A/N: So, quite a bit of time passes between Ep5 and Ep6 and yet when we pick up with Anna and Bates in Ep6, it seems nothing has really changed, her declaration of love is not discussed and life seems to be moving on as it ever did. But they must have talked about it? Anna must have felt some humiliation or at least embarrassment about her declaration of love and the fact he seemingly didn't return her affections. So here, is my attempt to fill in those months!
As the seasons change
August 1913
"Because… I love you, Mr Bates…."
Oh, how those words haunt me! Over and over they go in my mind as I stand by his side at the flower show. Usually, I enjoy the annual event; the smell of the flowers; the bright colours; the excitement; it's always something to look forward to. But right now, I hate every single minute of it.
To stand so close to him and yet be still so far away is a torture and one I can see no end to. I have no idea what is happening at the show, I don't hear the names of the winners, and although I applaud in all the right places, it's a mere façade, an outward demonstration of normality when inside I am riding an emotional tempest.
I don't regret my confession. You should never hide yourself from the world, always be open with how you feel, no matter how hard that may be; well, that's what my mum always says. But I rather wish I'd been more prudent, waited until I was certain that he felt the same way instead of ploughing headlong into a humiliating declaration of love.
"You are a lady to me…."
His gentle rejection floods through my mind and I shift awkwardly at his side, I'm sure I must be blushing with the shame. I feel his eyes upon me and before I can stop myself I quickly glance at him, meeting his eyes. What's that look? Guilt? Shame? Embarrassment? Pity, even?
Oh, Lord, where do we go from here?
It's a thought that plagues me for the rest of the day. I've unlocked a door now and no matter how hard I try, nothing will lock it again. I can't take back my words, I can't laugh and tell him I was joking, no, it's out there, just lingering between us and I have no idea how to make it right again.
I almost believe it would have been easier and kinder if he had flatly told me he didn't feel the same way. If he'd been forthright and open with me, told me in plain and simple terms that there was no hope for us; well, I could have accepted that. I would have crawled away, nursed my bruised ego and bandaged the cracks to my poor heart. I would have survived.
But this, this is torture! He gave me neither hope nor despair; he merely spoke in a riddle my simple mind could not understand. He spoke of a wife, of not being free, but what did that really mean? Did he mean he felt the same way? Did he mean there was hope? If he did feel the same, surely he would have said something. Of course he would have said something. I want to ask him but I'm afraid of the answer he might give.
So instead I carry on.
The next day, I try to keep bright and cheerful. Wherever possible I avoid him and I'm sure he avoids me. At breakfast we sit in our usual spots, side by side, yet we speak not a word to each other. His silence tells me what my head already knows, there is no hope. I try to be resolute, convince myself that I don't care, but, oh Lord how I care! As breakfast rolls on, I wish I could turn the clock back and keep my mouth closed, I long for the carefree way we would talk to each other, I want my friend back.
I've spoilt it all. How he must think me a fool!
The second my bowl of porridge is clear, I leap to my feet and tidy away my bowl; head down, I scurry from the room. I sense his eyes upon my departing form and feel my cheeks begin to burn with renewed shame. For a brief, pathetic moment, I lose myself to a fantasy. I imagine him calling out to me, following me from the room and sweeping me into his arms for an embrace that sends my legs to water. The fantasy turns to shame and ducking my head, I scamper up the stairs towards the solace of my work.
Folding sheets is a rather soothing task and I confess on this day, I indulge myself in folding slowly. The silence of the room calms my rather frenetic thoughts and slowly a bit of the old, more logical me begins to resurface.
So I declared my love for him. Is that really so bad? So he didn't actually declare how he felt for me. Is that really so bad? Perhaps he does love me; perhaps I just caught him by surprise yesterday? Maybe, now he's had time to think, maybe now he is ready to declare himself to me? Did he not bring me a dinner tray complete with flowers when I was unwell? Did he not hint at loving me in Lady Edith's room? And of all the staff, he spends the most time with me, gives only me that special smile of his and happily whispers and conspires with only me… surely… that must mean something?
Buoyed by these thoughts, I conclude, with the last fold of the sheet, that I must merely have surprised him and that he needs a little time to sort himself out. He admitted he'd been married, perhaps his wife had died tragically and it was painful for him to talk about? Yes, there was still hope.
Feeling brave and determined to reclaim back my friend and hopefully claim a lover in the process, I decide to take the long way back downstairs. I pray that I will meet him, accidentally on purpose, as I pass his Lordship's dressing room, and as I approach that part of the corridor my heart rate quickens. My stomach knots with apprehension and the thought of seeing him makes my skin become clammy. It's ridiculous really but this is how he makes me feel, I would do anything to see him, hear him, be near him. I'm so madly in love with him and I can't do anything about it.
