A/N: I don't know if a trigger warning is exactly called for here, but better safe than sorry. This story obliquely references certain events from season four, so be advised. I don't own these characters, but I can TOTALLY see them doing this. Let me know what you think.
Give 'em the old one-two
It all started in London…
"By God, you should have been there, Bates! I haven't seen a knock down drag out like that match since…since our Army days."
"Really, m'Lord…?"
As Lord Grantham waxed on about the prize fight he had been to see at the new arena, John Bates was carefully hanging his suit and getting his evening wear ready. He was listening with only half an ear as matters of polishing and mending took center stage in his mind.
Besides, he didn't share the same nostalgia for those Army boxing matches that His Lordship apparently did. It might have had something to do with having been the one inside the ring, taking the punches and laying on the blows for the honor of the company.
"These prize fights are the up and coming thing, Bates. A real opportunity for sportsmen to test their limits, you know. To see what you're really made of." His Lordship's eyes were far away in memories of boyhood fist fights, University brawls, and the deep brotherhood that came with the crucible of war. "This is just the sort of thing to make men out of our lads."
Had Bates been paying more attention, he would have recognized that the cogs were turning over in His Lordship's mind, and he could have easily deflected him. But as he slipped the dinner jacket over His Lordship's shoulders, he idly made the observation that was destined to turn the whole of Downton Abbey on it's head.
"I hear the lads in the village have a bit of a boxing club going," he said as he brushed His Lordship's shoulders. "There's been something of a stir because it's taking time away from practicing the cricket."
When he turned His Lordship around to double check all the buttons, he could see by the light in his eyes that he had hit upon an idea. And he felt his stomach drop to the top of his highly shined shoes when His Lordship spoke.
"A boxing club, eh? How splendid! This sounds like something the folks at the Abbey might want to look into. Don't you agree, Bates?"
Bates hid his alarmed grimace as best he could and made a noncommittal noise.
"We'll talk more when we get back tomorrow," His Lordship promised.
John Bates was by no means a praying man, but he sent a very heartfelt plea up to whatever might be listening that something - anything - would happen to district His Lordship from whatever was percolating in his mind. The voice in his head that was telling him he was a great bloody idiot sounded far too much like his wife's for comfort.
And it continued when the green fields of Downton appeared through the windshield….
"Why ever in the world did you put it into his head?" Anna Bates asked with amusement. John Bates couldn't hold his head in his hands and groan - they were in the Servant's Hall, after all - but every fiber of his being was urging him to do so.
"I don't know… I wasn't really listening to him. All I caught was the bit about boxing, then I mentioned the village club, and then…"
"And then he decided that Downton Abbey must have it's own boxing champion to match with the village club winner?"
"It took the entire car ride from London to work through it, but yes."
Before Anna could respond, Mr. Carson rang the dressing gong and they both got to their feet. As they mounted the staircase to the upstairs of the great house, there was time for one more exchange.
"Maybe he'll come to his senses," Anna suggested.
"Ever the optimist," John grumbled.
Anna scrunched up her nose at him. "Hold on to hope, Mr. Bates. Where His Lordship's concerned, it's all we've got."
She watched her husband pause before entering His Lordship's dressing room, girding his loins for the conversation that would surely ensure the moment Lord Grantham saw him. Once he had prepared himself, he tipped her a wink and entered the lion's den. Anna smothered a giggle and was thankful that her responsibilities did not involve trying to convince a willful aristocrat to turn away from a foolish idea.
Well, she checked herself, not lately, anyway…
"Has Bates told you about Papa's plan for a new competition between the village and the Abbey?" Lady Mary asked with a smile quirking the corner of her mouth.
"He has, M'Lady," she replied, trying not to roll her eyes too obviously.
"A boxing match. Whatever is he thinking? Isn't the yearly cricket match embarrassing enough?"
Anna nodded and continued laying out jewelry for the evening. It was reassuring that Lady Mary seemed to think the idea was silly. Maybe this wouldn't come back to haunt her husband as much as he feared.
But as John Bates was discovering as he tried to get an overexcited earl into his dinner clothes, she was, sadly, spectacularly wrong.
"What do you think, Bates? Who's fit for it? Downstairs, I mean."
"Fit for a boxing match, M'Lord?" he ask disbelievingly. Does he think we're hiding Kid Lewis amongst the hall boys?
"They'll need some training up, of course. But I'm sure they'll all want to fight for the honor of Downton!"
Bates did not like where this was going. His Lordship was eyeing him in a calculated way that made him uneasy.
"My boxing days are long behind me, M'Lord," he said with a nervous laugh. "I'm not even sure how they do it these days."
"Nonsense, Bates. Boxing is boxing. Hit the other chap and knock him down before he hits you. Nothing's changed."
Bates clenched his jaw and straightened his Lordship's jacket.
"Pity Tom left for America," His Lordship mused. "The Irish are always up for a fight. But I daresay I could go a few rounds. I'll just need you to show me a few pointers. In fact…why don't you be the Downton trainer, Bates?"
Bates dropped the brush on the floor. This was worse than he thought. And not likely to get better. He winced as he bent down to pick up the brush, muttering apologies.
"We'll stand a real chance with you captaining the ship! What do you say?"
What was he supposed to say? Seeing as how "Have you lost your bloody mind, M'Lord," wouldn't be advisable, Bates took a deep breath and forced the words past his lips.
"If you think so, M'Lord."
"Splendid! Is that the time? Good Lord, Bates. You shouldn't let me go on like this. Better dash."
And with that, His Lordship left his dressing room, leaving Bates standing in the middle of the floor, gripping His Lordship's suit tightly enough to crease it, with an overwhelming urge to punch somebody.
His Lordship would do nicely.
"Who will stand for the honor of Downton?"
There was nothing new about John Bates brooding. But as he leaned against the wall in the Servant's Hall, waiting for dinner, he was brooding at an unprecedented level. However was he going to train someone from this motley crew to stand against the strapping farm lads of the village club? And who would do it? Who was loyal enough to Downton to risk life and limb in the ring?
Mr. Carson came to mind, of course. He had the size and reach of a heavy weight. But Lord, the man must be in his sixties. And there was no way Mrs. Carson was going to allow it for even a moment.
However much he disliked the man, he had to admit Mr. Barrow could take a punch. He was clever and fast. And, if he was being honest, John might enjoy watching his smug face get bent out of shape a bit. If it wasn't for his war injury… perhaps if he was matched against a novice, or a real hobbledehoy, he could win on points before his hand gave him too much grief. But it was unlikely he would be willing to train under John.
And for the footmen, well, Andy was a tall drink of water. Good reach, and he might have some speed on him, but no weight to put behind his punches. And Mr. Moelsley… John snorted with laughter at the thought. Still, he had some stamina and strength from being first and only footman for so long. The wheeze was vexing, and he just didn't seem to have any fighting spirit. But if he could be trained, no one would be expecting anything much from him, and that would give him an advantage.
John ran his critical eye over the Hall Boys, and dismissed them all as too young, too small, and too reckless. This was going to be impossible.
John refused to even consider His Lordship's intention to get into the ring. It was not going to happen.
Anna stood near the door and watched her husband brood. She smiled as his usually stoic face ran a gamut of expressions from despairing to vaguely hopeful to dismissive. Something was certainly eating at him.
