A/N: So this idea came from a visit to the cemetery with an elderly relative. After laying flowers, she went on to admit something I'd never heard her talk of and the result was the birth of this little story.

I'll admit, this was incredibly hard to write due to the emotions I experienced when writing. I hope you enjoy reading it and if not, I apologise! :)

Regrets

If I could change the past, I would. If I could stop the great clock of life and wind it backwards, I would. If I could stop the world from turning and send it into reverse, I would. I'd change it all if I could.

We all make mistakes in life; I know that more than anyone. It's how we deal with them that matters. Some people are practical; they take the blow on the chin, pull themselves back up again and get on with it. Some people are sentimental about it all, they wallow and self-flagellate over what could have been, if only it had been different, if only I had done that, if only, if only, if only.

Me? I've always believed myself to be practical, to take the blows of life, learn from them and move on. I've never had time for wallowing in self-pity, never believed in all of that. That is until today.

The letter arrived with the morning post and amongst the bills and correspondence from my sister; I saw the elegant script, recognised in an instant the seal on the back. Bills aside, I opened it with intrigue; it had been many years since I had received such a letter, I even felt a girlish flutter at what the contents might hold. Daft really, I'm far from a girl now, far from that girl anyway.

The letter is from Lady Mary, now Countess of Grantham. Since I left her home eighteen years ago, a great deal of things have changed. The eldest daughter of the previous Earl of Grantham is now a Countess after marrying the heir, Mr Matthew Crawley, now Lord Grantham. I was pleased it had worked out for them, pleased that Lady Mary would not have to leave the home she loved and could carry her mother's title as her grandmother had wished.

The opening to the letter reveals nothing of great interest, a mere paragraph on health and family, Lady Mary had always been especially kind and civil to me. It is the following paragraph that makes me sit up and take notice. Those few lines bring back to me twenty years of pain and regret.

"...I am saddened to have to tell you, my dear Anna, of the news that Mr. Bates has passed away. I know not of the particulars only that he died in London. It seems that Mr Mason had always kept in touch with him, even after he became our butler; he always spoke fondly of how Bates had watched out for him when he was a young footman. He had a letter the other day from a member of Bates' family, a niece I think telling him of the death, Mason told his Lordship and as soon as I heard, I thought I should tell you too.

Anyway, I am terribly sorry to write you this news but I thought you would wish to know. I know he was a favourite of yours at one point..."

The letter continued but I could read no more. It was finally over. Just like that, a short letter and a few brief words and it was all over. Never to be altered, never to be set right, over.

I folded the little letter away, my lips were dry and my throat tight but I couldn't swallow, I couldn't even find the energy to allow my tongue to give my lips relief. I merely sat, staring into space, alone with my thoughts, allowing my mind the time to grieve.

The thoughts whirled through my mind, darting this way and then that, I felt as though I was drowning though outwardly you'd never know.

His dark eyes, his soft smile...was he alone? Was someone with him? The little yard, the secret jokes, the gentle touch of his hand in mine, did he suffer? Was it quick? Did he think of me? The servants' hall, side by side, the shared glances, the conversations that only we understood, where will he be buried? Will there be a big funeral? Who will attend? Did he think of me? Did he miss me as much as I have missed him? Did he regret...

The thoughts kept coming, endlessly pounding my shattered mind, ringing out into my ears, filtering down to my heart so that it contracted agonisingly, spreading into my stomach so that it churned and knotted, slowly making its way, consuming me. He was gone, it was over.

Helping out in the bedrooms, making beds, laughing, the cryptic messages. How long was he ill? Had he tried to find me? Did he know what I did? Did he forgive me? Did he understand? The road to the flower show, my words, his gentle rebuke,

"You are a lady to me."

My persistence, did he want me as I wanted him? Did every dream always end with me like mine always end with him? The truth, the wine, the threat of him going...the night we almost kissed. Did he ask for me near the end? The way he looked at me, the promises I made, the ones he could never keep.

"I'll love you forever Anna. God knows I will. But it can never be..."

The way he walked away...

How long I sat there, my mind lost in the past, I don't know, but the next thing I knew the front door had banged shut and I was being called. My mind was still sluggish from the devastating onslaught from the past and before I could answer she was in the room, her bright eyes looking at me with concern.

