A/N: Umbrella-ella offered some suggestions for this chapter when I got stuck, so thank you for that.
3. The First Day
Maeve was up and about early the next morning, bathed and dressed, her room tidied immaculately. Since the war, it had become an even more rigid part of her life. The upstairs corridor was still completely silent when she opened her bedroom door, so she decided to make breakfast before venturing back upstairs to wake her cousin and his wife. She doubted that they got a lie-in very often. It would do them both the world of good to sleep a little longer.
A cooked breakfast was on the agenda that morning, and Maeve set about making it with an added spring in her step. It was nice to have the house full of people again. When it was almost done, she loaded up a tray complete with tea pot and cups, and began to make her way back upstairs. A good cup of tea always helped her to wake up in a morning.
Outside the bedroom that her cousin was sharing with his wife, she paused. She had never burst in on a man and wife in their bedroom before. Good God, she hoped that they were both decent. Still, there was nothing else for it now, so she pushed open the door.
Gentle snores greeted her ears at once. John and Anna were curled up almost as close as it was possible for a man and woman to be curled up together. With relief, Maeve noticed that they were clothed—John's arm was above the quilt, pulling Anna close to him—and she set the tea tray down on the vanity table by the window. The duo didn't stir as she moved around to Anna's side of the bed. She tried not to stare too hard. It was obvious that they were utterly content with each other. John's head was buried in the curve between Anna's neck and shoulder. His hand was protective against her stomach. In that one instant, just from seeing the way that they slept together, Maeve could see just how far the depths of their love went for each other. There was a lump in her throat.
Quickly turning away from the sight, she moved quietly over to the window, pulling open the curtains a little so that a chink of light could burst through. The sunlight hit the duo directly, and Anna began to stir at once, mumbling incoherently under her breath as she brought a hand up to her eyes. Behind her, John stirred, burying his head more pointedly in her shoulder. Maeve couldn't help but smile at the sight.
"Good morning," she said cheerfully. "I've brought you some tea."
At the sound of Maeve's voice, Anna began to wriggle, opening her eyes blearily and trying to smile. John was still holding onto her tightly, and she tried not to shiver too pointedly at the feel of his hot breath ghosting along the back of her neck, making the hairs rise on her body.
"Thank you," she said, her voice scratchy and hoarse with sleep. "That's very kind of you."
"It was nothing," said Maeve, moving to fetch her a cup. "Nothing perks me up in a morning quite like a cup of tea."
John was finally responding next to her, releasing his hold on her and rolling onto his back with a groan. He had his eyes open now, though he still looked sleepy. Anna struggled into a sitting position, accepting the cup gratefully. Maeve was right; a cup of tea was always perfect first thing in a morning.
"What about you, John?" Maeve asked, moving back over to the vanity. "Would you like one as well?"
"If you don't mind," he said. Anna noticed that he looked a little uncomfortable—probably because his cousin had burst into their room without warning and woken them. Neither of them were used to being caught in their nightclothes by anyone but their children, and they had certainly never been caught sleeping in such an intimate position by another adult. Anna was a less embarrassed. She had spent her entire life yearning for John's touch. She didn't care who found them like that. It wasn't as if they'd been doing anything wrong.
John accepted the cup that his cousin passed to him, and Anna frowned lightly. The sun seemed to be high in the sky already. She thought that she'd slept late yesterday, but today it seemed even higher; she couldn't remember the last time that she'd awoken to find it like that.
"What time is it?" she asked, swilling the dregs of her tea around the cup.
Maeve smiled. "It's a little after nine."
At that, both Anna and John's eyes widened, and they exchanged mortified glances.
"After nine?" said Anna faintly.
"My God, I don't think I've slept until this time even once before in my life," said John, sounding equally perturbed. "I don't understand."
"The travelling must have made you more tired than you'd thought," said Maeve. "In any case, it won't do you any harm. I shouldn't think that there are many opportunities for lie-ins in your line of work."
"The last time I had a lie-in was almost five years ago," said Anna, climbing out of bed. "Back when—" She stopped short then, and Maeve detected a faint blush on her cheeks. She frowned, but decided not to question it—it was probably something that she'd never want to know, a matter for only man and wife to share.
"Have you heard the children?" said John quickly, clambering out of bed too. Maeve hadn't failed to notice the pointed change in conversation.
Shaking her head, she bustled back over to the tea tray. "No, I haven't yet. They're probably as tired as you."
"I'll go and check on them," said Anna, pulling a dressing gown over her nightdress. "I'll get them dressed quick."
"Oh, there's no need for such formalities," said Maeve. "Breakfast will be done in just a couple of minutes. Just gather them together and you can worry about getting ready later. We're all family here."
It was nice to hear her say so; Anna wanted to make a good impression on John's cousin. For some reason, it made her feel as though she was getting his mother's approval. John had told her on countless occasions that his mother would have absolutely adored her—indeed, she had adored her right from the minute that she had met her, often writing and pestering him about the lovely lass that held him in such high regard. Still, it would have been nice if she could have known her mother-in-law properly, sharing stories of John's childhood and helping to cook dinner. And it would have been one of the most wonderful feelings in the world to have announced her pregnancies to her.
