A/N: I just started watching Downton Abbey recently, and I'm obsessed (mainly with Bates and Anna). In the fourth episode of series two, when Mary is singing "If You Were the Only Girl", I spied Bates standing in back next to Anna, and I found myself wondering what he might be thinking. I wanted to write a oneshot about that episode, but then I had a thought. There are plenty of scenes in which Anna and Bates are together but in the background, so why not write a whole series of behind-the-scenes Banna. I realize this is a lot to take on, and honestly, a fair amount of what I'm writing will be direct dialect and direction from the episodes, but I'd like to see if I can keep this up. So begins my oneshot/drabble series.
Disclaimer: These characters, as well as every word spoken in this shot, belong to Julian Fellowes, and I am in no way connected.
He'd come early with the milk train.
John Bates was nothing if not eager for this new job, a new start, a new beginning. His most vivid memories were filled with the horrors of the Boer War, and the self-disappointment of his drunkenness, failing marriage, and false imprisonment. But, by a rare stroke of luck, he'd made contact with Robert Crawley, his former war companion and the Earl of Grantham. His Lordship was in need of a valet, and having already formed such a close relationship during the war, Bate had seemed a logical choice to assist Lord Grantham in his more intimate day-to-day events.
Bates couldn't have been more pleased if he tried. Despite his sketchy past dealings and record, he was being granted most graciously a position which most would achieve after a great deal of time and effort. Every fiber of Bates's being, down to the shrapnel embedded in his leg, hummed with a desire to prove he was still competent, still determined, still worthy (if by a very small measure) of this new life, a sort of "do-over."
After no one answered his knock to the back door, he dithered for a moment, wondering what to do. Of course, they were likely not expecting him so early. Perhaps he should have planned his arrival more carefully… but he had arrived, and there was no going back. The ache in his leg from standing in one place quickly made the decision for him, and he carefully eased open the back door. He cast a glance over his shoulder before stepping over the threshold and pulling the oak door closed behind him.
Bates found himself in a plain hall with no wall decoration, just eggshell colored from floor to ceiling. He heard sounds from up ahead: the din of a busy kitchen, no doubt. He followed his ears, hoping perhaps a maid or footman could point him in the right direction. Step, cane, shuffle. Step, cane, shuffle. He wondered belatedly if he would be received with enthusiasm or trepidation because of his limp.
"She's a girl, stupid. Girls can't inherit."
A thick voice floated down the hall more clearly than the distant chatter and clunk of pots and pans, and Bates paused. He had reached the end of the short hall, which gave way to a landing. A staircase let off to three separate, longer hallways, each of which John glanced down. His nerves had spiked, and he shook his head briefly, trying to rid himself of any anxiety.
"But now Mr. Crawley's dead, and Mr. Patrick was his only son. So what happens next?"
A tall woman in a dark dress came into Bates's view as she reached the bottom of the staircase. She held an air of arrogance and she stopped short when she noticed him standing before her.
Two maids had followed close behind. "Dreadful thing!" the blonde said. The redhead turned her head back to nod in agreement. The maids came to the landing behind the taller woman, and three pairs of eyes regarded him curiously.
"Hello," Mr. Bates finally said, offering a small smile. He leaned over to set down his traveling bag before facing the three women again. "I've been waiting at the back door. I knocked, but no one came."
"So you pushed in?" asked the stern woman, her voice biting.
"I'm John Bates, the new valet," he supplied by means of explanation.
"The new valet?"
"That's right."
Bates watched her gaze flicker down to his bad leg.
"You're early," she finally said pointedly.
"I came on the milk train. Thought I'd use the day to get to know the place, start tonight."
She had no reply, and there was a beat of silence before the blonde tucked a large pillow under her arm to free her right hand and stepped forward. "I'm Anna," she said, "the head housemaid."
John carefully transferred his cane to his left hand and took her small, warm hand in his right, giving it a quick shake. "How do you do?" He turned to the arrogant woman, his hand outstretched, but she disregarded it.
"And I'm Miss O'Brien," she introduced herself, "the Ladyship's maid." Bates regarded her as he reclaimed his cane. "You'd better come along with us."
Mr. Bates nodded quickly in assent and reached down to lift his traveling bag. When he had straightened up, Miss O'Brien was already hurrying away, the redhead in tow. The blonde, Anna, shot O'Brien a look behind her back before turning her gaze on him. The smile Anna offered was simple, but it touched her warm, kind eyes, and Bates could not help but return it. Anna continued after Miss O'Brien and Bates paused.
This maid, Anna, seemed quite sweet, and he couldn't suppress the thought that absently crept into his mind – perhaps he could forage a friendship with her? Though he was eager to interact peacefully with his fellow servants, he knew their opinion of him was not of importance. Still, it would be nice to pass a friendly face in the corridor once in awhile, perhaps a mate to joke with about Miss O'Brien's tightly wound fringe. As he stepped forward to go around the corner, the tiny voice in the back of his head decided he hoped that could be Anna.
