This story is based on a conversation with my mother, and was written, in large part, by her. I am responsible for the John and Anna sections, and general buffing and polishing. I know where it is supposed to go, but I'm not sure if either of us will finish it. Her vision is huge, and I thought this deserved to see daylight (I'm posting without her knowledge or consent). A brief historical tidbit: some liberties were taken with the date of the Cottingley fairy photographs. They were taken between 1917 and 1920, and Conan Doyle's first article on them appeared in the Christmas 1920 issue of The Strand. We needed it to happen a little earlier. For further details, please see Arthur Conan Doyle, The Coming of the Fairies, 1922/2006 reprint, University of Nebraska Press.

Spring, 1920

York Prison

John Bates lay on his narrow cot and tried to stretch his bad leg. The damp spring had turned the dull ache in his thigh into full-fledged rheumatism. It didn't help that he wasn't allowed to use a cane in prison. If Anna and Lord Grantham ever succeeded in getting his conviction overturned, he wouldn't be able to walk at all. But who was he kidding; Lord Grantham wasn't that powerful. That had been one of John Murray's many mistakes in his defense.

John had tried to be hopeful in the time leading up to his trial for Anna's sake. She was so positive, so fearless, it was persuasive. He knew the evidence against him was quite damaging. Everything looked bad, and he still didn't understand why the crown hadn't dragged Anna into the middle of the whole sordid mess. At least she was spared that indignity. At least he had his life, such as it was. He could see her once a week across a table for an hour. It was almost like the old days at Downtown, before Vera came back. Vera. If there was any such thing as an afterlife, which he sincerely doubted, he hoped Vera was happy. She'd won.

Later that same evening

Downton Abbey

"What in flamin' hell you doing with that thing, Daisy?"

Since standing up to Mrs. Patmore and spending more time with Mr. Mason, Daisy's confidence had grown, but Miss O'Brien could still make her jump and shake. Daisy clutched the Ouija board to her chest, her eyes like saucers.

"I…I was just…"

"It's okay Daisy," drawled Thomas, cigarette dangling from his lips. "We know you were just trying to get in touch with sweet Willie, weren't you?" He winked at Miss O'Brien.

Daisy went dark red. Mentions of William and their brief marriage still upset her.

"No…I wasn't…I just…"

"Oh get over it girl! We all know! You just married him because he was a nice boy and Mrs. Patmore told you to! It weren't a lie! Now give that thing here and let's have us some fun!" Miss O'Brien grabbed the board from Daisy and placed it on the table. Lily, Thomas, and the new footman, Edward, joined her, placing their hands on the dial.

"Now, who's out there?" O'Brien asked the spirit world.

The dial didn't move at first. The gang looked at each other, debating who should accuse whom of not pushing it or holding it wrong, when suddenly a window slammed shut and the room turned cold. Their wrists all snapped together to V….E….R….A in rapid, jerky succession.

They all jumped back in horror! Vera!

Mrs. Patmore gathered herself and asked, "What do you want?"

The dial again it started to move under their fingers.. This time it moved rapidly all over the board, finally settling on the letters R….I….C….H….A….R….D. Thomas was the first to spell these letters out loud and when he said the name Richard, they all looked confused as none of them could think of anyone named Richard.

Mrs. Patmore had regained her confidence and asked another question.

"Who did you say? Richard?"

As they all stared at the board the dial started moving again. This time it went to the letters T…H…O…M…A….S. Mrs. Patmore was spelling the letters out loud as the others looked at the board.

Thomas wasn't even paying attention until all the eyes in the room were on him.

"What? What'd I do?"

"Apparently you killed Vera Bates." Miss O'Brien had gone white looking at him.

"What?" Thomas stood. "What? Why would I kill that woman? I'm no fan of John Bates, but I have better things to do than frame him for murder." He looked around the room. They were all staring at him. "It was you pushing it, wasn't it, O'Brien?"

"No, Thomas, it wasn't me." Her voice was almost fearful.

"Well then, it was you Mrs. Patmore, all along, like that time at Christmas with William…."

"What? That weren't William?" Daisy's face fell.

