The Most Tremendous Bonds
Summary: With the war in South Africa stretching on longer than anticipated, Robert has a drink with his batman and reminisces about home.
Disclaimer: I don't own Downton Abbey.
A/N: This is a Robert/Bates story, and it began with several conversations with a friend about Tipsy Robert, his history with Bates, and how Bates came to become his valet. I managed to finish it in time for New Year's, so happy New Year's to everyone.
As always, reviews are much appreciated.
They had been camped near Pretoria since arriving in Komatipoort four weeks earlier. To say the march there was arduous would have been an understatement of enormous proportions. The path proved poor and in some places impassable until they hacked their way through the bush. Water was scarce and at times dwindled away entirely. The Boers had set fire to what supplies they did not take with them, and Komatipoort was a deserted city when they finally arrived.
Lieutenant Crawley looked forward to being sent home, Bates knew. He had a wife and three young daughters there waiting for him, their letters coming regularly in the mail - at what irregular intervals they were able to receive the post. But the soldiers would soon learn that home was a distant dream, one not to be realized for quite some time.
The battalion was ordered to make camp until the annexation ceremony bringing Transvaal officially into the empire. A blazing afternoon sun burned overhead as Private Bates stood in formation with the rest of his company. The balconies and surrounding flagstones were crowded with spectators, and the press of bodies made Bates nervous. But all eyes remained on the flagstaff which had been erected in the square near the church.
As the National Anthem began to play, Lord Roberts entered the square and watched as the Royal Standard was hoisted. A moment of silence followed as the music died away, and the proclamation was read. Then the band struck up again, and those looking on donned their hats. The crowd stayed to cheer as Lord Roberts stepped forward and began to award medals to a select few who had been chosen for gallantry. Bates smiled to himself as he saw Lieutenant Crawley made Captain Crawley, a welcome promotion after a long and bloody year.
The rest of the ceremony proceeded with great pomp and circumstance, an impressive array of marches demonstrating the might and valor of the British Army. Patriotism swelled within Bates as he witnessed the exhibition, even though he knew that the road before them was anything but certain. This war had not gone as the commanders planned, and everyone knew it. The Boers were far more organized than anticipated, and they were now resorting to guerrilla tactics.
But for a time, the private lost himself in the grand display and his own personal pride as he stood tall, taller than he had ever felt before.
Bates never learned from where the now-Captain Crawley procured the bottle, only that late that evening, while celebrations were still ongoing but many men had retired to bed, his commanding officer brought it mostly full to his tent. Whisky was hard to come by in Africa, even for those of wealth and privilege who occupied the upper ranks.
"Here, have a drink with me," his commander offered, although the slurring of his speech demonstrated he'd already tasted the drink.
"Are you sure that is wise, sir?"
"You aren't on duty now, Bates," he informed him, handing over the bottle with a shaky hand and a voice full of certainty. "And if you are, then consider this an order."
Bates smiled and did not argue. Instead, he took a swig of the amber liquid, sputtering a little as the liquor burned down his throat. "Congratulations on your promotion, sir," he said. "It was well deserved... Captain Crawley."
"Thank you." The sentiment was genuine, but he noticed that the officer suddenly grew very still and quiet. "If only we could see an end to this war."
The revelation that they would not be going home as so many had predicted was nothing new to Bates. The news had been going around camp all day, to mixed reactions. Most lamented the postponement of their return to England with Lord Roberts, and some even felt betrayed and forgotten. But Bates accepted it without emotion.
"All wars end eventually," he stated.
Captain Crawley sighed. "Yes, but 'eventually' sounds so very far away."
Their celebration had turned to solemness, and the batman could not blame the man for feeling down. He missed his family, certainly, and officers also shouldered the much greater burden of command. All around them, death had become a constant companion, not just of the enemies they fought but of their friends and fellow soldiers who died alongside them.
Bates passed the bottle of whisky back and Captain Crawley took another long drink of the stuff before handing it over again.
"I hope you can see Downton someday, Bates," he said in a tender, reminiscent tone. "I think you'd like it."
"I'm sure that I would, sir."
A handsome estate nestled in the rolling hills of a lovely Yorkshire countryside? He could think of nothing more appealing after a long march across the South African terrain.
"I'm not exactly impartial, but the grounds are well kept and the house itself is quite something."
The slurring of his voice had only increased since his arrival at Bates' tent, and the batman could feel the first tinges of the alcohol himself. Carefully, he set the bottle of whisky behind his cot where Captain Crawley would not notice it, and hopefully out of sight would mean out of mind. Tonight was a night for celebrations, but Bates did not want his commanding officer to lose too much control of his faculties.