"Are you alright mum? You're as white as a sheet!"

I manage a weak smile at my darling daughter, "I'm fine, just a little cast down by some news I've received."

I place the little letter onto the table and glance back at her, she is studying me worriedly, she may only be seventeen but she is old and wise beyond her years.

"Oh, bad news I take it?"

I merely nod, "A friend of mine has died, I was just remembering the good times."

She sits in the little chair opposite, her dark eyes gazing at me, "Oh? Was it anyone I know?"

I give a little shake of my head, "No, a friend from before you were born."

"Someone you used to work with at Downton?" she presses me further, though a part of me wishes she would leave it. I am afraid that if I must speak about it, it will be my undoing; I am just about holding it together.

I merely nod again, "Yes, he was a good friend." A good, good friend...

"Oh dear, father will be sad to hear that then." She sighs and I look up,

"I doubt that very much," I say rather grimly.

I've said too much, and my dear girl is instantly intrigued. "Why? Did he not like him?"

I have to pause for a moment as I consider this, "He didn't dislike him, not at first...you see my friend, John Bates, well...for a while we were walking out together. Before your father...when it didn't work out I married your father and we left Downton...the rest is history as they say."

She smiles, "Ahh...Dad was jealous of this John Bates then? I see! Well...he got you in the end so he shouldn't mind too much, not after all these years."

I can't help but smile at her youthful enthusiasm; she does have a habit of jumping to wrong conclusions. "It's not quite so simple as that." I hear myself say.

"Oh?"

I should really stop now, quit whilst I'm ahead, but something in me needs to say it, needs to acknowledge the past I wanted rather than the past I've had.

"If...I would have married John Bates, it was what I wanted above everything else. He was...is the love of my life."

She looks at me a little crestfallen, I know exactly why; I've just basically told her that I have never loved her father...if only she really knew.

"So why didn't you? Marry him that is?" She asks, I can see she is trying to forget what I have just said. I wish I could.

I sigh deeply, "He wasn't a free man."

She tilts her head and thinks carefully, "Do you mean he was a married man? Mother!" I can't tell whether she is shocked or delighted at this supposed scandal, I suspect she's a little of both.

"Yes he was married; he was estranged from her, but still married. Like I said, it wasn't so simple. He loved me, I desperately loved him but it could never be." I have to look away from her gaze now for fear she will see the tears in my eyes.

"Could he not get a divorce or something?" she asks, her voice tells me she is uncomfortable but she clearly wants to know more.

I shake my head, "Divorce is not simple now but it was worse back then. The scandal...well he would have faced the scandal if he had known where his wife actually was."

My darling girl looks shocked at this, "He didn't know where she was?"

"He'd been to prison..."

"Prison?" she interjects; her voice raised several octaves higher than normal, "Mother, he was a criminal? I'm really surprised at you!" She gives a little laugh and a shake of her head.

I can't help but laugh at little with her, saying it aloud does sound like I was some sort of rebel and he was some renegade man leading me astray. "He went to prison for his wife, she stole some silver, he took the blame. They had a rather tempestuous marriage, he drank a lot, had been injured in the South African war and felt he wasn't a good husband to her, so when she stole, he took the blame."

She whistles lightly and plays absently with a strand of blonde hair as she takes in my words. I smile softly, "He was a good man." I say rather wistfully.

"So...how did they become estranged?"

"He went to prison, she disappeared. He never heard from her again, the last he did know, she was living in London. He went to find her..." I pause and swallow hard, "But he never came back. I got a letter from him..." Again I have to pause, even now the words choke in my throat as I remember, "he said he had found her and things were worse than he had expected. He promised to write again soon...it was almost a year before he wrote again, he told me I should move on, forget him, he could never be free for me."

My daughter leans forward; her eyes are dark with sadness and concern, "So he just left you? Expected you to move on from him?"

I can only nod.

"Well he sounds a real delight!" she cries indignantly, "A criminal with a drink problem and a wife? He sounds a real catch!"

I rest my elbow onto the arm of my chair and rest my face against my palm, finally I say, "I thought he was...he was."