She quickly shook her sad thoughts away, slipping out of the room towards the children's. When she peered around the door, she found all three of them still fast asleep, a miracle in itself. The travelling really must have been more tiring than she'd initially thought it could be.
Striding into the room, she bent down beside her eldest, passing a hand softly over her head.
"Martha, my love," she said softly. "Wake up, come on. It's breakfast time."
The little girl whined as she felt her mother's hand becoming more insistent, wriggling away from it and burying her face in the pillow. Anna chuckled, pulling her closer.
"Come on," she coaxed. "It's morning now, and we've got lots planned for the day."
With an exaggerated whine, Martha finally turned back to her mother. Her eyes were still sleepy. "Are we going out today?"
Anna smiled widely, clambering to her feet. "Yes, we are."
And how lovely the outing was going to be, surrounded by her family.
As soon as they were ready to go, they headed out. Martha skipped in front, singing some sort of silly rhyme as she went, and the others followed a little behind. Anna was pushing a pram. Maeve had shown it to them earlier that morning, having fetched it in its deconstructed form from the tiny attic, insisting that they use it—after all, she'd said, it wasn't going to be used by her. Anna had accepted gratefully, and now Grace sat inside, pointing at everything, babbling incoherent words as she went. James was quieter, his large brown eyes staring round as he held onto John, taking little steps, trying to match his father's. Maeve carried a picnic basket over her arm.
A picnic on the village green was the chosen activity for the day, and Anna was very much looking forward to it. She and John had shared a few picnics over their time, and she had thoroughly enjoyed every single one of them—although their picnics did tend to veer off towards dangerous territory, always ending with a hurriedly packed basket and a mad dash to the nearest private place that they could find.
Stop those thoughts right there, Anna Bates, she told herself quickly. Today is going to be family-orientated picnic.
Yes, a family-orientated one. She couldn't wait for it. There hadn't been many chances for some proper quality time as a family over the last few weeks, and this was a wonderful way to rectify it.
From her side, Maeve chuckled, breaking her out of her thoughts.
"Martha is in a bright mood this morning," she commented, watching the little girl throw the ball that she had been allowed to carry up into the air.
John winced as she missed it completely on the way down. "She's going faery hunting later."
"Faery hunting?"
"John has told her lots of stories about faeries. Martha is fascinated by them." Anna's eyes were twinkling as she glanced at her husband.
"How lovely for her!"
"I just hope she's not disappointed when she doesn't see any."
Anna giggled. "Martha's never been disappointed. She'll just make you take her out again."
"Perhaps you can pretend to be a faery from a distance. Then she'll be satisfied."
"What, aren't I faery-like enough up close?"
The two of them laughed together, their twins joining in at the sound, though clearly they had no idea what was going on. Maeve took the opportunity to take the two of them in, from their dancing eyes to the cheeky grins they were exchanging. It was at times like these, when she saw such obvious love and devotion, that she missed her Harold the most. But now was not the time to start feeling sorry for herself. So she joined in the laughter, and soon all three adults were chatting again. Anna and John really were marvellous company. Anna was incredibly polite, always eager to hear more about the place where she lived, asking questions and cooing over the beautiful scenery. John was still as quiet as ever, studiously cataloguing her every move and indulging his son's request to be carried a short way as he tugged on his trouser leg and whined. They were both quick-witted too, exchanging teasing remarks with twinkling eyes and affectionate smiles. It left Maeve in no doubt that they were an incredibly happy family. Which she was very glad for. Vera had never made Johnny look like this, so contented with his lot in life, so relaxed in his countenance.
Anna Bates had been a wonderful influence on him after all.
The picnic had been a huge success. The sandwiches had been devoured, the lemonade had been drunk, and the cake for afters had been demolished within minutes. Martha had sat still long enough to eat her share, before bounding to her feet, full of energy. She was currently playing ball with her pa again, who looked a little worse for wear as he limped after yet another stray throw. Grace was busy watching them, clapping her hand and squealing happily whenever the ball flew past her. She had tried to join in once, toddling on little legs and shadowing her father's every move, and she had spent a happy few minutes in his arms until Martha had complained loudly that she was spoiling the game. Undeterred, she had pottered around for a few more minutes when John had put her down, until she had obviously grown tired of her sister's complaining, wobbling back over to her mother and falling into her welcoming arms. James, however, was sharing none of his sisters' energy. He had grown grouchy as the picnic wore on, and was currently lying on his stomach on the picnic blanket, his eyes blinking sleepily. Anna ran a loving hand through his thick hair, clucking her tongue. Maeve turned from watching her cousin apologise profusely to a man whose dog Martha had just hit with her poor aim to the little lad.
"Poor little dove," she said. "Is he all right?"
Anna brushed her hand across his forehead. He whined, swiping at her grumpily.
"I think so," she said. "He's just tired again. He gets like that more so than either of his sisters."
"Well, it's been a disorientating couple of days for him."
"He was ill just before we came, too. He's probably still recovering from that."
"Nothing too serious, I hope."
