darkness. "Are you really? I can't say I've noticed you be anything other than perfectly sunny, at any time of day."
She felt her blushes start to rise again. "You've not been here long, Mr Bates. I'm sure you'll see quite soon that it's just a show. At least if you ever catch me before I've had a cup of tea."
"Well, I'll make it my duty to stay out of your way before then."
"Good." She nodded her head in mock-serious approval at his comment, trying to keep a straight face before breaking out into a wide smile. It was quite infectious, even in the middle of the night on an hour's sleep. "How about you, Mr Bates? Is it common for you to have sleepless nights? Oh, I do hope it's not because you're in any way uncomfortable here…"
"No, no, it's nothing to do with being here, although I suppose it does take a while to get used to new surroundings. I do find it hard to get a restful night, have done for years. It's a force of habit; you never quite shake off the perpetual alertness that comes with being placed in the thick of a battleground. And then of course, this doesn't help matters much…" He propped his leg up on the chair next to him, flexing it and shifting in his seat as he did so, grimacing ever so slightly.
"Oh, I can only imagine." Anna's face turned solemn. "Does it cause you a lot of pain?" She immediately mentally reprimanded herself, not wanting to spoil the atmosphere by prying.
"It can be temperamental. Some nights are worse than others. You'd think I'd be used to it by now, but it never fails to surprise…it's more than a bit of an annoyance, but it's bearable. It has to be."
Anna felt her features wrinkle in concern. "Still, we should see if we can get anything to help. I'm sure there's something that Mrs Hughes has, or can at least get hold of easily enough at the village." She stopped herself from saying anything more about it, then added: "There is something…it won't do anything for the pain, unfortunately, but it should help you get off to sleep. It's the thing I always rely on, anyway."
He regarded her with a pointed eye. "Oh? What would that be, then?"
"A glass of warm milk. Whenever I'm having trouble sleeping, it does just the trick. I'll be off snoring in no time after drinking it."
He chuckled, and she thought she shouldn't have confessed that she wasn't an entirely graceful sleeper, although why she should be hesitant in mentioning that fact she wasn't quite sure. "I shall definitely have to try it sometime."
"I assure you it'll work, you have my word." She smiled. "Mr Bates, I really am so glad you stayed. I know it was all to do with Lord Grantham; you know him better as a man than I, but he's a very fair and good employer, so I was sure he would see sense." She hesitated for a second or two, before continuing. "Even though you haven't been here all that long, you've really made a difference to things. We're very lucky to have a man like you at Downton." Out of the corner of her eye she noticed him looking at her intently, but her words didn't falter. "I know I would have hated to see you go. I can't think of anyone else who could possibly take your place, and I would have been very unfair to whoever came to replace you. I'm very happy it didn't come to that."
"I am too. And thank you for saying so, Anna. Sincerely." She shivered as her name escaped his lips, wrapping her jacket tighter around her again. "If only everyone shared your opinion."
She knew exactly who he was referring to; it was no secret. "Oh, I am so sorry about Thomas and Miss O'Brien. They're always rather funny with new people, but they have been so appalling to you and it makes me furious. There's absolutely no need for it. All I can think is that it must be jealousy, plain and simple. But I am sorry for them. You must wish you had gone elsewhere half the time."
"Not at all. Besides, I've dealt with much worse than what they have to give out." They mirrored each other's posture and expression at the table. "I've found that all of the good people here by far outweigh a couple of bad pennies."
"Of course; like I say, I'm quite sure you know the Granthams much better than the rest of us do…"
An assured smile spread over his face as she spoke, casting her gaze away from his. She really didn't know how modest she was, and couldn't have known he had someone much closer in mind.
Anna sprang out of bed as the sun arose, opening the curtains wide to the chagrin of a still-sleepy Gwen. "What a lovely day it's going to be," she announced cheerily, letting the sunlight fall on her face through the window, feeling incredibly bright for someone who'd only had an hour and a half's worth of solid sleep.
"Ohhhhh, it's too light," Gwen grumbled, tangled in her bedcovers and rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "Surely it can't be morning already."
"Well, it is." Anna skipped about the room, making the bed speedily and gathering her things. "A beautiful one at that. Don't you just want to jump up?"
"In a word, no." Gwen was absolutely bemused; this couldn't be the same Anna who moaned every morning about how she wished she could just turn over and go back to sleep. "What's got into you, being so full of the joys? You're not complaining…for probably the first time ever."
"I don't complain! Much…" Anna saw Gwen pull a face behind her as she sat in front of the mirror and laughed to herself. "Besides, I had such a nice sleep, really deep. It was strange, as I was wide awake for a good part of the night, but you know what did its usual magic." She jumped up from the seat. "I must remember to take the glass downstairs before anyone else gets up…oh." She was rather puzzled to find that there was no glass at her bedside, nor anywhere else around the room. She must have left it downstairs. Or, did she even have any at all? She stood in deep thought, hairbrush in her hand, while Gwen let out a giggle.
"There is definitely something up with you."
As she made her way downstairs dressed and ready, adjusting the frill in her hair, she saw him standing at the bottom of the stairs, cane tapping steadily and quietly.
"Mr Bates," she said brightly. "Good morning."
He turned around on hearing her voice, smiling as he saw her face. "Good morning, Anna. I hope you managed to sleep quite soundly eventually."
"I certainly did, very soundly indeed." They walked side by side towards the hall, her matching every one of his steps. "Did you sleep well?"
"I did." He looked ahead as they went on, before stopping both their strides and turning to face Anna, bending slightly down towards her. "It was quite amazing, actually. I'm sure of it when I say I had the best sleep I've had in years last night. Exactly why I can't be certain, but it might have been something to do with having better company before bed than just that book."
He smiled at her before he walked ahead, leaving her standing in the same spot, slightly flustered but quite amused indeed. She watched him as he entered the hall and drifted out of her view, and a grin found its way to her face. It was going to take considerably more than warm milk to soothe her from now on.