I don't know why I'm doing this to you. I don't know why I'm doing it to myself. But my internet is down and I can't stop thinking about that terrifying trailer.
On a practical note, I'm used to a Bates POV rather than an Anna one, so this might be a little rusty.
Not Guilty
Not guilty. Not guilty.
Even as she heaves in desperately bottled terror, one hand enclosed in Mrs Hughes' and the other in Lady Mary's, she is silently praying for the only verdict that could ever be right. She prays and wishes and vows to whoever will listen to her thoughts that she will give her life in exchange for his. It's all she has, that she hasn't already given for his sake.
When Anna goes home and breaks the news of her marriage to her family, they are furious. In a way, Anna understands that. She did do it behind their backs, without dropping a word. But what she can't understand is that they tell her she should have given up on him when the danger came of an arrest. They say she should have left him the moment his first wife died, or better yet, the moment she found out he had one. They are welcome enough to think what they like on that score; Anna doesn't bother setting them straight. When she asks her mum to come with her to the trial, she says she might come for her daughter's sake but never for that brutal John Bates. She says she doesn't support a philanderous murderer and won't pretend to. She says she can't come and support a daughter who will hit her in the face so hard she almost breaks her nose.
Anna doesn't care much. Well, not any more. Lady Mary and Mrs Hughes, everyone at Downton, even Miss O'Brien, make up her family now. And if her mother can really think that her Mr Bates is a murderer then she doesn't deserve to know her son-in-law.
Her breath is quickening and her grasp on Lady Mary's hand is tightening and why is that judge delaying for even a second? She needs to know, she can't know, she wants to run up and grab the papers and see for herself, she wants to hide and never face the truth. What will she do if… She can't even think the words. No. He won't be found guilty, he can't be found guilty. He didn't. He couldn't – he won't be found guilty.
What is taking so damn long?
"Do you find the prisoner to be guilty or not guilty?"
Prisoner. Why use that word of everything? The image that word conjures in her mind is of a dejected, ruined man, defeated. She will not see her husband like that. She refuses to imagine that he could ever have to live like that. Die like that, a cruel corner of her mind whispers.
She clings to the hands that lie still and comforting in hers. Can she hold on any longer? Her heart will explode from her mouth in a moment. She's so, so afraid.
When the man speaks, she doesn't hear him. She continues with her quickened breathing and pounding heart, the tears threatening. She doesn't hear Lady Mary speaking gently to her, doesn't feel Mrs Hughes resting a hand on her shoulder. She doesn't know of anything until she meets his eyes.
And the world doesn't matter anymore.