"I'm sure you miss it," he suggested.
"I do miss it," the other man agreed readily. "I think I miss the library the most. It was always my favorite place..."
Bates tried not to smile at the thought of having a room devoted entirely to books, as reading was one of his favorite pastimes. Growing up, he had never even fathomed such privilege, although his brief job as a footman before joining the army left him well informed of how the wealthy and powerful lived.
"Do you have many books, sir?" he asked.
Captain Crawley chuckled at the question. "Yes, many books. History and philosophy and literature... More books than I could read in a lifetime. My father always said that a great house should have a great library, so I've tried to add to it. But the library is so much more than just the books."
He fell silent for a few moments, his mind obviously lost in thought. Bates waited him out. Knowing the man as well as he did, there was more he wanted to say, more memories to share or fears to be buried under such remembrances.
"I quite look forward to going home again. I can only imagine how much the girls have grown," he said mildly, the words blurring into each other in the middle, and then separating again at the end. Looking closely at his batman, he asked, "Do you have children, Bates?"
"No sir, I do not."
"Maybe someday. They are a great joy."
Children seemed unlikely at this point in his life, considering that Vera had not been keen to start a family before he was sent to the Boers. And now that the battalion would not be returning home any time soon... Bates pushed the thought away and tried not to think of it.
"So I've heard."
Captain Crawley blinked at him a few times before closing his eyes in mortification. "I'm sorry, Bates. I didn't mean to go on like that."
He responded softly, "No need to apologize."
But the other man went on, "You've been such a good friend to me this past year. I don't know how I could have gotten through it all without you."
Ducking his head, Bates intoned, "I'm sure you could have, sir. But I'm glad you didn't have to."
They had been through a lot, as much as two men bonded by blood and battle could. 'Comrades in arms' was not quite strong enough to explain that connection. It did not encompass their absolute trust and reliance on one another to perform their respective roles, and it could not explain the moments when everything else in the world fell away except for training, orders, and instinct.
The alcohol was starting to hit the captain rather hard, and Bates knew they both needed to get some sleep before the next day. With the promotion came more responsibility, more men under his command. It would not do for those men to see their leader tiddly.
"We should get you to bed, sir," he said, standing up. Captain Crawley stood as well, although he swayed more than Bates would have liked. "Let me help you to your tent."
"There's no need..."
The other man's swaying only increased, and Bates made a mental note to himself that Captain Crawley and whisky were not a good combination. "Indulge me, sir," he requested.
Thankfully, his tent was always situated just next to Captain Crawley's, so that he was always available. And despite his inebriation, Captain Crawley managed to concentrate enough to keep from tripping over any ropes and tent stakes on the small journey. Of course, his mental acuity slipped back inside his own tent, and Bates helped him to undress in due course. As his batman, it was nothing he hadn't done before, although this time it felt more like undressing a child than a grown man.
But Captain Crawley proved especially talkative even as Bates helped ease him out of his clothing.
"When this is all over, if you ever leave the army, you'd make a decent valet, Bates."
"A valet, sir?" he queried. "That seems rather ambitious."
Thankfully, sleep was starting to overtake the man as his eyelids drooped closed and his words drawled out. Bates helped him into bed.
"You'd be..." he yawned, "good at it."
"I'll keep that in mind, sir."
Unlike Captain Crawley who was a reservist anticipating returning to civilian life as soon as he could, Bates was a career soldier with no desire to leave the army. However, it never hurt to have other options.
"Good night, sir," he said with a smile. But the other man was already asleep.
Bates returned to his tent and as he settled down onto his own cot, he remembered the half-drunk bottle of whisky he'd hidden away. With a shrug of his shoulders, he took another swig from it, and this time it went down smoother than before. He was not much of a whisky drinker, but the little he'd had before with Captain Crawley had warmed his belly and left him feeling less anxious about the coming days. It was a turning point in the war, certainly, but like a curve in the road, he could not see what might lay ahead.
In the following days, the rumors which had pervaded the camp of the battalion remaining in South Africa became official. They were to be dispatched to Cape Colony rather than return home. The war was stretching on, with the Boers' guerrilla tactics targeting British infrastructure and supplies.
But it was not Bates' destiny to see the end of the conflict.
Years later...
"Are those the applications?" Cora asked, gesturing to the small stack of envelopes on Robert's desk.
"Yes," he said with a sigh. "They keep pouring in, but there aren't many with the proper qualifications, I'm afraid."
"It's too bad Mister Watson left in such a hurry and didn't serve out his notice," she lamented with a frown.
"Yes, I cannot abide such a lack of professionalism from someone in service their whole lives. Of course, based on things Carson has said, we were probably lucky to be rid of him."