"Would anyone like to tell me what is going on in here?" They all looked at each other as Mrs. Hughes entered the room.

Later that same evening

Lady Mary's room

"Thank you Anna." She smiled at her maid in the mirror as Anna tied off the end of her braid.

"Anna, I was thinking, when Matthew and I marry, I'll need a proper lady's maid."

"Of course, my lady."

"I was hoping you might consider taking the position. You see, I don't think I could stand to break in a new maid after we've been together for so long, and I'd miss you."

Anna smiled. "Thank you, my lady."

"And it would mean more time to yourself. When Mr. Bates is released I'm sure that will be nice…"

Her voice trailed off as Anna's eyes fell. If Mr. Bates was released. Mary knew that was a long shot, and she knew that if Mr. Bates was ever released if he was in any condition to work, no one other than her father or Matthew would employ him. It would be hard enough for Anna to find work as the wife of a convicted murdered, conviction overturned or not. But Anna mustn't think it was pity.

"Please think about it." Mary smiled, hoping Anna would.

"I will my lady. I'll talk to Mr. Bates about it when I see him tomorrow."

"Of course. Goodnight, Anna."

"Goodnight, my lady."

Mary remembered she needed to ask her mother something before she went to bed. She walked down the hall, trying to find the right words, and stopped suddenly before knocking. She heard her parents' voices raised. She froze with her hand on the knob.

"You did what with a maid? Oh Robert, how could you? It's bad enough you spent the entire war stomping around like a spoiled child in your soldier suit, it's bad enough you insulted my nationality at every opportunity, but a maid? What will your mother say?"

Even later the same evening

Anna's bedroom

Anna sat on the edge of her bed. She no longer had to share a room. When her marriage to John was announced, within minutes of his arrest, some changes had taken place in the household. Lord Grantham offered her the cottage he had promised them, but she turned it down, saying she'd rather wait to move in when John was released. Lord Grantham agreed that it wouldn't be long and the cottage would be kept in readiness. Even after it was clear John wouldn't be returning anytime soon, Lord Grantham continued to pay Anna John's wages. He told her it was the least he could do to take care of her in John's place after all John had done for him. Mr. Murray had helped to find a tenant for John's house in London. Now that it was associated with Vera, Anna hoped to never set foot in it again. She'd been to London and taken all that John had identified as important to him. Everything else could stay in the house for the tenant or be sold.

It was lucky she didn't have a roommate; John's things took over the other half of her room. She had cleaned out his room soon after his arrest. She knew it was silly, and that Mrs. Hughes would wonder why they were short a pillowcase, but she kept the pillow from his bed. It smelled like him, and she couldn't bear the thought of his scent disappearing, some unknown putting their head where his had been. Mrs. Hughes never asked. One particularly dark day, she had picked out the suit she would bury him in if it came to that. The camel one with the blue shirt he wore for their wedding. He had been so happy that day. He had been so beautiful. She had waited seven years for that day, and she was still waiting.

She thought she would accept Lady Mary's offer. She would miss Lady Mary when she left, and a change might do her good. Lady's maid to the future Countess of Grantham was certainly better than housekeeper-in-waiting to the current Countess of Grantham, and Anna was tired of waiting.

Even later

Cora's room

Cora was wide awake. Robert was sleeping in his dressing room, and she hoped it was comfortable enough for him because he'd be in there for the foreseeable future. She couldn't believe what he had told her. She would never forgive this. Never! How could he? That it had all happened when she supposed to be dying of flu made it even worse. How could Robert do this to her and to his family? What would others say if they knew? She was tired of being Lady Grantham. Divorce wasn't an option of course, but she was still young, and she hoped, reasonably attractive. There were other options for revenge.

The next morning

The Courtyard

"I hear there was quite a row last night between His Lordship and your lady," Thomas had just perfected blowing smoke in circles.

"Did you hear that for yerself, or did the master tell you?" Miss O'Brien had perfected the skill years ago, when Thomas was still a lad.

"You know he don't tell me nothing, not like he did old Batesy. I was listening at the door." His grammar tended to slip when they were alone.

"That's the best way to learn. So what'd you hear?"