"Penny for them," she said, breaking into his thoughts by placing her hand on his arm. He startled and gave her a preoccupied smile.
"You'd pay twice as much not to know them."
"Are you still worried about His Lordship's boxing scheme?" she asked in a low tone, checking to see that they weren't being overheard.
"I most certainly am," he said dismally.
Anna was about to tell him that Lady Mary, at least, thought it a mad plan, but she noticed that he wasn't keen to meet her eyes.
"What's going on, Mr. Bates?"
"We'd better sit down. They'll be ready to serve soon," he deflected.
"Tell me," she ordered. A horrible thought was beginning to surface in her mind as she remembered John mentioning his past boxing experience.
John sighed and kept his voice low. "His Lordship has asked me to—"
"No!" she interrupted firmly. "No. Not even for…no. Absolutely not!" Her voice was rising in her agitation and several people were looking in their direction, including Mr. Carson who was standing at the head of the table, waiting rather impatiently for them to sit.
"Anna…" he began, as he escorted her to the table with his hand resting lightly on her back.
"No," she said simply.
"We can talk about it later," he hissed as more of the staff looked curiously in their direction.
"That won't be necessary, Mr. Bates, because you boxing for Downton is not up for discussion," she hissed back.
He looked at her in surprise.
So did Mr. Molesley, who tore his attention away from Miss Baxter long enough to listen to the Bates' intense discussion.
"He doesn't want me to box, Anna," he tried to whisper to her after grace had been said by an increasingly grumpy Mr. Carson. "He wants me to train the boxers."
They definitely had Mr. Molesley's attention now, And Mr. Barrow was looking at them suspiciously as well.
"And how is that any better?" she asked angrily. Unable to explain at the table, and not really sure that he could honestly say that it was better, he settled for a shrug and a grimace. This pleased Anna not at all, and the glint in her eye and set of her jaw made him quite certain this was not the end of the discussion.
Unfortunately, the discussion was not going to be able to be put off for a private moment in the cottage. Mr. Carson cleared his throat and looked pointedly at Mr. Bates.
"Erm…Mr. Bates. His Lordship mentioned to me earlier that you had something about which to address the staff. Perhaps you might go ahead and do so."
Every head in at the table swiveled to focus on John. Most were merely curious. Mr. Molesley was anxious. Mr. Barrow, suspicious, as usual. Anna looked him with a cocked eyebrow and a demanding glare.
"His Lordship has decided that Downton should have someone to stand for her honor against the village boxing club…" There was a ripple of excitement among the hall boys. "I boxed a bit back in my Army days, so even though I can't exactly get in the ring now…" Mr. Barrow snorted contemptuously. "His Lordship has given me the…er, honor of being the trainer."
John looked around to judge the reactions. Mr. Carson looked, frankly, dubious. Mr. Barrow sneered dismissively. Only the hall boys were the least bit excited, although Andy looked interested. Mr. Molesley looked rather concerned, as if he was afraid John was going to tie the gloves onto his hands before the pudding could even be served.
"This isn't going to interfere with the cricket?" Mr. Carson asked, rumbling in disapproval.
"I shouldn't think so, Mr Carson," John reassured him. "We should be done with the boxing long before the annual cricket match."
"I'll have a go Mr. Bates!" a hall boy at the end of the table piped. After a moment's thought, John identified him as Harry.
"And me!" exclaimed another, whose name escaped John completely.
"That's good of you, lads" John said, raising his hand to stop the flow of undersized volunteers. "But you'll need to be at least sixteen to box in the ring. The younger lads will have their own program in the village, I'm sure. If you'd like to start training for when you're older, I'll check on it."
There were discontented mutterings at this, but John had no intention of trying to train children.
"Well," boomed Mr. Carson, "among those who are…eligible, who will stand for the honor of Downton?"
The response was not overwhelming, to say the least. Mr. Carson, who would have jumped at the opportunity had not Mrs. Carson been squeezing his knee unmercifully every time he looked as if he might lead the way and volunteer, was displeased at the lack of enthusiasm.
John, however, was not. If no one was willing to volunteer, he might be off the hook. Sadly, he had not reckoned on Mr. Carson's desire to see Downton represented.
"Mr. Barrow?"
Thomas Barrow's eyebrows flew up almost as high as John Bates'.
"As underbutler of Downton," Mr. Carson continued, unable to hide a small grimace of distaste, "I know how…keen you are that Downton be well represented in the village, as you have done on the cricket pitch for many years now."
Barrow preened a bit at his grudging praise from the butler. Mr. Carson opened his mouth to continue lecturing him, but jumped suddenly and shied slightly in his chair. With a disgruntled glance at Mrs. Carson, who was giving him a stern look, he edged his chair slightly away from hers. John heard Anna stifle a giggle.
"And Mr. Molesley," he continued, as the wheels in Mr. Barrow's head began turning. "I know that you are…anxious to put your best foot forward and proudly represent this house."
"Um…well, I er…of course, but…" Mr. Molesley began to stammer looking everywhere but at Mr. Carson or Miss Baxley.
Mr. Carson turned to the younger footman, who began to sweat. "Andrew, in your brief time among us, I'm quite certain you have come to know Downton as a place in which it is an honor to be employed. You are fortunate at this time to be given the opportunity to stand for her honor and represent her in the manly art of boxing."
With that, Mr. Carson stood and addressed the entire room once everyone was on their feet.
"As His Lordship has determined on this course of action," he intoned, "You need no permission from me to begin training for the match. I'm sure Mr. Bates is eager to begin…" Mr. Bates stared at the wall opposite him, a muscle jumping in his jaw. "When you have come to your decision, let him know."
With that, he left the table and proceeded out of the Servant's Hall, favoring his right knee slightly. Those who remained at the table looked around as if stunned.
The merits of the plan are discussed.
"You must be joking, Robert! I thought you'd surely have given up the idea by now."
The Earl of Grantham was not expecting a dismissive scolding when he mentioned his appointment of Bates as trainer to the Downton Abbey boxing team in the drawing room after dinner. But his wife and his daughter were not shy in offering their unfavorable opinion.
"Really, Papa," Mary chimed in with a long-suffering tone. "You want your crippled valet to train the male staff to go up against the strongest young farm boys from the village in a boxing match?"
"Bates was a fine boxer in the Army," he protested. "He's just the man to do it."
"If it can be done," Lady Grantham muttered quietly. Thus far she had refrained from reminding Robert of the rather dismal record the House had in the annual cricket match - something that had not improved with the addition of the new staff members. However, she was fully prepared to bring it up, if necessary.
"I've half a mind to get Bates to train me," he said, thumping the arm of the settee. "I'm still fit for it."
"That would certainly show that you've only half a mind," the Dowager commented dryly from her seat. She had not concerned herself with this particular scheme of her son's, thinking that it would die a natural death when the reality made itself know. After all, who was going to be on this boxing squad? Carson? Barrow? Molesley?
"I wonder if we could get Rose and Atticus to make an extended visit," he mused, ignoring his mother's comment. "He's got a quite reach on him…"
Mary and her mother rolled their eyes in perfect synchronization.
"Boxing…" Molesley said doubtfully to Miss Baxter who was patiently listening to him mull it all over. "I can't say as I've ever been one for a fight."