"No, not really. Just a rather bad cold. The seaside is beautiful in summer, but it can be a pain the rest of the year. I was up with him a few nights because he wasn't sleeping."
"So you must be just as exhausted."
She shrugged, grabbing hold of Grace's hand as she poked at her cheek. "I'm used to early starts. And John was a great help too. He'd get up with him and read stories so that I could get a few hours."
"Sounds like you've got it all worked out perfectly." Maeve sounded somewhat wistful.
"I suppose we have, yes."
At that moment, they were interrupted by another stray ball, and John hobbled up to them, looking decidedly flushed and tired out.
"I think this game will be the death of me," he groaned, bending down to retrieve the ball.
Anna laughed. "You sit down. I'll take over for a while."
"Are you sure?" he asked, even as he sank gratefully to his side with a grunt.
"I'm sure," she said. "Here, take hold of Grace, and keep an eye on James."
Concern filled his expression as he looked down on his son. "Is he all right?"
"I'm sure he is. It's just the cold, John."
He nodded, opening his arms to take Grace. Anna smiled as they swapped places, and John pressed a kiss against her dark hair, breathing in her baby scent. She wriggled and giggled, fingers curling rather painfully into his hair. Anna laughed, then picked up the ball as Martha bounded up.
"Pa, what are you doing?" she whined.
"Pa's taking a rest now. He's tired. Will Mummy do?"
Martha's eyes brightened. "Yes! Will you play bilbocatch?"
John laughed out loud as Anna's eyes widened, and she was pulled away to play, Martha now clutching her little ball and cup.
"And what's supposed to be funny?" asked Maeve.
John was still chortling as he placed Grace down on the picnic blanket so that she could sit up and watch her mother and her sister. "It's Martha's favourite game, and it's an absolute nightmare. I know from personal experience."
"It doesn't sound so bad."
"Oh, it might not sound bad. But I faced lesser dangers when I was in the army. Martha is lethal. Last time she had it, she smacked me so hard in the face with the ball that it bruised."
"Heavens! All that from a wooden cup and a ball on elastic?"
"Martha doesn't do anything by halves."
"I suppose Anna will have to hope that she's feeling more tired now that you've been playing with her."
"She's always full of boundless energy. I can hardly keep up at times." There was something wistful in his tone.
"John, are you all right?"
He shook his head, giving her a small smile. "Yes, I'm fine." There was still something odd in his tone, but Maeve knew better than to pry. Years may have passed by like seconds, but she still knew that he would have evolved from a proud, stubborn boy to a proud, stubborn man. She watched from the corner of her eye as he passed a hand gently over his son's dark hair, his brow furrowed. And then, seemingly with a great effort, he forced a smile back to his lips.
"The picnic was wonderful," he said. "It was a lovely idea to come down to the park. The children are enjoying it immensely."
"I thought they would," said Maeve. "This park is one of God's finest."
"It's certainly beautiful."
There were a few moments of silence. John spent them grasping at Grace's little fists and swaying them from side to side while she giggled. And then he turned his brown eyes back on her.
"How have you been coping?" he asked tentatively. "Since…since Harold…?"
This time, it was Maeve's turn to shut down her expression. "Fine," she said quickly. "I mean, it's been hard, of course, but it's getting better with time."
"I'm sorry I couldn't make it over for the funeral," he said quietly.
"Don't be silly. It's a long way to travel, and money can be tight. I wasn't able to get over for your mother's. And do you hold that against me?"
"Of course not."
"There you are then. I had my neighbours to help me through it."
John nodded, turning his attention contemplatively to Anna and Martha. Martha had apparently already decided that she wanted to change games, for Anna was semi-jogging after a stray throw of her other ball. John couldn't help but smile a little.
"You chose wisely there, Johnny," said Maeve, following his gaze.
John's smiled widened just slightly. "It wasn't really a case of choice, Maeve. It just happened."
"Well, it did you good. And look at all the good that came out of it."
She sounded wistful again. John felt an ache in his chest for her. He had thought his chances of fatherhood had been over long before he'd met Anna, with his disastrous marriage to Vera and the state that he'd been in. He'd never really contemplated children at all until Anna had entered his life, and even then he hadn't liked to think too hard about it. It wasn't until they'd been reunited after his prison sentence that they'd both begun to hope, and even though there had been some doubt, it had eventually happened, completing them in the most perfect of ways. John couldn't imagine the pain and heartbreak that had to be endured when each and every month, the chance of a beautiful family had never materialised, until hope had faded into non-existence.
"She's good for you," Maeve continued. "Everyone always said Vera was bad news, but Anna seems to be the complete opposite in every way."