"Well, we all know Jane was after more than just a job…."

Later that morning

The Dower House

"Mary dear, are you sure you heard correctly? Listening at keyholes is very inaccurate but can be a most useful skill, if honed properly."

Mary sighed. "Yes, Granny, I'm sure. Papa told Mama he had an affair with one of the maids and was now sending her money to support the child."

Violet sighed. "I thought I raised him better than to carry on with the hired help. Do you know which maid? Not that coarse red-haired one, is it?"

"No, I didn't hear which maid, but it wasn't Ethel. We can obviously rule out Anna, and Daisy of course and never O'Brien." Mary visibly shuddered.

"Of course dear, none of them have recently been in a delicate condition, though was some concern when that maid of yours secretly married that lame convict…."

"Granny! I've asked Anna to come with me when Matthew and I are married."

"Good. She's a fool if she doesn't accept."

Mary sighed again. "Yes, but what about Papa and this maid? What are we going to do?"

Violet shook her head. "I'll ring for tea."

Later that same day

York Prison Mess Hall

John stirred at the bowl in front of him. At some point, it may have been beef. Not any more. Anna had looked better today. She was wearing blue, and her new hat. An hour wasn't enough time, but then he didn't have anything new to tell her, other than he loved her and didn't deserve her. He hoped she took the new job with Lady Mary. It would do her good. He wondered if it would seem ungrateful to Lord Grantham to fire Mr. Murray. There was a lot to the law, and one man couldn't be expected to know it all. Maybe Mr. Crawley would know someone younger, better…no, if he did he would have mentioned him earlier…

There was the new guy. He was looking at John and asking Roberts a question. Maybe John should pay attention.

"Who was that blond number visiting Bates? That his daughter or something?"

John heard Roberts telling the new guy, Mclean he thought, to shut up and not mention it, but she was Mrs. Bates. Roberts had made that mistake as well, and John had encouraged him to redirect his thinking. John had kept his hands to himself; he had more to lose then. He didn't need to walk into a trial for murder with a history of violence against other prisoners. Anna had brought him his copy of Seneca. He had discovered Seneca the last time he was in prison. The first time he was in prison.

"That's his wife? Whoa, Batesy, how'd you manage that one?"

John poked at his stew again. He felt his rage building. Roberts was trying to reason with Mclean, urging him to leave it alone.

"Gentleman's gentleman won't hurt me, besides, he's an old cripple. I just want to know how he landed that sweet little blond!"

John heard his mother's voice. Temper, Johnny. Temper. John had seen Mclean's wife. He had a right to be jealous. Mrs. Mclean was short, stout, bosom up to her chin and hat jammed low on her forehead. Anna was graceful, her swanlike neck…More importantly, John had noticed Mclean looking at Anna, at that would never do. His fist clenched around his spoon. Temper Johnny.

"What's a matter Bates, she too fine a lady to let you..."

As Mclean made a crude gesture, John pushed himself to his feet. His leg would punish him, but he didn't care. He reached across the table and pulled Mclean up by the front of his shirt, dishes flying from the table. He hadn't given into rage in years, and it felt good.

"The key word there, Mclean, is lady." He shook him once. This felt right. "Yes, my wife is much younger than me and far better than I could ever hope to deserve, but she is a lady, and you will remember that and in the future restrict your comments about her or any of her many fine qualities accordingly. In fact, I think it would be better, smarter, if you simply didn't mention her. Be assured if you do, I will hurt you. Cripple or not, I will destroy every bone in your worthless, stinking body if you so much as look at Anna ever again. Believe me, I can and I will."

John held him in the air for a minute. He stank. John stank. He hadn't had a proper wash since his trial. For Anna to have to see him like this, in this stinking hellhole. Damn Vera. He started to lower him. Mclean wasn't worth it. John reconsidered. He lifted him and shoved him through the air and watched as he hit the next table with a thud. Anna was.

Downton Abbey

The Next Morning

Cora's bedroom

"Edith dear," Cora was pacing, "I've decided you and I will return to Newport with your grandmother after Mary's wedding."