Miss Baxter smiled at him over her mending. "It's not like a bare knuckle brawl, I don't think. There's rules and such, aren't there?"
"I suppose. I'm just not sure I can see myself prancing about in a ring." He looked at Miss Baxter shyly. "It doesn't seem very dignified."
Miss Baxter had a sudden vision of Mr. Molesley in boxing kit and needed a moment. "I could picture it, Mr. Molesley," she finally said with an encouraging smile. "Boxing is all in the arms, isn't it?"
"Really?" he asked, standing a little taller and throwing his shoulders back. "Hmmm…"
"I don't know about boxing, me," Andy said as he walked in on their conversation. "I've never done the like before."
"The like of what?" Mr. Barrow asked, strolling into the Servant's Hall to catch the last of Andy's statement.
"Boxing," Andy replied. "I've been a few fights, like all lads, but boxing is different, isn't it?"
"Not so very different, I shouldn't think," Mr. Barrow said grimly. Mr. Carson had put one over on all of them quite nicely. Now anyone who wouldn't fight would be responsible for letting down the house and would look less of a man.
Mr. Molesley looked less than pleased to have his conversation with Miss Baxter interrupted. "Well, I might just give it a go," he said to the room at large, surprising everyone. Himself, most of all. Andy looked at him thoughtfully.
"Well, hang out the flags," Mr. Barrow sneered. "We've got a champion."
"Well, if Mr. Molesley's going to give it a go, I suppose I should too. It wouldn't be right if only one of the footmen were willing, would it?"
Mr. Barrow seethed silently. Refusing to participate in this little folly was starting to look and less like an option. If calmer heads didn't prevail soon, he'd be stuck training under bloody Bates, who would no doubt enjoy every minute of it.
Mr. Barrow, not for the first time, was quite mistaken. John winced as he watched his wife silently make tea with far more banging and crashing than necessary. Once again, he cursed the moment he opened his mouth about the village boxing club.
"So…all three of them volunteered?" Anna asked, speaking to the tea cups as she got them off the shelf.
"Yes, they did," he confirmed grimly. Mr. Carson had proven to be quite persuasive.
"And you intend on training them?" she growled at the saucers.
"I've not been given much of a choice, Anna," he pointed out.
She slammed the tea things on the table fiercely. "And just how are you going to do that?"
He opened his mouth to say that he didn't know, but a surge of irritation rose up in him. It was clear that His Lordship was the only one who had any confidence that he could do this. And even if it was somewhat misplaced confidence, it was better than being thought a man forever on the sidelines, never thought about when it came to the honor of Downton.
He stood up from the table and looked over to where Anna was standing by the stove, buttering bread.
'I can manage," he replied firmly, before walking into the sitting room and sitting down heavily in his usual chair.
Anna stiffened and gripped the edges of the plate tightly. She listened to his uneven footsteps as he left the kitchen and shut her eyes against the sudden pricking of tears.
No amount of fussing or whinging on her part was going to change this situation. John was right; he had no choice but to do his best. And she was so caught up in worry for him, she was about to let him think that she didn't believe in him.
Well, no more of that. Taking their cups into the sitting room, she gracefully placed his on the small table beside him.
"Of course you can," she said, as if she had no doubts.
He looked over at her and saw an unspoken apology as she bit her lip and tried to smile. Heedless of her cup of tea, he reached out and pulled her into his lap.
"John Bates," she scolded with a laugh. "If you make me spill this, I'll—"
The rest of her threat was lost as he kissed her, pulling her closer to him. She thrust the cup blindly in the direction of the table and held his face in her hands as she poured all her confidence in him into kissing him back. When their lips parted, he smiled into her eyes.
"I can," he affirmed.
"Just stay off of ladders, Mr. Bates," she ordered him with a laugh before kissing him deeply again.
"I promise," he murmured against her lips as tea was forgotten.
The training begins.
John Bates looked around nervously as he perched precariously at the top of the stepladder. Fortunately, his wife wasn't among the small crowd who had gathered at the backdoor to try and catch a glimpse of the training session. Andy had stripped off his livery down to his shirtsleeves and was wrapping his hands in bands as he'd been shown. Mr. Molesley kept looking nervously at the giggling group of maids and playing with his buttons.
Mrs. Carson's voice rang sharply through the corridor, and most of the crowd dispersed. She appeared briefly at the door to check on the activity, then departed with a shake of her head.
"Where's Mr. Barrow?" Andy asked. John shrugged and kept tying to hoist the sand filled burlap bag up over the frame he'd had one of the gardeners slap together.
"I've no idea," John replied, not at all perturbed at Mr. Barrow's absence. "He'll be sorry to have missed training if he gets in the ring." He looked over Mr. Molesley, who had finally, reluctantly, removed his livery and was rolling up his sleeves.
"Need a hand, Mr. Bates?" Andy asked politely. John grunted and nodded, watching Andy bend over and try to hoist the bag up.
"From your knees, Andy," he corrected. "You'll do yourself an injury trying to lift it like that."
Andy groaned and dropped the bag back down. "It's heavier than it looks."
"Hang on," Mr. Molesley said, one hand wrapped and the other dangling a length of cloth. He came over and stood by Andy's side. Together, they managed to lift the bag enough to give John some slack. He quickly pulled the rope taut and looped it around, securing it.
"Well done," he grunted, descending the ladder. Andy and Mr. Molesley looked pleased. John gave the bag a little push. "Now I'll watch you have a go at it."
"You mean..hit it?" Mr. Molesley asked in confusion. "The bag of sand?"
"That's an opponent that's about your speed," Mr. Barrow's voice echoed from the doorway. He was leaning against it, watching with a smirk.
"You're late, or I'd have you go first, Mr. Barrow. You could show us all how it's done." The veneer of good humor in his voice was quite thin.
"I was busy doing important things, Mr. Bates," he replied.
"While Mr. Barrow is getting stripped off and wrapped, let's see what you can do, Andy," John said, ignoring Mr. Barrow's comments.
"What do I do, then?" Andy said, poking gingerly at the bag.
"Throw a series of punches. I'll hold the bag steady for you."
Andy squared off in front of the bag and wound up. After three punches, he was shaking his hands in pain.
"Your turn, Mr. Molesley," John invited.
With a nervous smile, Mr. Molesley pounded the bag. He wasn't quite as enthusiastic as Andy, but John could feel the bag moving with each blow. He let Mr. Molesley go at it until he was sweating, then told him to stop.
"Are you ready, Mr. Barrow?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. Mr. Barrow had taken off his livery jacket, but hadn't bother to remove anything else or wrap his hands.
"I'm ready to box," he replied. "I don't see any need to waste time hitting a bag of sand, Mr. Bates."
"If you can't hit a bag of sand, Mr. Barrow, you won't be much of a match for an actual opponent. But if you're not up for it…"
Andy and Mr. Molesley exchanged amused looks as Mr. Barrow bristled and squared off at the bag.
"You might want to have some else hold onto it, Mr. Bates. Anna would never forgive me if I knocked you over."
"She's the forgiving sort, Mr. Barrow. You do your best to knock me over."
With a sneer, Mr. Barrow threw a sharp, hard jab at the bag. He recoiled as he felt it slam up his arm, grunting in pain. Mr. Bates hadn't been rocked back in the slightest.