"So what happened then?" she asks me, I stare out of the window as I conjure up the next events of my life.

"Well...I did as he said, I moved on."

"You met father and fell in love with him?" she presses; I wince. I knew she would ask me that.

"Something like that," I answer, praying she doesn't ask anything more.

"So father saved you, restored your faith in men again!" she declares happily.

"Your father is a good man," I say, "I care a lot for him and I know he loves me greatly. He loved me longer than I knew."

My astute daughter misses nothing, "You care a lot for him? You mean you don't love him?"

I close my eyes and swallow the sickness threatening to rise into my throat. When I open them I see her face, see her look. My silence has answered her question.

"I do love your father, in my own way. Just not as much or as strongly as he loves me, but I do love him...he's been good to me."

"You're just not in love with him." she says, how did my girl get to be so clever?

I nod, tears threatening my eyes, "I've tried to fall in love with him...but I can't, he's just not..."

"John Bates."

I shake my head, how I had loved that man...still love that man. I would have given anything, faced anything to be with him. I would have lived in sin, walked across the oceans for him. I would have given my life for him. I loved him so deeply that when he wasn't in a room I felt lost, incomplete. I dreamt of him...I still do...every day, I fantasised about our life together. I wanted him with every fibre of my being, he was my soulmate, my one and only love and he couldn't be mine.

And now he was gone.

"Does father know?" Her voice cuts through me like a knife. Of all the regrets I have, this is perhaps my worst.

I nod, "Yes...but he loved me so much he was willing to look past that. He hoped...hopes that one day I will fall in love with him. I wish I could."

She sits back in her chair and studies me carefully, "Then why did you marry him?"

A damn good question.

"I had to get away from Downton, from the memories I had there. Your father offered me that chance; he was kind to me, caring, sweet and gentle. He made promises he could keep and I didn't dislike him. He offered me a way out of service and I took it." I drop my eyes, ashamed at the admissions I am making to my own child, "I didn't want to end up alone."

She doesn't speak and neither do I. I fear I have said too much, but somehow I feel a little better for speaking it aloud. We sit in reflective silence; no doubt she will be trawling through her memories searching for clues that I do love her father more passionately than I am declaring. She won't find anything.

I am still lost, my head aches and my heart feels as though it has stopped. I want to grieve for him, want to cry openly for the man I've loved and never had. I should be wearing black now, visiting his body daily in the Chapel of Rest, weeping for him. I should be preparing a funeral, speaking with relatives and friends, thanking them for their condolences. I should be sat in our bedroom, talking to him as if he is still with me, I should look at his side of the bed and almost pretend that I can still see him, sleeping.

I should be sitting at the front of a church, the grieving widow; I should be standing by his graveside and throwing flowers onto his coffin as he's lowered away from me. I should be the one visiting his grave daily, laying fresh flowers when the old ones die, I should be talking to him about the menial things of life, I should be pining away for him, praying for the day I can see him again.

Instead I am miles away, with little information and someone else's wedding ring in my finger. The little clock on the mantelpiece strikes the hour and my reverie ends. My girl is watching me in thoughtful silence.

I get wearily to my feet, "I'd better get on, your father will be home for his lunch soon." I say half-heatedly, though making sandwiches is the last thing I want to do.

"Mother..." she calls to me, "Are you alright?"

I nod, a thin smile on my lips, I won't burden her anymore, I will find my time to grieve and like I did all those years ago, I will try to move on. "I'm fine, my darling."

I walk towards the door and stop, turning, I look at her youthful face, so similar to mine all those years ago, "Just...when you fall in love, don't ever let go, however hard it is, fight on. I don't want you to have the regrets that I have."

She smiles in understanding. "I promise."

I start to walk again and she calls out, reaching to the floor, "You've dropped a bill!"

I sigh as I take it from her, looking down at the address my heart lurches once more.

"Mrs. A. Molesley."

If only it read, "Mrs. A. Bates."

THE END.

A/N2: Anyone for tissues? I have plenty! As I said at the start, this idea is based on a true story but I hope...HOPE that this is not how things turn out for Anna and Bates. If it does, I think I would cry for a year! :(

Anyway, thank you for reading! :)