Edith looked out the window. She'd never been to America, but things were just starting to move along with Sir Anthony and she had hoped…

"Edith, dear," her mother sat next to her and took her hands, "Sir Anthony may not know what he wants, and there will come a time when you may have to act. Newport will either spur him into action, or lead you to an entirely different life." They both smiled. Edith nodded, blinking back tears.

"What about Papa? Is he coming too?" Edith noticed her mother hesitated and looked down before answering.

"No, dear, he'll be staying here. What with the war, and the stress of Bates's trial, and Mary's wedding, he needs some time to himself." Edith wasn't convinced. "And you'll enjoy America. We'll do some travelling, see the different areas." Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. "It will be an adventure, just the Levinson ladies."

Same morning

The grounds

Robert was also up early. He couldn't remember the last time he was exiled to his dressing room, other than by illness. He and Isis had taken an early walk around the grounds. With Bates gone, he sometimes felt Isis was his only friend. He thought he was going insane. What had possessed him to kiss Jane? He loved Cora and the girls, but there was an undeniable attraction to Jane. He knew it wasn't uncommon for gentlemen to do more than kiss a maid, but he had always held himself to a higher standard. At least he wouldn't have to see her again, and at least he was able to help her look after her boy. Isis wanted to chase a squirrel. Robert sighed. Dogs were so simple, so happy. He had so many privileges, such a blessed life, and he couldn't be happy. If he could ever face Bates again, which he doubted, he hoped he could thank him for preventing him from making a complete fool of himself that night.

That afternoon

Mr. Carson's Pantry

"Thank you, Daisy, that will be all," Mr. Carson intoned as the poor girl scurried from the room.

Mrs. Hughes closed the door as she and Mrs. Patmore sat. It was really the most curious story she'd heard. The spirit of Mrs. Bates accusing Sir Richard Carlisle and Thomas of her murder. She just didn't know what to think.

"Well, if you ask me, Mr. Carson, there's nothing in that board. Someone just pushed it to have a bit of fun, and I think we can guess who it was."

Mr. Carson drummed in his fingers together. "Indeed, Mrs. Patmore, I think we can. And I certainly can't lend any credence to Vera Bates speaking from beyond the grave, especially if it helped Mr. Bates."

Mrs. Hughes wasn't so sure. That woman was a nasty piece of work, if ever there was, but if anyone wasn't going to keep quiet and dead it was her. Mrs. Hughes never believed in spirits or any such nonsense, though she had an aunt back in Argyll who swore she saw the ghost of her grandfather out in the garden every year on the anniversary of his death.

Mr. Carson turned to her. "You've been awfully quiet, Mrs. Hughes, what do you think?"

She took a deep breath. "Usually I wouldn't give it a second thought. It just sounds like such nonsense, but…but this time…I know you'll both think I've gone daft, but this time…if there's any possibility at all in it, we have to look into it. We owe it them, to Anna and poor Mr. Bates."

Anna. Mrs. Hughes hadn't expected Anna to be back to her old self, and she hadn't expected forgiveness after what she had said at the trial, but to see Anna wasting away, spending all her free time alone in her room or in the courtyard just broke Mrs. Hughes's heart. At one time, Mrs. Hughes had planned to groom Anna as her replacement. She knew Anna had no family, and tended to think of her more as a daughter than a staff member. Ordinarily Mrs. Hughes would have taken steps to break up any budding romance, but she saw immediately things between Anna and Mr. Bates were different than what she was usually faced with from the maids. Maybe if she'd known he was married….

"What are you suggesting, Mrs. Hughes, that we find a medium to take the statement of someone speaking from a Ouija board?" Mr. Carson was incredulous.

"Are you sure you're feeling alright? I can send Daisy up with some tea and shortbread if you'd like a lie down?" Mrs. Patmore looked worried. "Or maybe you'd like something stronger?"

"No, I'm fine Mrs. Patmore." Mrs. Hughes swallowed. She had a bottle of Oban in her sitting room for later. "That's exactly what I'm suggesting. After everything those two have been through, we owe it to them to explore everything, no matter how daft it seems. Who am I to say it isn't Vera Bates from beyond the grave?"