"Well," John said as he looked at the three men flexing their hands gingerly. "I can see we've got some work to do."
After an hour of training at the bag and learning how to jab, hook, and uppercut, Mr. Molesley and Andy were grateful to be summoned back to work. They pulled their livery back on and wearily made their way back into the house to face a long evening of work.
Mr. Barrow hung back for a smoke and watched as John took a few shots at the bag, working arms and shoulders rusty with long disuse into a flowing rhythm. He grunted as he landed each blow, swaying a little, until a sharp twinge in his knee made him stagger. With a satisfied smile, Mr. Barrow stomped on the remains of his cigarette and made his way back into the house. John bent over, rubbing his knee, and watched him go.
"So how goes the training, Bates?" Lord Grantham asked excitedly.
"We've only just started, M'Lord," he replied noncommittally. It wasn't that he didn't want to answer His Lordship, but he was concentrating most of his efforts to getting him dressed while favoring his leg more than usual.
To his credit, Lord Grantham noticed. "It's not too much for you, is it Bates?" he asked, trying to be solicitous.
"I can manage, M'Lord," he answered automatically. At His Lordship's concerned look, he elaborated: "I've not done any kind of boxing in a long time, M'Lord, so I'm a bit rusty in my own conditioning."
"Quite so," Lord Grantham murmured. "You will let me know, though, if…"
"Of course, M'Lord," he replied with an insincere smile.
"Good…good. Let me know when they've made some progress, Bates."
"Of course, M"lord," he repeated. If he'd had a sixpence for every time that phrase had come out of his mouth, Anna and he would own a chain of hotels by now.
As training continued, Mr. Carson grew less enamored with the whole thing. His footmen dragged about like they were exhausted. Mr. Molesley had even had to ice his hand for three hours after an awkward jab had sprained his wrist. And as for Mr. Barrow…well, he was doing even less than usual, spending more time that he could be spared out punching that bag contraption Mr. Bates had hung up in the courtyard.
"So, they're doing as well as can be expected?" Anna asked him one night as they walked back to their cottage together. John had taken to telling her all about the training sessions. Or rather venting about them.
"Better, actually," he said in a mildly surprised tone. And they had. Mr. Barrow was actually putting some effort into the workouts. Andy was visibly gaining muscle as John had him working out with barbells. And Mr. Molesley…well, not only had he not hurt himself as much as John had expected, but he was stronger than he looked and seemed to take the whole thing rather seriously.
"Then why do you look so glum?" she asked, rubbing his arm with her hand and leaning closer to him. "I should think you'd be happy."
"I've got to start teaching them some footwork," he replied. Comprehension dawned on her face. "If they can't move in the ring, it'll only take one good punch from those strapping lads at the boxing club to lay them out for hours."
Anna had been spending more time massaging and warming his knee just from the little bit of moving he was doing to demonstrate punches. Her face fell as his brow wrinkled in concern.
"Can you just tell them how?" she asked.
He smiled at her and shook his head. "I could try, but…" He tried to think of a way to explain. "It would like learning to reel only by someone telling you how and not showing you."
She smiled at the memory of Lady Rose spinning and turning in the empty ballroom, showing her the finer points of reeling. "So it's like a dance, then?"
"Very much like one," he said, although he had never thought of it that way before. "Except that instead of set steps, you, I don't know… it's like dancing with a partner, except you don't know what steps the partner is going to take, so you try to think a few steps ahead, so you can be ready."
"So…if you can teach them the steps, then they can practice moving by themselves?"
"I suppose," he said with a frown, "but I don't see how I can teach them the steps when I can't do them myself."
"Maybe you can't do them quickly, Mr. Bates, but you could do them slowly enough to show me."
John looked at her with confusion. "And what good would it possibly do to teach you boxing footwork.? Are thinking of taking up the sport? You could probably beat Mr. Molesley."
Anna laughed, then quickly covered her mouth. "That's not very nice," she scolded. "You just said Mr. Molsley is doing better than you expected."
"It was a low bar I set for him to clear," he said with a smile. He opened the door as they arrived at their cottage and escorted her inside. "And you never answered my question…why should you want to learn boxing footwork?"
"So I can help train the fighters for the honor of Downton, of course," she replied with a mischievous smile.
John threw back his head and laughed. Anna faced him with her arms crossed and a challenging grin on her face.
"You cannot be serious!" John exclaimed as he took in her stance. "No! Absolutely not!"
"If my being a woman is the only reason…"
"It's a big reason! And you're also my wife, and I won't have you prancing around in the ring with other men! And…" he trailed off as the look on her face shifted from amusement to irritation.
"Prancing in the ring with other men…honestly, John! We're talking about Mr. Molesley, Andrew, and Thomas, for heavens sake."
John shook his head irritably. "Anna, you practice footwork while you spar, trying to avoid being hit by another boxer. I can't imagine that you would want to put on boxing kit and try to dodge even Mr. Molesley's fists."
"If you teach me well enough, I won't have to worry about being hit, will I?" she challenged. "Besides, not a one of them would actually try to hit me."
"But…you…you can't…it's not…"
Anna waited patiently as John sputtered and flailed his hands around.
"It's just not done!" he finally finished. "His Lordship would be horrified to hear of it."
"His Lordship wants you to train a champion, John. Somehow I doubt he's going to be too critical of your methods if you can manage it."
John realized they were standing toe to toe just inside the entryway and took Anna's arm to lead her into the sitting room. He guided her to the settee and sat her down. He continued to stand, thinking that it might give him an advantage in what was rapidly becoming a battle of wits. One that he seemed to be losing.
"Anna, if the men are trying their best not to hit you, they won't be learning how to react to their opponent's footwork…" He raised up a hand to stop her as she opened her mouth to retort. "Let me finish! The other way they learn the footwork is by trying to dodge someone trying to hit them. Are you going to put on a pair of gloves and try to land a punch on Andrew? Or Mr. Molesley? Or even Thomas?" He raised his hand again when she tried to respond. "I will not take the risk that you could be hurt by even an accidental punch."
"First of all, Mr. Bates, the risk would be mine, not yours. Secondly, even if they aren't actually hoping to hit me, they can still use the footwork while they pretend to and you can tell them if they're doing it correctly. And thirdly, can you think of anything to inspire them to duck faster than the threat of being knocked down by me?"
John stared at her with his mouth wide open. She looked at him with amusement, proud to have rendered him speechless. But she guessed he would not stay speechless for long.
"No," he said firmly. "Absolutely not. In fact, let's just forget we ever had this conversation."
A small smile curled at the corner of Ann's mouth as she got up to prepare them a cup of tea before bed. She was patient. John would come around.
Anna could wait for as long as it took for John to realize that she was right, and he had no other option.
Footwork is the dance that keeps your nose on your face.
John Bates kept watching the door to the downstairs anxiously. Andy, Mr. Molesley and Mr. Barrow were going through their paces, punching and dodging and weaving in place, but he paid little attention to them.
"Mr. Bates? Shall we put on the gloves for a bit of sparring in place?" Mr. Molesley asked. This was something he was growing to enjoy. 'Mr. Bates?"
"What?" John pulled his attention back to his fighters. Thomas was taking a quick break for a cigarette and Andy and Mr. Molesley were looking at him eagerly, hoping to get permission to put the gloves on. John looked nervously at his pocket watch. they didn't have much more time before he had to let the staff get back to work.
