A/N: I've written a few canon era Christmas fics in my time, and thought it was time for another one :) There are a couple of themes running through this story - you might be able to spot them over the installments...
I never have, and never will own Downton Abbey or any of its characters.
All Is Calm, All Is Bright
Chapter 1
"Men's courses will foreshadow certain ends, to which, if persevered in, they must lead," said Scrooge. "But if the courses be departed from, the ends will change. Say it is thus with what you show me!"
The Spirit was immovable as ever.
Scrooge crept towards it, trembling as he went; and following the finger, read upon the stone of the neglected grave his own name, Ebenezer Scrooge.
"Am I that man who lay upon the bed?" he cried, upon his knees.
The finger pointed from the grave to him, and back again.
"No, Spirit! Oh no, no!"
The finger still was there.
"Spirit!" he cried, tight clutching at its robe, "hear me! I am not the man I was. I will not be the man I must have been but for this intercourse. Why show me this, if I am past all hope?"
For the first time the hand appeared to shake.
"Good Spirit," he pursued, as down upon the ground he fell before it: "Your nature intercedes for me, and pities me. Assure me that I yet may change these shadows you have shown me, by an altered life!"
The kind hand trembled.
"I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year. I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future. The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons that they teach. Oh, tell me I may sponge away the writing on this stone!"
John Bates sat at the table, the worn copy of the familiar book in his upturned palms. He was not a fan of Dickens especially but he had made reading A Christmas Carol an annual tradition in recent times. He supposed that he considered it to be a cautionary tale of a man so blinded by his own greed and selfishness that he had lost sense of all that was truly important in life. It had become a ritual first started in the near depths of despair and one he dare not forego since, knowing that once he had come dangerously close to losing faith in his own humanity, risked becoming a figure both despised and pitied in equal measure.
He may not have been a miser like Ebenezer Scrooge but he could all too clearly see shades of the character's darkness in himself; a man who had become something he had never wanted to be, all by the crafting of his own hand.
His revelation had come to him in another guise – from the part of him that had not, miraculously, been sacrificed beyond redemption. It was by a wonderful stroke of luck that just as he had chosen to listen to that better side of himself he also heard word that the Earl of Grantham was looking to employ a new valet.
How different circumstances might have been. Even now, having read the story some twenty times or more through the course of his life, it never failed to cause a shiver to chill him to the very bones. He had often considered the merriment of the season to be a clever charade, masking sentiments that were far more sorrowful. Mourning the memory of dear ones that had departed. Regretting opportunities that had flown past, unnoticed or otherwise unappreciated. It made perfect sense to him that a tale that was essentially a ghost story, of both the dead and the living, had become the most cherished fable of the holiday.
His outlook had been changed a little. The first Christmas he had spent as a resident of Downton Abbey twelve months ago had been the most joyful he had experienced in a long while; certainly since the last that was spent with just him and his dear mother. When he had entered into the doomed venture that was marriage to Vera she had been keen to keep the longer-known Mrs Bates out of the picture, even as his mother's friends and remaining family were steadily eroded as the months, never mind years, passed.
One by one, lights that he had believed to be forever extinguished glimmered again in his line of vision. There had been decorations, preparations and tasks to be carried out by the list. Purpose. Sumptuous food which was not only reserved for the Crawleys. Presents, too. As if they had not been generous enough by giving him a chance to begin again, valued so heartily. Kind words and friendship, joyful smiles and gleeful laughter. There had been music which lasted beyond the moment of listening and much singing.
The singing was going on at the very moment, several voices chorusing in tandem, turning the inhabitants of the servants' hall into a makeshift choir. He smiled as he listened, head bowed and his better foot tapping out a rhythm against the floor below.
"Not joining in, Mr Bates?" A less than melodic voice came from behind his shoulder, sneering in the tone that he had come to expect as the norm. "You could at least make a bit of an effort, rather than burying your nose in a dusty old book."