His wife smiled at him fondly, in that way she sometimes got before suggesting something he might not like.
"Perhaps you should just take Thomas as your valet," she said.
Thomas Barrow was a decent footman, certainly. But Robert had never felt truly comfortable with him. Even though he felt quite certain the man was a closeted dandy, that didn't bother him as much as Thomas' sense of superiority, as though he resented serving others but did it out of necessity.
"I would rather have someone I feel I can trust implicitly," he told her. But he doubted Cora would understand, not when she had a snake like O'Brien as her lady's maid. He could not imagine being dressed and undressed by someone who might be actively scheming against him.
Robert picked up another envelope and slit the top with a letter opener. Pulling out the sheets within, he scanned them. Mister William Molesley from the village had a son working in York, and Joseph Molesley was interested in returning to the village if he could find a place. Robert remembered the man a little, and based on the application he had extensive experience in service. But the placement did not feel quite right. He set the letter aside, thoughtful that if something else came up, the younger Molesley might be brought home.
"But how can you possibly trust a stranger implicitly? Sometimes you must give people a chance, Robert. Maybe you could give Thomas a trial, to see if he'd suit you."
"I don't want Barrow," he said sharply, ending the discussion.
The next application was entirely unsuitable. The man was a footman, not even a first footman, in Sheffield, but he'd like to "try his hand" at valeting. Robert restrained himself from rolling his eyes.
Cora had moved from the chair by his desk and relocated to one of the settees by the fire. The girls had just returned from an errand in the village and were upstairs changing. Before long his entirely female household would be taking over the quiet library with their talk of clothes and eligible men. Well, all but Pharaoh who waited silently by his desk to follow him out or receive some stray affection. Robert considered going on a walk, but he still had a few more applications to look through.
He did not recognize the handwriting on the last envelope, not that he looked at it very closely. But as his eyes scanned the words on the pages, his heart leaped with excitement.
Bates.
Private Bates had written to him, applying to be his valet. Robert had not even realized the man had left the army, and while the details of his career in the past few years were sparse, Robert paid it little attention. Sometimes servants fell in with bad masters who might refuse to give them a reference. In such cases, he understood why it was better to ignore the time period completely rather than to draw attention to a poor placement.
Of course, Bates had not gone overboard in emphasizing his past connection with the Earl of Grantham, but as his chief recommendation was having served with him in the Boers, he could not ignore it either. In some ways, it read like a letter to an old friend and reminded Robert of his batman's quiet character and efficiency. He spoke of his qualifications without embellishment, mostly mentioning his time in the army and skills he had picked up along the way. And long ago, he'd even served as a footman, something Robert distantly remembered but had quite forgotten about.
He looked up to inform Cora that he had found the perfect candidate for his new valet, one who did not even need references as he was so well known to the Earl. But at that moment Sybil entered the library, followed closely by Mary and an ill-expressioned Edith who was glaring daggers at her older sister. Robert sighed as he wondered if they would ever get along.
"Hello, Papa," they each said, greeting him in turn. Sybil always sounded the most genuine, for some reason and he resisted the urge to treat her as a favorite.
As the three young women joined his wife by the fire, he could not help but smile as he looked on. It had not been that long ago when he stood on a far away battlefield, wondering if he would ever see his family again, if he would live to watch the girls grow into strong young women. He glanced back at Bates' letter. If not for that man, he would not be sitting where he was today. He owed Bates more than he could possibly describe, and suddenly the notion of giving the man a position took on even greater importance.
And even more than that, it would do Robert good to have an ally on his side. Dressing a man was a very intimate business, never mind the private conversations a valet often overheard. And Bates was the soul of discretion, Robert knew. It was so perfect a choice that he could not contain his excitement. And for once, he would have someone about he could really talk to about the everyday mundane details of life.
Robert settled it without a second thought, drawing out a piece of paper to write back to Bates. With a glance at Cora and the girls, he determined to tell his wife later in the evening, once the response was posted. Sealing up the envelope, he set it to one side to give to Carson to post later. When he stood from his seat, Pharaoh jumped up as well and followed him over to the group of ladies.
"Are you done with your writing, Papa?" Sybil asked as he took a seat next to her.
Before he could respond, Edith was appealing to him for a superior claim on the governess cart for the next day's outing, her errand being of infinite more importance than Mary's. Cora had left the decision to him, of course, and Robert sighed as he began to sort out the details of each daughter's plans. And once the decision was made and the prevailing daughter looked haughtily at the other, Robert sat back to listen for a time.
And for a very long moment, he yearned for earlier days.
fin