Suddenly the door from the house flew open and Anna glided into the courtyard. She immediately had everyone's attention. John was suddenly sure that this was not a good idea, and wondered again just how his wife had managed to talk him into it.
Mr. Molesley turned beet red and began looking for his livery. Andrew looked resolutely at the ground. Even Mr. Barrow's mouth fell open and his cigarette fell out.
John flushed as he looked at Anna. She was changed into a more roomy, flowing skirt that showed a great deal more ankle than her black Lady's Maid dress did. She had worked it up with the help of Miss Baxter, who was peeking out of the door to see the effect, smiling at Mr. Molesley and making him blush even harder.
"I'm sorry I'm late," she said a little breathlessly. "Lady Mary didn't seem to want to let me go."
John took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Might as well get this over with.
"Alright men," he said, gesturing for them to come closer. Not a one moved. He frowned. "Are you ready to move on to the next bit of training, or do I have to go tell his Lordship I've three people who can beat any sandbag the village can throw at us, but not to expect anything else of them?"
The three men moved closer - Andy and Mr. Molesley with hesitation, Mr. Barrow more eagerly but with a nasty grin.
"Do you remember what I told you all about footwork?" he asked.
"Do you remember that you're hardly one to be taking about footwork, Mr. Bates," Thomas replied cuttingly.
"Oh I can't wait to get him in the ring," Anna muttered under her breath so that only John could hear.
John closed his eyes, as if praying for strength. Really, he was trying to keep his luncheon from coming back on him as he contemplated the many horrible ways this could go wrong.
"Well, Mr. Barrow," he finally replied. "You don't need to worry about me teaching you footwork. I've found someone else to do that." Thomas looked disappointed, and John realized that Thomas had really been looking forward to knocking him down.
"Who have you got, then?" Mr. Molesley asked, looking over Anna's shoulder as if he expected to see a bloke hiding behind her.
"It's Anna, you dimwit," Mr. Barrow snapped at him.
"It never is!" Mr. Molesley exclaimed, looking wide eyed at Anna who smiled at him.
"Mr. Barrow is correct," John said through gritted teeth. "So, what did I tell you about footwork?"
"'Footwork is the dance that keeps your nose on your face'," Andy recited, looking at Anna as if she was an alien being.
"That's right," John said, his voice a little too high. "Anna has offered to teach you this particular dance."
"How does Anna know boxing footwork?" Mr. Molesley asked incredulously.
"Just what all goes on at that cottage?" Mr. Barrow muttered, staring at John.
"Mr. Bates has taught me, and now I'm going to teach you," Anna said firmly. They all stared at her, making her flush a little. "That is, if you think you can keep up with me."
Mr. Molesley broke the stunned silence with a nervous giggle and looked around quickly to see if anyone noticed.
"Pay attention," she commanded, walking out to the center of the courtyard which had been roped off to approximate a boxing ring. "I don't have a lot of time, and I don't want to have to repeat myself." They three men parted around her like the Red Sea for Moses.
"First of all, you want to always keep your feet moving…" Anna began to shuffle and shift about, her heels clacking on the cobblestones. She looked over at the men, who stood as still as if they'd been nailed down, and rolled her eyes. "C'mon then," she ordered with an impatient huff. "Let me see your feet move."
Slowly, Mr. Molesley and Andrew began to copy her movements. Mr. Barrow just stood with his hands in his pockets, watching her skeptically.
"What's the matter, Mr. Barrow? Am I going too fast for you?"
"This is ridiculous," he declared with a scowl. "It was stupid enough for a cripple to train a boxing team, but now he's got his wife helping him? We'll be a laughingstock and I'm through with this."
"If you can't keep up, just say so and I'll slow down," Anna taunted him before John could open his mouth.
Thomas sneered and turned to John with a gleam in his eye. "I'll just bet His Lordship has no idea what's going on. I wonder what he would think will happen to the honor of Downton with Anna training his boxers."
"By all means, go and ask him, Mr. Barrow. I rather doubt he had much hope for you as a boxer. This should confirm his concerns if you're too scared to go against a woman." The words left a bad taste in John's mouth.
Mr. Barrow narrowed his eyes and glared as he tried to think of a way to present this that wouldn't leave him looking like a wet end. His hope all along was that Bates would prove to be unable to train them adequately. Expressing his disappointment at not being able to fight for the honor of Downton, he would commiserate with Lord Grantham and make sure he knew where the fault lay. But Bates seemed to have come up with a solution of sorts, and he had better make sure it proved ineffective before going to His Lordship.
Anna, Mr. Molesley and Andy were watching this byplay with interest. When Anna saw him wavering, she called out to Mr. Barrow.
"I'll make you deal, Mr. Barrow. You put on a pair of gloves and get in the ring with me. If I can keep you from laying a hand on me, you stay around to learn how I did it."
Fortunately, no one was looking at John's face. It was a picture of horror and dread. This had not been the plan they had discussed.
"You must be joking," Mr. Barrow said, flabbergasted. "There's no way I would try to hit you."
"You won't," Anna asserted confidently. "You'll not be able to lay a glove on me." She looked defiantly into Thomas' eyes and saw a flicker of uncertainty there. "Well, are you game to try, Mr. Barrow?"
John's face was a mask when Mr. Barrow turned to smirk at him. "Don't worry, Mr. Bates. I won't hurt her. And once everyone sees what nonsense this whole thing is, you can go to His Lordship yourself to tell him that he placed the honor of Downton on the shoulders of the wrong man."
"Alright, Anna," he said,as he waved Andy over to help him with his gloves. "I'll make this quick and I won't hurt you at all."
Anna smiled in triumph and motioned for Mr. Molesley to help her on with a pair. He turned to John with desperate questioning eyes, but John stared straight ahead, muscle jumping in his jaw, afraid to make eye contact with anyone lest he begin bellowing at Anna to take those gloves off at once.
With a shrug, Mr. Molesley helped secure the gloves at her wrists, loping the twine several times over to secure them.
"Thank you, Mr. Molesley," she said. He just stared at her with shocked and despairing eyes, desperately afraid that he might have to kill Mr. Barrow if Anna were to get hurt in any way.
Thomas paced around the inside of the ropes restlessly, throwing satisfied looks at Mr. Bates. The man was clearly in an agony of concern for his wife.
"Shall we, Mr. Barrow?" Anna asked, moving within arm's reach of him. He threw a few weak punches in her general direction, frowning when she dodged them with ease. He frowned even more when her own glove suddenly whistled past his nose.
"You can do better than that," she said impatiently. After looking a bit nervously over at where Andy and Mr. Molesley watched with slack jaws, he stepped forward and began aiming quicker punches at her, praying he wouldn't accidentally hit her.
Anna moved her feet in shuffle patterns and dodged and weaved, avoiding his punches without much effort. Suddenly shooting out her arm, she landed a light punch on his cheek.
Mr. Barrow snapped his head back in shock. It hadn't actually hurt, but he heard the gasps from the other men and flushed. He was starting to get irritated, and wondered if he'd actually have to hit her or knock her down to end this.