John winced at his former wife's name. Even now, years on, he couldn't think of her without feeling the old hatred for the things that she had put him through. Neither he nor Anna liked to dwell on that aspect of their lives. It had helped to shape them, and it had made them even stronger as a united duo, but it didn't pain him any less to know how much suffering he'd caused his beautiful wife. Still, they were all right. Anna was good for him. No one knew that more than he did. He watched her again, watched the way that she carefully threw the ball to her daughter, encouraging her with gentle words. Her face was flushed, her hat a little skewered. Martha's unending energy was obviously weighing on Anna too, but the smile on her face was wide and honest, and John knew that she was loving every moment of it. He wished that he could go and join them, but his leg wouldn't permit it yet. It was still recovering. And he had his other two babies to look after. James looked on the verge of sleep, but Grace was still fidgeting happily. John picked up a rattle and offered it to her in the palm of his hand. Her own came out to touch it. John marvelled at how tiny her hand still looked compared to his, and he felt a wave of love rush through him. This was his family. This was the life that he and Anna had made for themselves. It still struck him as though it was the first time. Maeve had fallen silent beside him, playing with the fringes of the blanket that they were sitting on. Slowly, John held the rattle out to her.
"Here," he said. "Do you want to play with Grace?"
"Will she let me?"
"Well, you'll never know if you don't try," he said with a small smile. "Come on."
Returning with a smile of his own, Maeve took hold of the rattle and shook it gently. Grace's eyes lit up at it, and she struggled in her father's arms. John chuckled, then released her gently. She toddled forward on little legs, hands outstretched, ready to grab. Maeve laughed when she felt the tiny fingers close around the instrument, the little girl exploring it by touch. John laughed when she poked curiously at the tiny bells, a feeling of peace spreading throughout him. He might have been feeling a little sorry for himself with his inability to keep up with the demands of his children, but there was still nothing on earth more precious than this.
His eyes wandered towards Anna, watching as she stopped to catch Martha about the waist, smiling at her squeals of delight.
Life couldn't be more perfect.
They decided to have an early dinner so that John could take Martha out on her faery hunt. The little girl talked about nothing else through the meal, heedless to Anna's gentle reminders that her food would go cold if she didn't start eating more quickly. James had perked up a little, though he still seemed woozy, and Maeve shooed both Anna and John away from the table when they were all finished.
"You go and get the children ready for bed," she said. "I'll tidy up here."
"Let me help," Anna protested. "Just as soon as I'm done with the twins, I'll be right back down."
"I keep telling you, you're a guest here."
"I don't mind in the slightest. You shouldn't have to clean up after us all."
"Can I go get ready, Pa?" Martha asked excitedly, bouncing in her chair. "Please?"
"When you've eaten your carrots," he said with a smile. "I'll fetch my coat, and then we can go."
Martha ate the carrots in record speed, before leaping from the table and running as fast as her little legs would carry her up the stairs. John winced at the racket she was making, but Maeve only chuckled.
"She's a lively one," she said.
"And don't we know it." John stood to excuse himself, leaning down to scoop Grace up into his arms, who wriggled and giggled, her arms coming up around his neck. Anna followed suit, bending to pick up James, who was more listless, his head lolling against her shoulder. She caught sight of John's worried frown again, and tried to smile as reassuringly as she could, jerking her head to let him know that he should lead them out of the room.
"I'll be as quick as I can," she said, turning back to Maeve, who waved it away.
"Your little 'uns are more important. You concentrate on getting them all settled."
Anna smiled gratefully, then followed her husband out of the room. She caught him up when he was hovering by the spare bedroom's door, looking more than a little helpless. He tried to muster a smile when he saw her, but she knew that it wasn't quite reaching his eyes.
"Come on," she said. "You drop Gracie off in there and start getting yourself ready to go. I'll get them sorted out."
"Are you absolutely sure?" he murmured. "I don't mind waiting a while to help you."
"Don't be silly. Martha's waiting. You'll need to have her back before her bedtime, so the earlier you go, the better it is."
"I'm just worried about James," he confided. "He was fine yesterday. He looks like he's relapsing."
"John, it's just a cold. He might be relapsing. But colds sometimes do. There's nothing that can be done about it. And that's all it is. A cold. It's nothing more serious than that."
He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I just feel so useless. Like I should be able to do something, but I can't."
"Hey, what's brought this on?" Anna asked, setting James down on his bed, turning to face him with her hands planted on her hips.
John shrugged. "I don't know. You said it, I'm just being silly."
"Yes, you are," she said with a smile, hooking Grace out of his arms and planting her on the bed too. "Now go on, go and get your coat."
He nodded, and she followed him, casting a glance over her shoulder to make sure that the twins were going to stay put. They were. Once at their own bedroom, Anna foraged around for the right things she needed to get them ready for bed, and John headed over to the wardrobe to pull on his coat. When Martha bounded into the room mere seconds later, carrying her coat over her arm and wearing an expression of utter anticipation, Anna and John both looked up at the interruption.
"My, my," commented Anna, leaving the nightgowns that she'd been sorting and making her way towards her daughter. "You certainly are eager."
"Yes!" squealed Martha. "We're going to find faeries, Mummy!"
"I know you are," said Anna affectionately, bending down to adjust her girl's shoes properly. "I'm sure you'll see lots."
John slipped his coat on. "We can't be out too long, Martha. We don't want to keep you up too late."
Evidently his gentle warnings had gone straight over her head, for she was hopping about excitedly from foot to foot and making it very difficult for Anna to adjust her coat properly. Anna shot him an exasperated, affectionate look over her shoulder, before lightly chiding her to stand still while she fastened her coat properly.
