Late entry for the Weekend Challenge, set somewhere after Series 3, probably before 4.
The day had seemed sunny when they had woken and walked to the house, but by the time that they had finished the morning's work, it seemed to be giving it's best for them. John Bates stood in the courtyard, turning his face up to the sun, basking in the rays. Winter had taken a long time to be gone this year, March had been freezing and wet. But April, bless it, appeared to be breaking the old wives tale of showers. Even if it meant a wet summer, for now he was simply grateful for the fact, there would be time enough to whine over the fact of rain later.
"You're brooding"
He turned his head to see Anna closing the porch door to the servants corridor, a large wicker basket on her arm. He smiled down at his wife "I wouldn't call it brooding, musing on the weather."
She gave him a look "Musing, brooding, near enough the same... And if you don't stop, I won't share the picnic Mrs Pattmore's pulled together for us."
He met her look for look "You wouldn't do that"
"Wouldn't I, Mr Bates?"
But she slipped her arm through his companionably enough.
They ambled, crossing the park, out onto the meadows of the estate and finally into the forest path itself. John found himself looking down at Anna as they walked, unconciously tightening his grip "
This was one of the first places we walked after I was free, remember."
She returned his grip "As if I could forget."
"The birds sang, the trees fluttered so green, it, it was almost as if they were celebrating with us." He was awkare of his voice turning pensive as he looked around at, remembering how he had struggled to recognise that it wasn't simply a dream but reality, that he was outside in the countryside, free. With his wife.
"I never twigged you for a poet"
"I read a lot, and I brood on, as far as I am aware, those are the best qualifications for such a position"
She laughed "Then stick to being a valet, it suits you better."
They stopped in a small clearing just off the path., spreading out the blanket and setting down with the basket. Mrs Pattmore had done well. Cold chicken, a chunk of bread, a small pot of pickles. It was simple, but it was heaven for them both. In fact just being here with Anna, just them was more than enough. Then, half dozing, he noted something growing off at the edge of the clearing. Slowly he climbed to his feet and walked over, ignoring Anna's call. He considered what he'd found, then bent and picked it. His heart rang with memory and pain as he did so, music playing in his mind. Returning to the blanket he presented it to Anna with all flourish.
"A bluebell" But she held it in her hands as if it were the Madonna's lily.
"A bluebell for my bluebell. My faithful bluebell, who I dreamed of."
She lifted her eyes to him from the flower "John?"
He managed to smile "Goodbye My Bluebell... It was our Tipperary then." He shook his head, dispelling the thoughts "Forget I said anything."
"No, You've always been a soldier to me, for me. The war is part of you, as it is every man who served this time." She looked about, and he saw the meditative look n her eyes. In time perhaps we will make our own memories for this place."
"Our children playing, driving us to worry by running too far ahead?"
She smiled at him "Perhaps."
Goodbye My Bluebell, is an old Boer War song, a recording on Youtube is under 'Farewell my Bluebell'.