A/N: Thank you for ALL the feedback! I appreciate every single one. Bates was very hard to nail down, so again, I invite all your opinions!
A note on Anna's modern/casual vernacular: Part of it was intentional, as Anna is an uneducated maid of the 1910's (a surprisingly modern time, especially in language), living a hectic life and dashing off a quick note in the few minutes she steals from her night sleep. So I tried not to emulate letters of the well-educated of the 18th century or the literary letters of Mr. Darcy. You'll notice that Bates, who has more time and is better read, writes quite differently. But also, I simply don't have the skills and knowledge to master the proper vernacular - and I apologize for it being a distraction! I'll continue to try my best at balancing all the considerations.
My Dearest Anna,
You really might start calling me John, now that we are properly married. I meant to mention this to you in person, but we've both had other things to occupy us.
I am thoroughly touched to hear Isis has been so concerned on my behalf, although I suspect you have mistaken her signs of hunger for symptoms of sadness, an easy enough error to make when concerning a dog. As for the rest of the household, I send my regards to everyone in return, though to be honest there is really just the one person I long to see in particular. How fortunate for me, then, that I count on seeing her as early as next Tuesday.
You say you daily compose letters to me in your mind, but here my chief occupation is to converse with you in mine. I picture you laughing at a jest I might utter, or more often providing a quip of your own in reply, and I try to guess at what you might think of our daily feast of stale bread and whatever slop they manage to throw together. Don't worry, it's not quite so bad, and I know I have been spoilt by Mrs. Patmore's cooking. They sometimes have us mending bags, jackets, and the like, and it is all too easy an endeavor to imagine myself prattling on with you over such tasks as we used to. I've had to check myself from speaking aloud, so real you seem to me at times. I overheard a fellow declare it necessary to lose one's mind a little to preserve the rest in here, which I fear may be true, but I wonder if there could be a more pleasant way of going mad than to feel your presence with me at all times. It seems a small price to pay for your company, in any case, and it will have to do until I can see you again.
Leaving you at Downton all those years ago was a stupid, foolish thing for me to do, and I freely admit it. But I still can't see what else I might have done. In any case, God knows I suffered enough for it, though I'm more sorry I caused you so much pain. I assure you I cannot survive another attempt at leaving you, however worthy the cause, as I've become too selfish to ever let you go willingly. I suppose my having wedded you even with the looming danger of the gallows was proof enough of that, if you required any.
As for O'Brien bringing her nephew to the house, I can only assume she and Thomas are thus planning a slow but inevitable conquest of Downton Abbey in my absence. Pity they did not serve under Napoleon, or he might have succeeded in conquering Russia with the aid of one of their endless schemes. What sort of a fellow is Alfred, exactly? I can't help but be curious. Is he as disagreeable as his aunt, a pinched sort of fellow conniving and thieving with her and Thomas? Or is he a likable man, livening up the conversations downstairs? I'm not sure which I fear more. If only you knew how many potential suitors I have had to fend off, what with my lame leg and all, before you got a whiff of them! But I shall carry the details with me to my grave, as it would not do to have you mourn the young beaus you might have snatched up if it hadn't been for your grumpy old bear of a husband.
There isn't much news to report from my end, as you might imagine, and in fact I have been thinking to the past a lot, much of it about you. I would say more, but I am loathe to make the prison warden blush. But know that you are with me always —
Yours,
John
