They'd said all that, and yet here it was, November 1914, and there were no signs that anyone would be home by Christmas except in a pine box. Every day it seemed there was another list of casualties from the village or one of the farms on the estate. Every day there was another mention of a mother they should all pray for, with her having lost her son, or maybe lost another son. Or her only son. Or all her sons.
She sighed and put the paper down. They were fighting in someplace called Ypres, which Anna wasn't even sure how to pronounce properly.
"What was that sigh for, Anna?" Mr. Bates asked gently, sitting down beside her at the servant's table. He had the polishing cloth and some of Lord Grantham's medals, so Anna pushed the newspaper over to him for him to use it to protect the table.
"Don't you want to read it?" he asked in puzzlement, and Anna shook her head.
"It's all war and dying in places I can't pronounce. Wasn't it to be over by Christmas? Doesn't seem like that now," she replied, giving in to a bit of pessimism.
He smiled gently, the smile she thought he reserved just for her. They weren't involved, her and Mr. Bates, of course they weren't, but that smile was just for her. She was almost sure of it.
"The people who aren't fighting the war always think it will be over sooner than it is," he replied knowingly, and she glanced down at his leg, held stiffly under the table. He'd been in a war. He knew how it was. He wasn't in this war now because he wasn't fit, and she knew sometimes it bothered him that he couldn't serve. Selfishly, though, if she had to choose between Thomas serving and Mr. Bates serving, she'd choose Thomas. He was younger. He was fit. And she liked Mr. Bates far better.
"What was it like, being in a war?" she dared to ask, which she knew was far too personal. He ought to tell her to leave off asking questions.
"Awful," he replied frankly. "We did what we were told, but sometimes what we were told to do wasn't right."
"I'm sorry," she apologized immediately. "I shouldn't have pried."
"It's alright," he replied, and she could tell he meant it. "You can ask me anything, Anna. If I don't want to speak of it, I'll tell you, but I'll always have a good reason."
She smiled in relief. She hadn't ruined things with her curiosity about his life before he'd come here. She just wanted to know about him. Anything she could. Even the bad things, she wanted to know. She knew he'd been in prison. She knew he was married. His war was just another part of that.
"I shouldn't have asked anyway. It can't be easy to talk about," she said stoutly.
"It isn't," he agreed. "But I know you aren't asking out of idle curiosity or because you want to know if I've ever killed a man."
She shivered a bit, thinking of Mr. Bates killing someone, but if he'd been in a war, he probably had. She was sure he had, actually, whether he knew he had or not. But she understood why he wouldn't want to speak of that.
"I'd never ask such a thing," she replied seriously, and he nodded.
"And that's why I'll tell you what you do ask," he agreed, and looked around to be sure no one was listening.
"So, ask away. I'll tell you what I can and hope it helps you understand this war better," he invited with another of those gentle, warm smiles.
She smiled back at him, the smile she knew she reserved just for him. This war they were fighting in France would hopefully be over by Christmas, but this friendship would definitely not be.