My first Downton story! Ideas for letters between Bates and Anna while he is in prison have been floating around my head for days, as well as the task Anna describes in her letter. I had to write it down. Consider this a one-shot. If I have time to add new letters I will, but I can't commit to that, so for now, we'll call this story complete.
I do not own "Downton Abbey," and I make no money from this story.
February 12, 1920
Dearest Anna,
I've stopped counting the days. I woke up one morning a fortnight ago and realized counting the days since I left Downton – since I left you – is a habit that will lead to madness. I can't think in terms of time passed or time left to go in this place. When it comes to myself, I can only focus on one day at the time. Every day survived is a small victory.
When it comes to you and your well-being, however, my focus is not so narrow. Mrs. Hughes writes (did you know she writes to me? ) that you are working yourself much too hard, taking on far more than your proper share. And you know how I feel about your proper share anyway – head house maid and ladies' maid to the three girls is the work of at least two already. ("But Lady Sybil is married," I hear you retort. "I'm only ladies' maid for two now.") Never mind that. It's always been too much to ask. And if the author of that arrangement feels that you are working too hard now, I can only imagine the load you must have taken on.
I understand. I do. Perhaps you are getting through the days just one day at a time, too. Nothing passes the time like good, hard work. I envy you that option. (God forgive me, I shouldn't envy you anything having to do with this terrible situation. Don't be angry with me. I mean only that the idleness of this place is an insidious torture.) But, Anna, I would rather anything than to see this experience of endless waiting and uncertainty leave you worn and broken down. There is so much in our circumstances that we cannot control, but over this at least you have some power.
I have so little right to ask anything of you. But please take your half-days off, Anna, I beg you. And sleep. Take the walks on the grounds, and read a good book. Help yourself to my meager library if you wish. What's mine is yours now. It will be a pleasure to me to think of you doing these things, to know that you are taking care of yourself. One of us, at least, must be well and strong when this is over, if we are to begin our lives again.
With all my love, your husband
John
February 20, 1920
Dear John,
So, you have spies at Downton, I see. Very well, ask them and they will tell you that since receiving your last letter, I have reduced my duties a bit. Though not much, for as you say, there is a great deal to do, the more so now that Lady Mary and Mr. Crawley have announced their engagement. Much of my extra work was perfectly legitimate, whatever Mrs. Hughes may have told you. The work does help keep they days moving. It prevents me from dwelling on things. But it doesn't stop me from wondering, when it snows, if you are warm enough. Or if your leg pains you.
I still count the days.
You suggested that I help myself to your library, and I have done. In fact, I ought to tell you that last week I packed up all of your things. With no idea of when you will return and Thomas standing in as acting valet, new footmen had to be hired. Poor Mr. Carson looked ill when he told me we would need to clear your belongings from the room. He even offered to do it himself, but I didn't think you'd like that. I didn't like it either. I felt that if it had to be done, it should be me to do it. Your suits and most other possessions are being stored in the attic, but I've moved some things in with me – your books, your watch, and the photograph of your parents that used to sit on your bureau. You must tell me more about your father one day. They look so happy in the picture.
The packing was both a pleasure and a trial. I opened your wardrobe, and it smelled of you. I cried, wept really, and I'm not ashamed to admit it. But seeing to your things felt like the first wifely thing I've done since our wedding night. I'm afraid that you'll feel that I've invaded your privacy, but I hope not. I was able to get through it believing that you will come home, and we will move into the cottage Lord Grantham has promised us, and the packing was but a step along that journey.
So, in return for my promise to not work myself into the ground, I will ask that you do your best to say warm, and dry, and off your bad leg, and that you eat the food put in front of you even when you're not hungry. (I have my spies, too, you see.) I will read all of your books, and write to you of them, so that you'll know I've kept my promise, and you can share your thoughts on the stories.
I will tend to your future if you will tend to mine. That way, we can each get through our days.
Your devoted wife,
Anna