"We don't want you to catch a chill," she said. "It's not very warm outside, my little love."
"Don't worry," John murmured, coming up behind her, "I'll keep her safe."
"I know you will." Anna groaned a little, then pulled herself up from her squat. Seeing John overprotective of the children always made her glow internally. He would go to the ends of the earth for every one of them. Nothing was too much trouble, or too hard a task to conquer. She could not have wished for him to be a better father.
Martha bounded right in front of her, reaching out with a little hand.
"Mummy, come on!" she sang, rising up on her tiptoes. "We're going now!"
Anna caught her hand and brought it to her lips. "Mummy's not coming."
Martha stared as though she was hearing an exotic language. "What?"
"Mummy's staying here."
"But why?"
"Well, Grace and James need putting to bed. They've had a tiring day. Mummy needs to be here to tuck them in."
Martha pouted, frowning. "But that's not fair! I want you to come with me!"
"Don't be selfish," Anna admonished gently. "I need to be here for your brother and your sister."
John stepped in, moving to stand beside Anna. "Mummy will come with you next time."
"Promise?"
"I promise."
John took hold of her hand. "Come on then, let's go."
"I'm sorry," Anna murmured.
"You have no need to apologise for anything," said John, bending to kiss her chastely. "I'll see you later."
"Bye," she said, following him to the door. "I'll get back to the twins now."
He shot her a wink and Martha waved. Anna's heart swelled as she watched them walk downstairs. She couldn't love them more.
After popping his head in on Maeve to let her know that they were going, John made his way outside. Martha's hand was raised in his. The sun had just started to set, streaks of bright orange rushing across the sky, bathing the world in a beautiful glow. It touched the tops of the green trees and illuminated the pretty flowers. It was at times like this that John missed Ireland. But they were happy in Yorkshire. They had a wonderful life there.
Most of the journey to the edge of the little forest was completed in silence. Martha was obviously thinking hard about something, her earlier zeal somewhat muted. John wasn't too worried. Although Martha was nearly always happy and enthusiastic, she was prone to periods of contemplation that went beyond her years—a trait picked up after spending too much time copying him, according to Anna.
"Honestly, your brooding is a bad influence on all of them," she'd teased him one night. "They're all going to be impossible to read when they're older."
"Oh, really?" John had growled in reply. "And is their mother's sunny disposition going to suddenly disappear from their countenance?"
Anna had giggled, especially when he'd moved to hover above her. She'd recognised the look in his eyes immediately. "I don't know. It might."
"Then perhaps we should have another little one who you can keep safe from my terrible influence," he'd said, and then he'd kissed her and she'd shifted her body and all coherency had been lost.
They were at the mouth of the forest now. John shook his head, feeling the flush creep up on his neck. It wasn't productive to be having such thoughts right then. Instead, he glanced down at his daughter, who was now frowning a little. He could tell that she wanted to say something, so he stayed quiet. Experience with Martha had taught him that it was best to wait until she was ready, otherwise she'd be stubborn—stubbornness from her mother, John always joked. Luckily, he didn't have to wait long.
"Pa?"
"Yes?"
"Do you think we'll see any faeries?"
John tightened his hold on her hand. "Well, that all depends."
"On what?"
"On how quiet you are."
"I can be quiet!"
"I don't doubt that," he chuckled. "Now, I said before that we can't stay too long. Mummy wouldn't want us to be out when it gets too late, otherwise she'll worry. And we don't want that, do we?"
Martha shook her head, looking up at him with bright eyes. "Why didn't Mummy come?"
"She told you. Because Grace and James need putting to bed."
"Maeve could have done it."
John chuckled. "It wouldn't have been fair to leave her to look after them all on her own."
"Mummy looked after them when you were away, and she looked after me too! That's more people."
"Yes, well, your mummy wants to look after you when I'm away."
"And Maeve doesn't want to?"
"Oh, I'm quite sure that she'd like to look after you."
Silence for a few moments. The moon was large in the sky. It was quite cold, their breaths puffing out in front of them. John hoped that Martha had enough layers on. He didn't want her to catch a cold. Her eyes were cast down, watching where she put her little feet. She didn't seem the slightest bit unnerved by the rustle of the branches or the whispering of the leaves. She was braver than he was. He chuckled silently at the thought, then caught sight of her face through the silver light that filtered between the trees. She looked sad.
"Martha, love?" he asked, alarmed, "what's wrong?"
She glanced up at him, chewing on her lip in a way that was reminiscent of her mother—Anna pulled the exact same face when she was worrying about something.
"Will you have to leave again, Pa?" she asked him quietly, scuffing her shoe against the soil and following the scattering of the loose little grains with her eyes.
"What makes you say that?" he frowned.
Little shoulders rose and fell. Blonde hair danced around her.
"Something must have brought this on," he said.
"Is here a good spot?" She'd come to a halt, not looking at him. For someone so young, she seemed to be carrying the weight of the world with her. Something no doubt Anna would say had come from him.
"I think so, yes. Shall we sit down?"