The same day

The dining room

Robert and Mary lingered in the dinning room, waiting until Cora and Edith were out of sight. Even after her talk with her grandmother, she was not willing to let what she overheard rest. Maybe this was what her father had meant when he told her she wasn't the first in the family to make a mistake.

"Papa, is everything alright?"

He looked startled. "Yes Mary, of course it is. Why shouldn't it be?"

Mary raised an eyebrow. She would play that game with most people on most topics, but this was serious.

"Well, last night, I went to Mama's room at bedtime, but stopped when I heard raised voices." She stared pointedly at him. The vein on his neck was quivering.

"How dare you! You should be ashamed of yourself! Listening at keyholes! What would your grandmother say?"

They jumped as Mr. Carson cleared his voice and announced the arrival of the Dowager Countess.

"Well, Robert, since you asked, I'd congratulate the girl for developing a valuable and important skill."

Later that evening

Cora's bedroom

O'Brien had just left, and Cora was finally able to have some time to herself. She had not mentioned America to her yet. Determined as she was to leave for a time, she knew she had to wait until after Mary was settled. Cora sighed and nestled under the blankets. She was tired of doing the right thing for the Family, but this was Mary. Mary needed her.

She heard a knock, and sighed.

"Cora? May I…may I come in?"

She didn't answer.

"Please?"

It would serve him right to make him stand outside her door in his pajamas begging, but she was better than that. She sighed again.

"Yes Robert, come in."

He looked so nervous she nearly forgave him. She stifled a smile. Revenge might actually be more fun if she took it here…

"Cora, I…I'm sorry. I don't know what else to say."

She raised an eyebrow and turned a page. "I could think of a few things."

Robert chuckled. "I think the war and your illness and this business with Bates has had a worse affect on me than I wanted to admit. I think we could do with a change. What if after Mary's wedding, we took a honeymoon of sorts of our own? Perhaps the Rivera? It's been years, and after all we've been through, and after all I've put you through, I think we need a change a scenery."

Cora glanced up from her book, but didn't look at him. A change of scenery. She did long to see Newport again, but revenge might be sweeter with Robert in toe. This could fun. She put on her sweetest smile and reached for his open hand.

"I think, Robert, that's an intriguing idea."

A week later

Mr. Carson's pantry

"Well, here they are." Edward placed a stack of old issues of The Strand on the table.

"Thank you, Edward, that will be all."

"You'll give them back, won't you?" The boy was nervous around Mr. Carson still.

"Yes, I'll give them back. Now don't you have work to do."

Edward scurried out.

"Well, Mrs. Hughes, here we go. I think it was a fairly recent issue. Last summer if I recall."

Mrs. Hughes sighed. "I never thought I'd be looking through magazines to see pictures of fairies." She picked up a copy and began to leaf through it. "I never thought I'd think hiring a medium was a good idea." She sighed. "I never thought I'd get a good and honest man condemned and ruin the life of….." She stared into the distance.

"No, but we never can tell where life might lead us, can we? When I was on stage with…well, with this lot here, I never thought I'd be the butler in one of the grandest houses in England, but here I am." He showed her a page featuring some of his former colleagues. "She hasn't aged well at all…." Mrs. Hughes wondered what the woman in the photograph had looked like in her prime.

"Here it is. I never thought a man as reasonable and respected as Sir Arthur Conan Doyle would believe in fairies. This is madness." She was riveted by the pictures, so obviously paper.

"Wouldn't you? I thought you Scots went in for things like that." His lips twitched as he raised an eyebrow.

Mrs. Hughes slapped him across the knee with the magazine. "Well, we do have our fairies, but not these wee flowery things. And they look like paper! I can't believe he thinks they're real!"

"Indeed. Here's the name of the medium. I'll telephone right away."

"Good. I just want it to be over."

Same day

York prison visitors room

"A fight?"

"He made a gesture."

"Is that why he looks so nervous?"

"I hope so. And it wasn't really a fight."

"You attacked him?"

"He insulted you."