Renewing his efforts, he began to throw harder, faster punches. Anna seemingly danced through a hail of jabs and landed a stout uppercut on his ribs, making him stagger back slightly. Now he began to move about in earnest, but he couldn't seem to catch her in arm's reach, as she stayed a step ahead of him. They began to move around the ring.
John watched it with amazement as Anna took every move he had taught her and made Mr. Barrow chase her fruitlessly around the ring. He actually winced the next time she darted in quickly to land a jab squarely on his nose.
Mr. Barrow had had enough. Anna's cheeky smile was infuriating, his nose hurt, and he was getting embarrassed when the men cheered every time Anna landed a punch. He was starting to think those weren't just lucky blows.
He decided to drive her into a corner and grab her hands when she tried to swing at him. Suddenly bearing down on her with a shout, he used his larger bulk to herd her towards the corner. But before he could trap her, she had ducked and spun her way out from between him and the ropes. He felt a fury of punches on his ribs, then, as he turned to try to find her, a very strong uppercut on his chin that made him stagger back enough to trip on his own feet.
Mr. Molelsely and Andy cheered loudly and John released a breath he hadn't been aware he'd been holding. Anna stood over Mr. Barrow, breathing heavily, with her hands on her hips.
"Are you ready to learn some footwork now, Mr. Barrow?" she gasped.
Before he could answer, Mr. Carson's voice boomed from the corridor, loudly enough to be heard in the courtyard, demanding to know why training hadn't ended on time. Mr. Barrow clambered to his feet and glared at everyone as he ripped off his gloves. Mr. Molesley's and Andy's heads were swiveling between Anna and a furious Mr. Barrow as if they simply couldn't believe their eyes.
Without a word, Mr. Barrow stalked into the house with a face like a Yorkshire storm sky. Mr. Molesely and Andy snatched up their livery and rushed towards the house. Mr. Bates caught them both on the way in.
"Not a word to anyone, men," he told them. They nodded, but Mr. Bates didn't think the events of this training session were going to remain in the courtyard.
He turned to stare at his wife as she struggled to remove her gloves, casting anxious glances towards the house. Without a word, John took her hands in his and gently removed her gloves. She was taken aback at his silence, but had no time to inquire about it. After touching his face reassuringly, she hurried back to the house to change into her work clothes. John followed more slowly, rolling down his sleeves and fastening his collar. As he tied his tie, he passed a shocked Mr. Carson who stared after Anna in her boxing skirt as if he wasn't sure he could possibly be seeing what he was seeing.
"Bates! Is it true?" demanded his Lordship as he bustled into his dressing room to get changed for dinner. "You've got Anna helping to train the boxers?!"
"She's demonstrating the footwork, M'Lord," he replied as calmly as he could, wondering how His Lordship had managed to hear the story in the twenty minutes between the training and the dressing gong. He would bet his month's pay it wasn't Thomas who had mentioned it.
"And is it true she knocked Barrow for a boundary six?!"
"She was helping the men understand the importance of footwork, M'Lord," he said, not looking His Lordship in the eye. "I doubt that Barrow was seriously hurt."
"Crickey!" the Earl of Grantham exclaimed, before slipping his arms into the sleeves of his dinner jacket. They didn't exchange another word as John finished dressing him.
"You're the trainer," His Lordship finally said, shaking his head as he opened his dressing room door. "But I hope you know what you're doing, Bates."
"So do I, M'Lord," John muttered as he began to clear away His Lordship's day suit. "So do I."
"Anna!" exclaimed Lady Mary as Anna rushed in, a little out of breath, but not actually late. "I've just heard the most extraordinary thing."
"Have you, M'Lady?" she asked nervously.
"Are you helping Bates train the boxers? And more importantly, did you actually knock Barrow end over tip?"
"I wouldn't say it quite that way, M'Lady. Mr. Barrow was helping Mr. Bates demonstrate the importance of footwork. And since he can't exactly…"
"You did knock Barrow down, then?"
"Well…yes, actually," she said with a little smile at the corner of her mouth.
Lady Mary looked at her in amazement. Anna moved gracefully through the room, gathering the discarded clothing and taking care of all those little details that made Lady Mary a lovely, put-together picture. She couldn't hardly imagine this small, bustling woman actually knocking down a full grown man in the boxing ring…even if the man was Thomas.
"I'll feel much safer in London when you're with me from now on," she said with a shake of her head.
Anna stopped still for a moment, her face contorting with memory, then continued on with her tasks. Lady Mary saw the expression and silently cursed herself.
"I suppose it's comforting to know that I can put up a fight now, if it's necessary, M'Lady," she said, as if there had been no lag between Lady Mary's comment and hers. Her voice did not match her words. "Will there be anything else?"
Lady Mary shook her head and watched her maid disappear from the room. with a sigh, she prepared herself for a potentially uncomfortable dinner conversation. Although…she wagered she wouldn't feel half as uncomfortable as Barrow.
The Bates' walk home was a silent one. When they arrived at the cottage, John helped Anna off with her coat as always and went through to light the lamp. Anna stood near the entryway, gripping her hands together.
"Are you angry with me?" she finally asked.
John looked at her solemnly. "No, Anna. I'm angry with myself."
"But everything went so well…"
"I should have stopped it before it went as far as it did," he said in a haunted voice. "If Thomas had…had hurt you…"
"He didn't," she said in a pleading voice. "I knew he wouldn't, or I wouldn't have challenged him like that."
"You can't know what going to happen in a boxing ring, Anna. You could have been badly hurt, and I'd have been stood there, gawking like a fool, watching my wife get beaten…" He suddenly turned away from her, unable to hide the pain that contorted his face.
"John…"
"I swore I'd never let anyone hurt you ever again," he said in a voice so low it was almost a whisper. "I should have just gone to His Lordship and told him I wasn't up to training the men; swallowed my pride and accepted his disappointment. I should have handed in my notice before I let you get into that ring."
Anna came up behind him and wrapped her arms around him. "I'm so sorry," she said in a voice choked with tears. "I didn't think of any of that before I challenged Thomas. I was so sure I could move faster than he could, that I'd be safe. I didn't even think about what might happen if I was wrong."
John turned and pulled her tightly into his arms, holding her as if he was afraid she'd turn into a puff of smoke and disappear. His large hands stroked her back and he whispered his love for her into the top of her hair.
"I won't get back into the ring again, John," she said, muffled against his chest. Raising her face up to look at him, she smiled a little. "I was getting tired there at the end. It was touch and go."
He cupped her face in his hand and caressed her cheek with his thumb. She shivered at his gentle touch.
"I can just demonstrate the footwork to them a few more times and they can work on it themselves in the ring," she suggested.
"Anna…" he began, shaking his head.
"I promise, I won't spar with any of them. I'll just show them how to dance." At his dubious look and shake of his head, she reached up to stroke his face with her hand and grasped the fingers that were setting her insides aflutter. "Please, John. We're a team. Let me help."
"I imagine that Andy and Mr. Molesley will feel greatly cheated if I don't let you teach them how to move fast enough to beat Mr. Barrow," he said grimly.
Anna's smile shone through the dim light of the room. "How did I do in the ring, John? Really?"
"Really?" At her eager nod, he smiled until his eyes crinkled at the corners.
"You were magnificent," he breathed as he lowered his lips to hers.
Give 'em the old one-two!