Martha nodded silently, plopping herself down amongst the foliage. John winced—her dress was going to be filthy by the time they got back—and slowly worked himself down next to her, using his cane to keep himself stable. He felt a hot wave of shame wash over him as Martha watched him. If there was one thing that he still abhorred about his life, it was letting others see him weak. He had grown to accept the fact that Anna would see him in moments of weakness—and indeed she was never disgusted by them—but he had promised himself that his children would never see him struggling. Even if his leg was screaming in pain, he would continue on whatever he was doing for them, whether it was carrying them in his arms, or taking part in one of their imaginative games. Grace and James weren't old enough to understand anything, but Martha was at an age now when she was beginning to pick up on things. She had yet to ask just why her pa needed to use a stick, simply accepting the fact that it was a part of his life, but selfish or not, he didn't want to ruin her image of him as a capable man with his inability to sit down on the ground without support.
When they were both settled, John stretched out his bad leg in front of him, reaching out to wrap his arm around Martha's frame and pull her closer. She came willingly enough, snuggling down into his warm arms and resting her head against him. Once more, John found himself marvelling at her. His first born child. Sometimes, when he and Anna had been married for a couple of years without any sign of anything changing, he had wondered if it was simply not meant to be. In his mind, he had even begun to accept the fact, until Anna had missed her time of the month. When her pregnancy had been confirmed, he had been overjoyed. Anna was finally getting what she had always longed for. They both were. It was an exhilarating thought that the physical intimacy that they shared with each other behind closed doors, the most private expression of their love and devotion to each other, had finally manifested itself in a very public showing. And now they had three children between them. And he couldn't be happier.
Most of the time, at least. He couldn't stand it when one of his family, be it one of the children or Anna herself, was hurting. It made him feel powerless.
"Now, keep your eyes peeled," he told her as they sat together. She nodded against his chest, her eyes fixed on a point hidden almost out of sight between a tree and a thick bush. The wind blew gently, and he shivered again.
Martha began fidgeting. He glanced down.
"Do you want to tell me what's wrong now?" he said softly.
Her bright blue eyes swept over him once, before returning to the spot that she'd decided that she was going to watch. Her little fingers plucked at the coarse blades of grass.
"Will you be going away again, Pa?" she asked again at last, and her voice was so small that it almost broke his heart. Gently, he drew her closer to him, pressing a kiss against her temple.
"Why do you ask?" he said.
She shrugged. Perhaps he really was to blame for her tendency to be brooding. She shouldn't be worrying about such things at her age.
"Well, there must be a reason why."
She chewed on her lip, glancing up at him with eyes so similar to Anna's, before dropping her voice to a whisper. "I missed you."
His heart swelled. "I know, love. And I missed you too."
"Why did you have to go?"
"I didn't want to go. I would much rather spend all of my time with you and Grace and James and Mummy. But it was important. You like living in the hotel, don't you?"
Martha nodded.
"Well, that's why I had to go away. I had to sort out lots of things to make sure that everything was fine."
"But you were away for forever!"
"It was necessary." John didn't really know why he was trying to explain himself to a little girl who wouldn't understand the importance of keeping their hotel at all.
"It made Mummy very sad."
This took John by surprise. "What?" Anna had always missed him on his trips away, just as he'd missed her, but he couldn't imagine her being any less practical.
Still, Martha's eyes were full of innocent honesty, and he knew that she was too young to lie about such things. "Her eyes were always sad. Even when she tried to be happy. And she was crying one day."
"What?" he said more urgently than he intended, and Martha looked startled.
"Pa?" she said.
He tried to control his short burst of panic, not wanting to make her worry. "When was Mummy crying?"
Martha's little face contorted in an effort to remember. "I don't know. One day. She didn't know I was there. But I know it was because she missed you! I know!"
There was a slightly hysterical note in his daughter's voice now, and John kissed her temple again. It seemed that the faery-watching had been postponed for the moment. "How do you know that, love?"
"Because Mummy's never sad when you're with her, never!"
Martha's innocent observation made his heart skip a beat in his chest. He hoped every day that he was making Anna as happy as she always made him, and to hear their daughter announce it in such a straightforward way when she was so young made him feel like he'd done something right in all the years of wrong that he'd given her. Still, he decided to err on the side of caution.
"Are you sure Mummy was crying because I wasn't there? Are you sure she wasn't crying because something else had happened?"
Martha's blonde curls bounced as she vigorously shook her head. "It was because she missed you, I know it! She'd look at the settee where you always sit with her and she'd look so sad. She still played with us lots, but she was very sad anyway."
Perhaps the old fears had surfaced. They had barely spent any time apart since his incarceration all those years ago, and they had certainly never spent more than a week without each other. The trips to London had been trying at first when he had returned to his position as valet, and with her new position as lady's maid, but they had managed knowing that it would soon be over. Three weeks had been infinitely worse than just a week, and he himself had found himself on the edge of despair some nights, wishing that he could hold her in his arms. She'd had their beautiful children to keep her occupied, but perhaps it had still been too reminiscent of the long nights she had spent alone in a cold bed.