"I don't hear you making much of an effort, either." He didn't turn to acknowledge the footman. He'd had a very pleasant Christmas Eve and had no wishes for it to be soured, especially with so little of it left. "Unless I don't happen to have an ear that is tuned to your baritone."
"I did my bit earlier on. Not that His Lordship could give two hoots."
A thick cloud of smoke floated quite purposely in his direction, causing his nostrils to flare. He'd curbed the habit considerably in the past few months, and the stench that came from Thomas's particular brand of cigarettes turned his stomach. He realised precisely why Anna was so repulsed by the act.
"Anyway, I'm off to bed. This had better not last for much longer."
He had the sudden, rather roguish urge to join in the revelry, singing a song with a numerous amount of verses at the top of his lungs purposely to keep Thomas awake. Then again, the footman's usual partner-in-crime had already departed from the servants' own gathering, as had Mr Carson.
"This is early for you." He closed the volume that had remained open in his hands, casting a solitary glance over his shoulder. "Are you trying to atone, so that you might get your wish come morning?"
"I'm afraid I won't get what I wish for as long as you're here, Mr Bates. But as it's the season of goodwill and all, I suppose I should be pleased that you at least pretend to care."
John stifled a chuckle for as long as he heard muted footsteps against the tinkling of the piano and the harmonious, jolly singing that was building to a crescendo. Tom Branson, who had been leading the voices in that particular song, took a bow as those assembled around the table applauded with gusto, offering William a hearty pat on the back for the musical accompaniment.
Though he tried with all the strength in him not to look to one spot in the room he found that he was utterly helpless. Any willpower that he possessed dissolved to almost nothing when he was in the light of even the smallest of her smiles.
He felt that it was better when they were in a large group, such as was the case now. Better for her, at any rate. Some months had passed since she had told of her love for him, without any agenda. The words as she had spoken them on that summer's day echoed within his head and heart daily and if he closed his eyes he would envision her standing as she had on that road, glimpsing up at him with a determined and entirely open gaze, looking more radiant than he had ever seen her. The comparison was one which would not leave him alone in the time he spent walking through the flower show; as striking as the array of blooms were, none could compare to her delicate beauty.
It did not mean that he did not still seek out her sole company in quieter moments. On occasions whereby he should have known better. She appeared to be drawn to him like a magnet – or perhaps it was the other way around, considering she was the one whose force field was so strong. He rehearsed the apologies countless times, practised gentle smiles and looks that were meant to deter her, and yet he found that he could not refuse her when she came to him, an ever-faithful and confiding ear to listen to her stories. He took his own delight in the lilt of her voice, the specific cadences when she gasped in recounted surprise or giggled helplessly in a fit of joy which he was only too happy to share in.
As much as she breathed new life into him whenever they talked or simply sat in silence, he could not shake the feeling that he was draining it from her. God knows he had strong feelings for her but he was unable to give her what she so richly deserved. He did not trust his love; it had been twisted in its judgement before. If anyone was able to renew it to wholeness and lead it back down the right path then surely it was Anna. But it was not a burden he could ask her to bear and it would never be fair to her, to take on a man as damaged as he was, even if the cracks were very gradually being filled in.
He was not Scrooge, he considered, but rather much closer to Jacob Marley. The heavy chains that he had forged – by his own doing, the reckless decisions of an impetuous youth – would hang around him for the rest of his life and even beyond, dooming him forever. Vera would never grant him a divorce, even if he knew where to begin in consigning the whole miserable business to the past. And so as much as it pained him to his very soul he would continue to conceal what was in his heart, as much as he could stop it from naturally emerging.
Wearing his shackles was one thing but to bind them to another – the truest of innocents – would be his damnation.
"Well, that's certainly livened things up," Mrs Hughes spoke over the still raucous reception to Branson's lively singing. "I think that I'll need to have a wee dram if only in the hope of getting off to sleep at all tonight."
"Any excuse," Mrs Patmore said with a hint of mischief, propping herself up against the back of a chair. "I enjoyed it."