Anna was wearing her blue dress and that white blouse with the lace. He saw the bracelet he had given her for her birthday those many years ago sneaking out below her sleeve. Maybe if he tried to reach her foot with his…

"Well, enough of this. You'll never guess what's new with Mr. Molesley."

John would prefer not to. Sniveling, servile, free Molesley. He should have hit him with that blasted shoehorn when he had the chance. He smiled at Anna.

"I'll try. He got Mr. Crawley a new shaving brush."

"No."

"His father grew a giant beanstalk and they're selling tours."

She grinned and rolled her eyes. It was their anniversary, but neither wanted to say so. John had written Mr. Crawley, asking him to ask Lady Mary to pick out a gift for Anna and to collect the money from Lord Grantham. It wasn't perfect, but it was the best he could do. He supposed he would learned how they had done on her next visit.

"No."

The most implausible thing he could think of for Molesley…

"He has a lady friend."

"Yes. Mr. Molesley has a lady friend. And you'll never guess who it is!"

Robert's Dressing Room

A few days later

"What I can't understand, Thomas, is how Mr. Pamuk even found Lady Mary's bedroom at all." Thomas groaned to himself. Not this again. "And why she didn't scream." She didn't scream because she wanted him. He was an uncommonly handsome man and he knew it. "But the corridors are so confusing. He must have had help." Thomas felt his heart stop as Lord Grantham slowly turned to him.

"His man wasn't with him. He asked for a footman."

"My Lord…you see…"

"You took him to my daughter's room." Lord Grantham's voice had dropped to a whisper.

"My Lord…you see…Mr. Pamuk…he asked me…and I thought…"

"You thought my daughter was a wanton tart to throw away her reputation, her good name, for a handsome foreigner? I am such a fool. All the chances I've given you." He shook his head. "I should have dismissed you for the stealing, for trying to frame John Bates, the best man I know, for any number of other insolences, but no, I kept giving you a chance, and all along, you were behind the mystery of Mr. Pamuk and Mary. I bet you even had something to with Isis's disappearance." That dog never did take to him. "That's it. You're dismissed. Collect what's owed you from Carson and be out of my house within the hour."

No. It wasn't happening. All he'd worked for, gone. "But…my Lord…"

"Get out."

Anna's room

Much later in the evening

Anna closed her door and removed her nightgown and dressing gown, which she had worn to the washroom to brush her teeth, and slipped into John's dressing gown. She didn't do this every night; she knew it would stop to smell like him eventually if she did that, and she never wanted to forget how he smelled. It as close to the feeling of being wrapped in John she would ever have again, and on these nights, she indulged herself. The fabric was beginning to be a mixture of their scents. John would like that, if she told him. She was afraid to tell him.

She laid down. She had ceased saying her prayers soon after John's sentence was commuted. She wasn't sure why. John had his life, but she felt God had abandoned them. Maybe John was right; maybe it was all just a story.

She wondered if she would sleep. Some nights she was afraid to sleep. The nightmare had started after the sentence was commuted. It was always the same. John, in his best suit, asleep, with that little smile like a shared secret and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. As she reached to kiss him, her hand on his collar, she was confused. He felt wrong. He was cold. Stiff. There was a mark on his neck. A horrible red mark covered by his collar and tie. He was being lowered into a wooden box into the ground. The cold wet ground. She screamed.

It happened the same way each time. She sat bolt upright in her bed screaming, her sheets soaked with sweat, sometimes naked from where John's dressing gown had fallen from her shoulders. The first time all the lights went on and her door burst open, all the female staff in the door, staring, like they had at Mr. Lang that night. Anna hadn't even been aware they were there until Mrs. Patmore bustled in and cradled her to her bosom, rocking her, ordering Daisy to fetch tea and the others to clear off. Anna had gasped and sobbed and watched as Mrs. Hughes and Miss O'Brien turned pale to see her and slowly left, Mrs. Patmore urging them out. The other times it happened Mrs. Patmore got to her first. Anna wondered if the others were afraid of her. They certainly kept their distance the mornings after.

Anna looked into the darkness. She was afraid to sleep, but she needed to get away. John had once waxed poetic on the oblivion drink could bring. Maybe that was what she needed.