He wasn't really surprised that Anna hadn't mentioned it to him. She had been the picture of happiness since his return, and they had spent a happy week getting ready for their trip together, laughing and loving as they always had. Of course, there had been no opportunity to make love between being so swept up in the hectic rota and the demands of their family, but there had been plenty of kisses and little touches that had simply reaffirmed their joy at being reunited. He had never once guessed that Anna had been harbouring an intense sadness.
"So, will you have to go away again, Pa?"
His daughter's question shook him from his thoughts, and he glanced down at her. She was peering into the gathering gloom again, pretending to be interested in looking for the flash of a tiny winged creature. He sighed.
"I can't promise that I won't have to, love."
Martha's face fell.
"But what if I promise not to leave for as long again? Will that be all right?"
The little girl considered his words for a moment. Then, slowly, she nodded. Relief flooded his body at his daughter compliancy.
"I do have something to ask you, though," he said.
"What, Pa?" Now Martha's eyes were bright.
"Well," he said, lowering his voice conspiratorially, "if I promise to not leave for so long, will you promise not to tell your mummy that we talked about this?"
"Why?"
"Because it's a secret between you and me."
"A secret?" Martha's eyes were glowing at the prospect of something so exciting.
"That's right."
"Do secrets mean I'm grown up?"
John laughed aloud, finding her small hand. It was simply dwarfed in his. "I hope not, love. You're still my little girl for now. Now, come on, let's get on with what we came here to see."
Martha nodded eagerly, settling down beside him and glancing in every possible direction. "Will they be here soon?"
"I don't know. We'll have to wait and see."
"Can you tell me a story while we do?"
"Well, they might hear us, and that might scare them away."
Martha pouted. "What if we're as quiet as mice, like Mummy said yesterday?"
"Only if we are that quiet." Internally, John had to smirk at his daughter. Yes, Anna could protest all she wanted, but Martha had inherited most of her stubbornness from her strong-willed mother. She always had a solution to everything, no matter what it was. "What sort of story do you want to hear?"
"A story about faeries, of course!"
Of course. John hid a smile. Martha rarely wanted to hear about anything that wasn't mythological and exciting. Anna had often joked that they would have a world explorer for a daughter one day, famous throughout the lands.
"She's inquisitive enough about everything to be world-class," she'd said.
"Yes, and we know where she gets that inquisitiveness from, don't we?" John had joked, wrapping her in his arms. "An explorer for a daughter, and a part-time private investigator for a wife. I have quite the exciting family."
She'd smacked his arm good-naturedly, and John's smile widened at the memory. But Martha was still staring up at him expectantly, so he quickly arranged his expression into one more serious, and began to speak. "Very well, my girl, but you're going to have to listen hard."
Another enthusiastic nod.
"And not interrupt."
A third.
"And make sure you keep your eyes peeled for those pesky faeries. They're lightning quick."
Martha giggled again, snuggling further into his jacket and, quietly, John began to speak. He told epic stories of the faery queen and the adventures she went on, of the day she met a human man; he told stories about the two of them joining forces and the human being completely in awe of her. He told stories about them fighting off an evil dragon. Martha listened to each offering with rapt attention, her blue eyes shining with utter exhilaration at the stories that her father was reciting to her. She mostly forgot about watching for faeries, so caught up in her father's story telling was she, and when they decided to return back home, it was without a single glimpse of the mysterious creatures.
As John carried Martha in his arms as best he could, he decided that it hadn't been a wasted trip at all.
The journey back to the house was uneventful, and it was a relief to step inside the front door, feeling the warm air hit his face. Dropping his cane by the front door to be picked up properly later, he made his way towards the sitting room. He found Maeve there alone, sitting with a book in her hands, the warmth of the fire radiating out and chasing the cold right out of his bones. At the sound of the interruption, Maeve turned around, a wide grin taking over her face.
"There you are!" she said. "I was beginning to wonder where you'd got to."
"Where's Anna?" he asked her.
"She's in the bedroom. She was a little tired, I think. She only went up a couple of minutes ago, just to get changed. She'll be back down in a few minutes."
"Tired?" John glanced worriedly at the clock. "It's still early."
"Well, I'm sure it's nothing to worry about. You've had a hectic few weeks. She's probably still adjusting."
"I suppose you're right," said John, but he wasn't convinced. "Anyway, I'll be back down soon. I just want to let Anna know that we're back safely. And this little one needs to be tucked in snug for the night."
Maeve's eyes softened at the sight of Martha with her head lolled against her father's shoulder, her eyes barely open.
"Of course," she said, turning back to her needlework. I'll make you a cup of tea when you come back down. You must be chilled to the bone. It'll warm you right back up."
"That would be lovely. Thank you."
He slipped back out of the room then, panting slightly as he heaved Martha up higher. Tackling the stairs after a long day on his leg was going to be torture, but he gritted his teeth and pushed himself forward, careful to keep his balance at all times. It was slow work, but he doubted that Martha noticed, for her head had slid right into the crook of his neck now. Her arms were clinging less tightly. She was clearly on the verge of sleep. Slowly, he made his way along the landing. The light was on in their room. He paused for a moment to rearrange Martha, then pushed open the door.