"Thank you, Mrs Patmore," Branson smiled, pulling out a seat. "It was one of my da's favourites, he'd lead the whole family in a rendition every Christmas. I would have thought that you'd know it, Mr Bates."
John looked towards the younger man, a small smile quickly replacing his deadpan expression.
"No, I'm afraid it's a new one on me."
He shuffled against the wooden seat, hoping to escape calls for him to be the next to perform. There'd be more reason to worry if Thomas or Miss O'Brien had still been downstairs and would almost certainly be eager to embarrass him to the highest degree. As it was, none of the party still assembled would have meant harm in any request.
William turned his head from his seat at the piano, playing a softer melody upon the keys.
"Something calmer then. Anna," the more amiable footman called in a gently jostling tone, "will you give us a tune?"
John watched as she placed a hand upon her breastbone, shaking her head but still wearing a wide smile, assuming no offence.
"I couldn't possibly follow that," she pleaded, twisting slightly to aim her gaze at the chauffeur. "I don't know about Mr Carson but I think that you missed your calling on the stage, Mr Branson."
"I wouldn't last an hour before I was thrown out," Branson replied with an easy smile.
"Oh, go on, Anna," Daisy piped up from the corner of the room, "you've got such a lovely voice. I wish mine was as half as nice as yours."
"Go away with you," she said, smoothing down the skirt of her dress and then fiddling with her hands as she stood, pushing her chair away from the table. "Alright, then. But don't expect an encore."
She smiled to the room but threw a particular glance to him, her eyes shining in the low light. He returned it with an encouraging look of his own, though he was certain that she hardly needed a boost from him.
After a moment or two she leant down to whisper in William's ear, and the footman played a few opening notes before she joined in, her voice holding clear and unwavering.
Silent night, holy night
All is calm, all is bright
Round yon Virgin, Mother and Child,
Holy infant so tender and mild
Sleep in heavenly peace
Sleep in heavenly peace
He was frozen in his spot, unable to take but the slightest of breaths so that he would not interrupt the beautiful harmony. He was already aware that she had a fine voice, heard it drown out his own singing as they stood side by side in the church pew. Hearing her sing solo, accompanied only by the piano playing the simplest of melodies, was a brand new revelation. She sounded so clear, every note pitched perfectly, her conviction enough to bring a congregation to its feet in quiet and admiring praise and to make those who did not formerly believe – such as himself – fall to their knees and offer themselves over.
A wave of intense feeling welled up within him, evidenced by the tears that were gathering in his eyes.
Silent night, holy night
Shepherds quake at the sight
Glories stream from heaven afar
Heavenly hosts sing Alleluia
Christ the Saviour is born
Christ the Saviour is born
The room was quite full but as far as he was concerned there was no occupant other than her. Such a pure sound streaming from her lips. He was now more convinced than ever before that she had been called forth specifically from the most wondrous places, unknown by mere mortals.
For those sacred moments, when all of the rest of the house had fallen into a hush, he felt incredibly calm. Serenity was a phenomenon that he had encountered rarely in his life. There was also the fact that carols had always made him feel uncomfortable, even as a child when he had not been old enough to question. Afterwards he would reason that it should have been momentous. And it most certainly was, only not in the way he was expecting.
Her face was aglow, eyes though serious and fully absorbed still holding their sparkle. A quality she always seemed to be in possession of, no matter how dark the night became.
For those moments he was free. She had absolved him of all regret and guilt, the agony he still held within himself. His bruised and battered heart well on its way to healing completely and he was able to open it up, to stop the love he reciprocated from being a secret.
Only for as long as the song endured. When it came to its conclusion – and he was sorry that it could not last for the rest of time – the shutters closed within his chest once more.
She was worthy of so much more.
Awed silence was followed by rapturous applause; evidently, he had not been the only one captivated by the performance. She dipped her head amidst the noise, a soft smile upon her face and a faint blush colouring her cheeks.