I'm so lost in my desire to see him that I don't see him in the corridor until it's almost too late. His solid presence is before me and from the look on his face I've taken him by surprise for the second time in as many days. I come to an abrupt halt and gasp with the shock, feeling the blush spread across my cheeks. His expression turns from surprise to slight amusement and my blush deepens.
"Sorry." The word leaves my mouth and hangs in the air between us. I'm apologising for more than just my carelessness on the corridor and he seems to sense that too.
A terrible silence descends and I open my mouth to say something, but words fail me and so I stand there, like a fool. He shifts awkwardly, leaning heavily on his cane and I can tell he is embarrassed too.
"Sorry," I say again and thankfully, I find the art of walking returning to me. I awkwardly sidestep him as he makes no attempt to move aside. I duck my head as I pass, my eyes flitting between his and the floor.
I walk away, trying hard to keep my nerve when I hear him call after me, again, the fantasy replays once more in my mind.
"Anna."
I turn, hope rising up through my stomach. Maybe this will be the moment?
"Yes?"
He opens his mouth to say something but then his expression darkens and I'm sure I see him blush.
"Do you want a hand with anything?"
My stomach falls away and my chest heaves with disappointment. "No, no thank you, Mr Bates." I reply and sadly turn away.
Maybe things will never be the same again.
The days pass by in an awkward blur. We barely speak to each other, though we're always civil when we do. I still sit by his side in the servant's hall but our conversation is limited to requests for the salt or the milk. The easiness we used to have is gone and yet still I am left in limbo, unsure of truly where I stand with him.
I expect him to come to me, to explain things further, but he doesn't. I linger in corridors, rooms and in the yard, hoping he will come and explain to me or at least give me the chance to explain to him, to make things right again. But he doesn't come.
Only a fool would still keep hope. But I am a fool indeed.
I think I must be truly lost to love for how he makes me feel. In the confusion of the last few days I still yearn to be near him, for him to smile at me, I long for that feeling he gives me and will do anything to receive it. I feel like a child begging for praise from an adult, I want to dance, sing, cartwheel across the floor, all to earn his gaze and smile. It's ridiculous, isn't it? I'm a grown woman, for heaven's sake.
Each day I wake and hope that the day will bring a change in our relationship, that there will be some closure to the awkwardness that plagues us. Each day, I sit at breakfast and offer him a smile as we eat and though my heart lifts when he returns my smile it never goes any further than a few polite words. I wonder what he's thinking, he's probably afraid that if he offers me too much in way of friendliness I'll throw myself at him and make more desperate declarations to him. He's probably afraid I'll press him to tell me how he really feels.
He's probably right.
I go about my work as diligently as ever. Nobody could ever chastise me for my work. I begin to take comfort in dressing the girls. I spend a little longer with each one as I help them dress for the day and for the evening. I listen to Lady Mary as she talks of many things, usually about herself, and answer politely when she enquires after me.
With Lady Edith I indulge her by listening to her talks of Sir Anthony and her bitter comments regarding Lady Mary. In Lady Sybil's room, I listen to her talk about her new passion of politics and socialism and though it holds no real interest with me it's a welcome relief to thoughts of Mr Bates. I would listen to anything if it helped me to forget my unrequited love.
I find myself listening out for him as I work, a daily ritual of listening and waiting, it's a torture I cannot seem to put an end to.
One morning, I hear him approaching along the corridor as I finish cleaning in Lady Edith's room. I stop working, frozen, wondering if he's going to come into the room. My heart rate quickens and I hold my breath as I hear the familiar tap of his cane. Part of me wants him to come inside and talk to me but the other part is afraid. His step falters outside the door and my heart pounds painfully. I straighten up, expecting to see him appear but then his steps continue and I hear him disappear down the corridor.
I exhale with both relief and disappointment. My heart sinks and I am left crestfallen, I really have lost my friend and any childish dreams of a relationship with him are all but over. I continue with my work and wonder how I can make this right again, it's been weeks now and still I have no answer to this question. Perhaps I need to be brave and push away my desire for him and content myself with his friendship. Loving him from afar and having his friendship must surely be better than this torment?
By the end of the month I can take no more and so I make a mental pact with myself to speak with him and try to win him back. Purely as a friend mind you, I think I'm resigned that he'll never be anything more. It's been weeks since that fateful day and if he really felt anything remotely romantic for me he would have spoken to me about it, wouldn't he?
I seize my opportunity one afternoon on the last day of August. He sits alone in the servant's hall, book in front of him and as I approach, my heart leaps with unrequited love and I yearn for just some of my fantasies to at least come true. I yearn for him to love me as I love him.