The time always comes eventually when men are put to the test. The day of the boxing match had arrived, and the whole village had turned up. His Lordship had given all of the staff leave to go, and most of them attended, waving blue and red pennants.
Mr. Molesley and Andy looked around with amazement on their faces. They hadn't anticipated the nerves they were feeling. Mr. Molesley had disappeared twice since luncheon to discretely throw up in the bushes. Miss Baxter saw him returning from his second trip, pale and sweating with his dressing gown falling open over his boxing kit, and lent him her handkerchief to wipe his forehead. Her eyes were concerned as they walked back to the ring, and she laid her hand on his arm, telling him to be careful. A watery smile was all he could manage in response.
John could see the nerves creeping up on his boxers and gathered them all together for a little chat. His own nerves were thrumming like a telegraph wire. Thomas dropped his fifth cigarette in the space of an hour and they all huddled together for a last minute strategy talk and bucking-up.
"Just remember, you'll be fighting the same blokes we came to watch last week."
"Yeah, but in front of a lot more people," Andy injected.
"They're here for a good match, and that's what we'll give them," John replied. "You won't even notice them in the ring; it'll be just you and your opponent."
The village boxers were gathered in a gaggle, laughing loudly and joshing one another. Not a one of them seemed worried about the match to come.
"See that?" John indicated their relaxed attitude. "They've already underestimated you. You come out strong in the first round, and you'll set them back on their heels, make them cautious.'
"I don't remember the chap I'm boxing being so…big," Mr. Molelsey croaked with an audible swallow.
"Yesterday you were more interested in the fact that he's got lead in his feet and hardly moves around the ring at all," John pointed out. Mr. Molesley looked thoughtful for a moment.
"They're all big lads," John admitted, "and they're strong. But you're better trained and disciplined—"
"If you do say so yourself," Mr. Barrow replied dryly.
"I do say so, Mr. Barrow," John said earnestly. "You've worked twice as hard and you're fighting for something they're not."
"What's that?" Andy asked.
"The honor of Downton Abbey, the family, and your friends."
The referee for the match and Dr. Clarkson wandered over to their group.
"Are you lot ready to begin?" Mr. Bakewell asked jovially. The grocer, who was serving as referee looked the men over and grinned. "By Gaw, it looks like we're in for a treat today."
As Dr. Clarkson was asking how everyone was faring, casting a suspicious eye on Mr. Molesley, the Earl of Grantham appeared like a whirlwind in their midst.
"I can't tell you men how much we're all looking forward to this!" he enthused. "I'm confident that the honor of Downton is well represented today and victory will be ours!"
The three men stood at proud attention and murmured their thanks. Lord Grantham pulled John away for a quiet word.
"They are ready for this, aren't they Bates?" he asked a bit anxiously. "The village has got some strong chaps…"
"They'll do well, M'Lord," he replied confidently. "It may not be a knock-down drag-out, but they've got some surprises for the village lads."
"I liked what I saw when they were sparring," His Lordship said. "I think they've even got better footwork than you did back in our Army days."
John received a hearty clap on the shoulder without flinching and watched, bemused, as His Lordship rejoined the family on the platform set up for them. He caught Anna's eye as she smiled at him from among the staff and beckoned for her to come over by the ring.
"What is it, Mr. Bates," she asked in concern. "Is something wrong?"
"Nothings wrong," he assured her. "I just thought you might like to take the trainer's bench with me." She smiled in relief but shook her head with a broad smile.
"Now, Mr. Bates," she replied. "You know that sort of thing just isn't done. Besides, I don't think I want to be quite so close up." She looked affectionately at the three men, who were doing light calisthenics to warm up, much to the amusement of the crowd. "I don't think I could bear watching any of them get hurt."
John wasn't exactly looking forward to that either. They'd all taken some punches and falls during training, but this would be quite different. He watched his men and was suddenly quite touched at the trust they'd all placed in him. Even Thomas.
"Alright lads!" Mr. Bakewell's voice boomed. "It's gone time for the first match." The crowd erupted into cheers. John settled himself on the trainer's bench at their corner.
"First up, for the village of Downton, Mr. Addison!" Shouts of "Give it to 'em Gordon!" erupted from the rowdy village crowd. "And for Downton Abbey, Mr. Molesley!" The cheering from the Abbey crowd wasn't as loud, but it was just as fervent.
Mr. Molesley glanced at Miss Baxter, who tried to smile encouragingly, and blushed as he stripped off his dressing gown and got into the ring in his boxing kit. Miss Baxter's face grew white as he stood next to his opponent, who had at least three stone on him and was a foot taller.
"Awright then, Joe?" his opponent, whom Mr. Molesley had attended school with, inquired happily.
Mr. Molesley cleared his throat and tried to listen to the referee explain what was a legal hit and what wasn't.
"But what if he can't reach above the belt?" the big man asked loudly. The village crowd roared with laughter.
"That'll do, Gordon," Mr. Bakewell scolded. "Shake hands and be off to your corners now. Come out fighting at the bell."
Mr. Molesley returned to the corner, his mouth a grim line and his eyes snapping with fire.
"I'm looking forward to knocking his lights out," he proclaimed. Mr. Barrow looked at Mr. Molesley as if he'd never seen him before. John grinned. Now this was what Mr. Molesley had been missing - fire in his gut.
"Give 'em the old one-two, Mr. Molesley!" Andy encouraged, just as the bell rang.
The village boxer strolled out casually. Mr. Molesley put his head down and met him with a flurry of body blows that rocked him back.
As the first round went on, Miss Baxter found that she simply couldn't watch. The Abbey fans were stunned to near silence by Mr. Molesley ferocity.
"Good Lord above," His Lordship mumbled, watching wide eyed.
"Go, Mr. Molesley!" Anna's voice rose above the crowd, and the cries of encouragement were soon taken up by the rest of the staff.
When the bell rang, signaling the end of the round, the village lad was staggering and Mr. Molesley was pounding his gloves together, ready for round two.
"I'll show him above the belt," he muttered. As John wiped his forehead with a towel and gave him some advice, Mr. Molesley's eyes sought out Miss Baxter, who was cheering enthusiastically.
"Don't get distracted," John warned him. "He'll be ready for you now. Keep your feet moving."
The second round went much like the first. Mr. Molesley moved fluidly around his opponent, who seemed shocked that Mr. Molesely's face was never where he swung his arm. While it was obvious that it was going to take a lorry to actually knock the big chap down, Mr. Molesley was clearly ahead on points. Only once had the man laid a glove on him, and it was a glancing blow on his cheek that he danced away from.
It was enough to make Miss Baxter draw in a panicked breath, though. If it hadn't been for Mr. Molesley unconcerned grin, she might have rushed to the ring.
The third round was a grim contest. The village lad was determined to knock Mr. Molesley down and Mr. Molesley was equally determined not to be humiliated. They were both getting tired, and it was simply a matter of who made the first mistake and dropped his guard.
"Keep your hands up!" John yelled. "Move, move!"
When the bell rang, Mr. Molesley looked ready to drop in his tracks. But he was still on his feet, and it was his opponent that looked the worse for the wear.
"Alright then," Mr. Bakewell called, as he stood between the exhausted men. "The judges have awarded the match to Mr. Molesley on points! That's one to the Downton Abbey team!" The amazement on the referee's face was more than matched by the expression on Mr. Molesley's, as his hand was raised into the air and shouts of acclamation cheered his name.