The blood was too tight in his veins, his legs were tingling. He might have otherwise explained the sensations away and far more easily by saying that he had been sitting for too long. The scrape of his chair against the floor was a painfully obstructive sound following something so heavenly and he could feel the curious eyes of the younger maids gathered in the corner and hall-boys who had come in from the corridor to be able to hear better upon him as he got to his feet, his palms beating together with such fervour that they had already started to sting.
Branson quickly followed suit, though he had not seen John doing so, and then William stood from his seat at the piano so that she received quite the ovation.
"Oh, Anna," Mrs Hughes exclaimed from her seat, emotion evident by the clutching of her hand at her chest as well as the quiver in her voice, "that was beautiful."
"It were so much better than Lady Mary," Daisy said in a dramatic whisper, not raising her voice likely for fearing that the named lady of the house would become aware and dole out some kind of punishment for daring to be so impudent.
"I don't think so," Anna herself modestly dismissed the notion, placing a thankful hand on the girl's shoulder as she passed. "I do love that one."
She did not take her previous seat at the table; instead she seized the chair at his side. John felt himself flush with heat at having her so close by, sharing an acknowledging glance before he stared down at the book in front of him, opened once more.
The party dispersed gradually, leaving season's greetings in the room before departing for bed. William was the last to go until they were left alone, closing the lid over the piano keys which had brought forth such merriment and revelation.
"Goodnight, Anna, Mr Bates. See you in the morning."
"Goodnight, William," Anna echoed, reaching out to squeeze his hand.
"Sleep well," John wished the younger man, doing what he could to ignore the sight. Any envy he felt was most certainly misplaced, as well he knew.
She smiled at him, the colour still in her cheeks, reaching across the table to bring one of the candles closer.
"Will you be staying up long?"
He shook his head. "I'll finish this upstairs. Not that I couldn't recite it by heart." A chuckle started within his chest as he lowered his gaze. "You never know who may turn up, almost unannounced."
Anna laughed in response, giving a nod of understanding. The candlelight illuminated her features, a couple of loose strands straying free from her otherwise immaculate bun.
"Maybe next year you could give us all a reading. It'd make a bit of a change from the music."
His smile was slow to start, and the room being almost in darkness did not help matters.
"Not that I'd ever want to..." she began with a worried-sounding falter in her voice that made his chest ache. "I know you don't like being the centre of attention. Which makes a very good change."
He raised his gaze to her, whereby his true emotion could be read - or at least most of it.
"Well, I know that singing is not my forte. And certainly not when standing next to you."
She looked down in the same manner as she had done on finishing her turn, briefer this time until she looked him in the eyes again. The smile that he found there did nothing to help his case.
"I wish you'd sing a bit louder. You're nowhere near as bad as you think you are."
"Is that your Christmas wish?" he replied softly, not knowing what else to say.
She gave a short shrug of her shoulders and he knew that she had wanted to give another answer; one which he could not bear to hear, for knowing he would have to dismiss it.
"I suppose that it is."
He smiled, thankful that the lack of light could not display his deep regret to her. She had given her heart to him, and though he was the least worthy recipient, it was the greatest gift that he could ever have.
"Well, I cannot disappoint. I shall bring up some water with honey and lemon. That's good for the voice, isn't it? Though I'm afraid that not even a miracle can make up for my shortcomings."
She replied with the same softness as always, too willing to think the best of him.
With his acquiescence she extinguished the remaining candles, leaving him in the shadows.
"Goodnight, Mr Bates." She hesitated before she spoke again. "May I be the first to say it?"
Never had anything sounded sweeter to his ears, save for her earlier rendition.
"Merry Christmas."
A/N: Yes, the title was a bit of a clue :) (I know Mary does sing Silent Night in S5 CS, but I think Anna would sing it absolutely beautifully too)
A Christmas Carol is by Charles Dickens, with that particular passage coming from 'The Last of the Spirits'.