Pushing these unhelpful thoughts away, I step into the hall with a smile and take satisfaction in his surprised look as I greet him with a lot more confidence – and cheek – than I actually intended.
"Hello stranger."
"I could say the same thing to you," he scolds lightly. His eyes crinkle at the corners and my heart flutters a little. He places his book onto the table and folds his arms waiting for me to speak or do something.
I drop my eyes and move silently into position next to him. Now I'm here, and the first words are spoken, my confidence begins to scatter. I look at my hands and a silence descends though less awkward than it has been previously. I suddenly feel him nudge me lightly with his shoulder.
"I've missed you."
The fluttering in my heart intensifies and my stomach lurches, my eyes lift and I see that he is smiling at me.
"I've missed you too," I reply, mirroring his smile.
Again silence descends, there's so many things hanging in the air between us, so many things I want to say, and yet I daren't. I'm just on the brink of gaining his friendship once more; I don't want to spoil it with a loose tongue.
"Mr Bates…" I begin, my voice sounds small and unsure and my breathing has quickened. It's a response I'm not proud of but I can't help it. "I…"
His hand lands on mine, stopping me before I can say anything else. "I know," he says simply and slowly removes his hand.
I shake my head slowly, he doesn't know, he can't know! If he did, he wouldn't torture me this way, he would end my pain once and for all.
"I don't think you do," I say, almost inaudible.
His hand is back on mine again and this time he squeezes it gently, the sensation sends my heart into palpitations, "I know what you want… need to hear from me. But, I can't"
His hand squeezes one more time and then he removes it again, arms folded, he leans back against his chair and gives me a look of sadness. My eyes drop to the table and the silence descends once more. It suddenly dawns on me that I'm still no clearer, does he love me or not? In that instant, I'm furious with him, how dare he sit there and tell me he knows what I want to hear and yet not tell it me?
"Because you don't love me?" I even shock myself at my boldness, his look is priceless.
"That's not what I said," he answers, a grimace flickering across his face.
"No, it's not," I agree bitterly.
He sighs softly and unfolding his arms, rests his hands on the table. I lift my head and try to meet his eyes but he deliberately avoids me, choosing the table over me.
"Anna," his voice is strained, "There's so many things I want to say, but it wouldn't be right. Not yet, anyway."
My breathing quickens again and the pounding of my heart thunders in my ears, almost drowning him out. I try to think of something to say, something clever and grown up but my mind is whirling and my heart in control.
"But I love you," I cry. I'm instantly furious with myself, I sound like a petty child but my heart is still in command and my mouth a willing servant. "Doesn't that mean anything to you?"
He meets my eyes now and I see the strain, strain that I'm causing. I'd like to say I feel remorseful, but confess I don't. "Anna, you don't know what that means to me." He gasps the words, it's the most emotion I've ever heard from him and it lifts me a little.
"No, I don't," I agree again. "Tell me."
He groans softly in resignation, "I don't deserve your love, Anna. God knows you're a better person than I could ever be. To know, you love me… well..." He shakes his head in disbelief, "I'm not deserving of it. I wish you didn't love me, it would make things so much easier."
"But, I do love you."
He smiles softly, his eyes crinkling once more but there's nothing teasing about this smile. "Yes, you do."
Throwing caution completely to the wind, I let my mouth go, "Do you love me?"
He chuckles at this, "Only you would be so brave."
"That's not answering my question," I scold, matching his smile.
"No, it's not," he agrees.
"So?"
"I can't."
"Can't tell me, or can't love me? Mr Bates, you're goin' to have to help me out here!"
He smiles, "Both, I want to... but, I can't."
I nod silently; it seems my question has been answered. He can't love me and won't love me. It's as simple as that… for him at least. For me, well I'll have to content myself with loving him from afar, being his friend is far more agreeable than not having his friendship at all – even if I'll always want more.
I rise silently from the table and slowly make my way out of the room. I console myself on this lonely walk that at least we've cleared some of the air that's surrounded us, in time we could be back to where we were and with any luck he'll forget all about my being in love with him; we can be as we were – friends.
"Not yet anyway."
His voice calls after me, stopping me in my tracks. I turn and gaze at him in bewilderment. He's leaning back in his chair, arms folded, eyes smiling. I smile back at him and in that shared gaze, my hope rises once more. He just needs time and I can give him that. I have all the time in the world for him. For once my head takes control of my mouth and I prudently smile at him warmly and turn on my heels and keep walking, knowing his gaze is on me until I disappear from view.
Maybe we'll be fine after all.