"Well done, Mr. Molesley!" John yelled as he shook his hand. "Very well done indeed."
As Mr. Molesley stammered and accepted the praise of his teammates, his eyes flew over the spectators until they fell on Miss Baxter, who was smiling and crying at the same time.
After a ten minute break, during which Mr. Molesley was congratulated enthusiastically by Lord Grantham and a flabbergasted Mr. Carson, and hugged, in public no less, by Miss Baxter who was so relieved he was mostly unhurt that she forgot herself, it was time for the next match.
Andy went nervously into the ring, eyeing his opponent warily. They were about matched in height, but the young man grinning at him was a bit heavier. The muscles on his arms bulged out, hinting at a great deal of power.
When the bell rang, John clutched the ropes and hollered encouragement. Andy tested his opponent gingerly and was met with a rush of blows. After some initial staggering about, he began to bob and weave, looking carefully for openings.
He didn't find many, and the first to rounds saw Andy taking more damage than his opponent. John rubbed his shoulders and hissed advice into his ear.
"You can do this, Andy. You can take him. When he goes in for the body, he drops his left hand. Get in there with an uppercut!" The bell rang and Andy went in for the last round, grimly determined.
Grim determination was no match for a lucky right hook. Andy hit the canvas covered wooden platform with a thump and sat there, shaking his head to clear it. A loud groan echoed through the Downton Abbey crowd.
"Up! Up!" John yelled. "Get up on your feet, Andy!"
Andy gave it his best. He staggered up to his feet and stumbled around as his opponent tried to take advantage. When he tangled his own feet up and fell again. Dr. Clarkson stopped the match and said Andy was through.
"The winner by knockout is Mr. Drake," the referee bellowed, holding up the village lad's arm while Andy was helped over to the bench "The second match goes to the Downton Village Boxing Club!" The village cheered wildly. Although the Downton side was a bit disappointed, they shouted encouragement to Andy.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Bates," Andy gasped.
"Sorry for what?" John demanded. "You fought a bloody good match against a tough man, and went nearly three rounds. Ah…thank you, Harry." The Hall Boy had been sent to the refreshment tent to fetch a piece of raw steak from Mrs. Patmore. She'd grumbled and fussed about bringing it, but John had insisted.
Andy groaned as John slapped the steak onto his face. When His Lordship came up to speak to Andy, he was treated to the sight of Andy mumbling into a large piece of raw meat about everything he should have done differently.
"I say, Bates… is that from the game locker?"
"I couldn't say, M'Lord," John replied a touch impatiently.
"Ah…At any road, well done, Andrew. A hard fought battle, but you did Downton proud."
Andy removed the steak long enough to thank His Lordship. Thomas dropped his last cigarette on the ground and began gloving up with John's help. Lord Grantham watched as the two men worked in silence. When Thomas stepped aside and began jumping on the spot to get loose, he beckoned John over.
"What about, Barrow? Is he…well, is he truly standing for the honor of Downton here? Is he taking it seriously?"
"I suspect Mr. Barrow is standing mostly for the honor of Mr. Barrow, M'Lord," Bates said with a chuckle. "But in this case, the interests coincide." At His Lordship's dubious look, he added: "Mr. Barrow might surprise us all, M'Lord."
"Let's hope so," His Lordship replied a bit anxiously. "It's all down to him."
Mr. Bakewell called the fighters into the ring and the both sides began to shout encouragement to their men. Mr. Barrow eyed his opponent grimly. The lad sneered at him.
When the bell rang, John watched with his heart in his mouth as Mr. Barrow landed teasing punches. "What are you waiting for?" he muttered under his breath. "Give it to him, Barrow."
The village lad decided he was being made fun of, and began to punch with the intention of knocking the grin off of Mr. Barrow's face. John watched, confused, as Mr. Barrow taunted the lad and made him chase him all over the ring.
"Why don't ya stand and fight?" the lad yelled at Mr. Barrow. Mr. Barrow responded with a quick one-toe combination that landed hard enough to make the lad grunt, then backed away again.
Becoming enraged, the lad chased Mr. Barrow into a corner, forcing him backwards toward the ropes and raining inaccurate, but punishing blows on his arms. The village crowd was whooping, as they saw a swift end to the match. Lord Grantham was clutching his walking stick like a drowning man, his eyes bugging in frustration and exasperation.
"What are you playing at?" John hollered from the bench. Mr. Barrow ignored him, keeping all his attention on his opponent.
Just when it appeared that Mr. Barrow was trapped, and soon to be knocked out, he danced nimbly through a hail of blows to escape. His opponent spun awkwardly with his mouth wide open in amazement, just in time to meet Mr. Barrow's uppercut, laid on with everything he had.
Silence fell over the crowd as the man staggered and collapsed unmoving onto the canvas. Mr. Barrow stood over him, breathing heavily, then turned to look at Anna in the crowd as Mr. Bakewell counted over the semi conscious man. At ten, he pointed at the timekeeper who rang the bell, and lifted Mr. Barrow's arm over his head.
"Winner by a knockout in the first round…Mr. Barrow from Downton Abbey! Downton Abbey takes the contest, two to one!"
The crowd erupted in noise and rushed towards the ring. Mr. Barrow found himself lifted onto the shoulders of the male staff as Mr. Bates shook his hand and shouted praise at him. His Lordship fought his way through the crowd, grinning like a fool.
"Alright then, Lads! Let's have three cheers for the Abbey, then!" The village boxing club shouted their Huzzahs and everyone, village and Abbey, began to mingle and discuss the matches excitedly as they headed for the refreshment tent.
Anna pushed her way through the crowds with difficulty until she was standing next to John and the boxers, who were trying to get cleaned up a little. She slipped over next to Thomas and touched his arm.
"Well done, Thomas," she said, her eyes shining with pride. "It seems you were paying attention after all."
Thomas gave her a knowing half smile, but was dragged away by his teammates towards the refreshment tent before he could reply. John watched them go and then sat down heavily onto the trainer's bench with a sigh of relief.
"Am I ever glad that's over," he said to Anna as she sat down next to him and took his hand.
"Me too, Mr. Bates," she said, drawing out his name in the way he loved. "Me too."
They enjoyed a quiet moment amongst the hubbub until His Lordship stormed over to them and they had to stand up.
"Come along, Bates! We're about to start the toasts, and we can't begin without the trainer that took Downton Abbey to victory! And you as well, Anna."
"We'll be right along, M'Lord," Bates assure him.
"Later we'll talk, Bates. I've got an idea that we could go up against some other estates…"
Anna and John looked at each other as His Lordship dashed back to the Refreshment Tent.
"I'll get my notice ready to hand in."
"You most certainly will not," Anna said indignantly. "The honor of Downton rests on your wonderful. capable, and handsome shoulders." She smiled at him. "I know you won't let us down. You never do."
The crowd roared as they made their way to the tent and the celebrations continued far into the afternoon. The three unlikely heroes received endless adulation, and John was very nearly ignored. But he found, as Anna managed to stay next to his side the entire time and occasionally slip her hand into his, that he couldn't care less.
The honor of Downton had been upheld, and all was right with Lord Grantham's world. For now, anyway….