A/N: Prompted by terriejane on Tumblr, I'm trying my hand at Anna and Bates's prison correspondence in S3. I love letter correspondences in general. My absolute favorite couple of all time are the historical couple John & Abigail Adams, with their 1,100 letters over 54 years of a beautiful marriage.

My goal here was to write with Anna's characteristic humor and optimism. I've also used dashes and parentheses to convey her chatty, lively nature. (If I try my hand at Bates in the future, I'll have to puzzle a bit over his style.) If you notice some continuity errors, anachronisms, and other flaws, I apologize; my focus was mostly on portraying Anna correctly. Feel free to comment with suggestions! Enjoy!

-Adams

My Dear Mr. Bates,

Mrs. Hughes sends her warmest regards, as does Mr. Carson, Daisy, His Lordship, Lady Mary, etc. Nearly everyone here thinks and talks of you fondly — I won't pretend to speak for the two devil incarnates Th. and O'B — and your absence is keenly felt. Though of course there's one in particular who pines for you day and night, at every possible moment — can you guess who it might be? You've guessed it: it's Isis.

As for me, you needn't worry too much — though I know you will — I'm so preoccupied with composing letters to you in my mind that I often feel as though you are here with me still. Have I told you that already? I meant to, when I saw you last. It keeps me amused through the day, imagining these letters to you — Lady Mary said such-and-such to Lady Edith, which sent her off half in tears, and Mrs. Patmore outdid herself with her new treacle tart recipe (I wasn't here to try it the first time she made it, but I took a second helping this time around to make up for it!), and such. There's loads more, but most of it flies out of my head once I set my pen down on paper, I'm afraid. Which may be a blessing for you, now that I think about it, since I can't imagine you'd be riveted by the color of Lady Mary's new hat and how many banners they've put up at the village for the wedding.

What a relief it is, to be able to write you letters like this and know where you are — when Vera dragged you away from here years ago, I thought you had gone from my life forever, you remember. I had no way of reaching you then — no way of even knowing if you were still alive. At least now I know you cannot run away from me again, at least for the foreseeable future, without incurring the wrath of the Crown. I count myself very lucky in that regard. Not many women could say the same for their husbands.

I forgot to mention, we've a new footman now, since Th. (Mr. Barrow, I mean — how horrid) has managed somehow to wheedle his way into your old job. And can you believe it, the new footman — his name is Alfred — is O'B's nephew! She must have used the extraordinary hold she has over — But I forget myself — your letter will be opened and read by someone at the prison, so I mustn't say too much until I see you again — a fortnight has never passed so slowly!

Alfred is a young veteran, fresh from serving as a waiter at a hotel, but I'm afraid none of that amounts to much in Mr. Carson's eyes when considering his unfortunate family relations. He is the tallest fellow I have ever laid eyes on, I believe, though without the charm, wit, and pleasing countenance of the man I love — I'm talking about Molesley here, of course.

I should stop teasing you, but I get such a kick out of it I can't seem to stop. By the way, did I ever tell you Gwen briefly entertained fond thoughts of you? I was quick to nip that in the bud, mind — the army of fawning admirers I've had to fight off for you! You shall never know my pain.

As ever, I am your faithful

Anna