Anna turned around at once. She was in the midst of unbuttoning her dress. She relaxed when she saw who it was, a smile brightening her features.
"There you are," she cooed, moving forward to greet them. "I was beginning to worry!"
"There was no need to," he said. "Back home safe and sound, in time for madam's bedtime."
"Madam looks like she's been rolling in the grass," said Anna, as Martha giggled sleepily. "She's got mud all over her dress."
John winced. "Yes, about that…"
"Honestly, I think you just like causing more work for poor old me to do," she sniffed disapprovingly, though her eyes were twinkling. "Come on, give her here. You go and put your feet up. You must be exhausted."
"I can help you," he protested, but she shook her head, taking Martha into her own arms. The little girl complied willingly, snuggling herself down in her mother's arms.
"It's fine, honestly. I won't be too long."
"All right then, if you're completely sure. I think I'll head over to the bathroom to freshen up a little."
Anna nodded. "And tomorrow, this little one can have a bath. Don't think I haven't noticed the grass stains on her knees, John Bates."
He chuckled as she brushed past him, all ruffled bravado, and then turned in the direction of the bathroom. He spent a few minutes splashing water on his face and running a wet hand through his hair before stripping down to just his trousers while he ran a damp cloth over his upper body. It was sweet relief, to have the cold water against his skin, and he luxuriated in the feeling for a few more minutes before reluctantly replacing his undershirt. He gathered the rest of his discarded clothes and made his way back towards the bedroom.
Upon entering, he found Anna already back, standing as she finished tying her hair into its neat braid. John was once again struck by her beauty, even more so now, with Martha's words ringing in his ears. Throwing his clothes down onto the bed, he moved towards her, enveloping her in his arms as soon as he was close enough, pressing his front firmly against her back, his left hand moving to span against her stomach, his right gently tilting her chin around so that he had access to her mouth, which he covered gently. After several long moments of simply brushing their lips chastely against each other's, John allowed his tongue to swipe just gently over her bottom lip. Anna granted him entry at once, and he savoured her taste as he explored her slowly, deeply. Her own hand snaked up to the back of his neck, pulling his head more firmly down. She was trembling a little in his arms.
John wished that it could last forever, but too soon for his liking, the need for air became too great. Reluctantly, he pulled away from her, leaving one last staccato kiss against her surprised mouth.
"What was that for?" she breathed, and he was pleased to see that she had flushed pink.
"Oh, nothing," he said innocently. "Just wanted to say hello to my wife."
"Well, hello," she said, leaning up to kiss his chin. He smiled at the feel of her lips lingering against his skin, before she pulled away with a decidedly mischievous look. "Martha told me that you didn't see any faeries or unicorns out there in the forest."
He sighed, pretending to be downhearted. "Yes, that's right. I was so certain that I would. But it turns out that she was hiding in a little room in the village all along."
Anna giggled, taking hold of the hand still on her stomach and entwining their fingers together. "You daft beggar."
"I did learn something while I was out there, though."
"Oh? And what might that be?"
He smirked, pressing a kiss against her ear. "I'm afraid I can't tell you yet."
Anna's eyes widened. "And why not?"
"I'd be betraying that daughter of yours' trust if I told you."
Anna huffed. "I see how this is. I'm being left out by my own husband now, am I? It's going to be like father, like daughter when it comes to keeping secrets, is it?"
He chuckled, squeezing the hand that was wrapped around his. "You'll find out soon enough, I promise. I just need a little time to think."
She frowned at him, obviously curious, before deciding to let it go for now. "Yes, well. I do hope you're going to make it up to me."
There was just the right lilt to her voice, and he shivered a little, letting his hand drift lower. "I promise to."
"You could always do it now." Anna's words lingered in the air for a moment, and she hastened to explain. "The children are in bed. I feel awake enough."
He breathed hard into her hair. "There's nothing I'd like more."
"I can sense a but coming."
He sighed. "But we're only supposed to be changing into our night things. The kettle's on downstairs. Maeve's waiting."
"And she'll be wondering where we are."
"I don't want it to be rushed."
"Honestly, you've changed your mind a lot since yesterday," she pouted, but she was smiling. "Go on, then. There's always later."
"I know," he said, and felt the old twist of guilt that she had wasted so much of her life waiting for him. "I do love you."
Her hand came up to his hair, pushing the locks back. "I know. Now, come on, let's get back downstairs."
She placed a chaste kiss against his mouth and pulled away, moving to open their bedroom door. He watched her for a moment, then followed her, catching hold of her hand.
For whatever reason, Anna had been upset, and he hated that. They would talk about what had made her sad, and he would do everything in his power to make sure that it never bothered her again. But he didn't want to simply charge in there and start asking questions. She deserved all the happiness that he could possibly give her. So, he was making it his mission to treat her this holiday, to make her feel all the love that he felt for her, to give her the joy that she gave to him.
He had never been more determined about anything.
A/N: The bilbocatch mentioned here is basically cup and ball, where the player has a little ball tied onto elastic, which is attached to the cup, and they have to try to get the ball into the cup.
