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April 1912
They were all at breakfast when Mr. Bates came in, his cane thumping the floor, and calmly took his seat in the startled silence.
"Mr. Bates!" Mr. Carson exclaimed. "You're still here."
"His lordship asked me to stay."
Anna bit the inside of her cheek to keep hold of the smile that wanted to spread across her face. Mr. Bates didn't look at her, or he might have seen the happiness in her eyes. No matter. He would stay, and there would be time.
She wanted to say something to him, but she felt shy about it. Instead she ate her breakfast, and did her work about the house, all the while wondering if there was something she could do, a little token, that would say she was glad he had stayed.
Bates was relieved to close his door behind him that night; relieved that it still was his door. He had been very surprised when Lord Grantham had stopped the car and asked—told—him to stay. Surprised, and relieved enough that it hadn't mattered that none of the other servants had seemed pleased to see him at breakfast. Even Anna had simply stared at him wide-eyed and then gone back to her porridge. He didn't know what he had expected, but he had hoped that they were developing a friendship. She had been supportive of him from the start—maybe he hadn't been appreciative enough of that support.
He sighed, leaning back against the door and closing his eyes. It had been a long day and his leg was beginning to ache. He would get used to the stairs, in time. The other servants would get used to him, in time, or so he hoped. Well, the first footman, Thomas, wouldn't, not anytime soon. He'd had his eye on the valet's job, that was clear, and his nose would surely stay out of joint for a while yet. But that was a small problem, all things considered. If Bates could continue to please his lordship and could win Mr. Carson over, his place would be secure and he would never again need to be in such dire straits as those he'd been through before he came to Downton.
He sank down on the bed, stretching out his leg, but biting back the groan that came to his lips. Even in private, such self-indulgence was a bad idea. The less attention he called to his injury, the better. Still, it felt good to be off of it. He shrugged his coat off his shoulders, picking it up to fold it carefully. He would hang it up as soon as he'd rested a moment.
As he laid it aside, Bates caught sight of something colorful sticking out of his right-hand pocket. He hadn't put anything there. Frowning, he reached in, wondering if Thomas had left him something offensive while he wasn't paying attention.
But it was far from offensive. It was a bookmark, embroidered with a pattern of bright yellow tulips. He could guess where it came from. She must have slipped it into his pocket during dinner. Apparently she had quick hands, that one. The motif, while a bit fanciful for his taste, seemed highly appropriate—Anna reminded him of a tulip, cheerful and fresh and pretty. This must have been hers, as there wouldn't have been time for her to make a new one today. Bates appreciated the gesture more than he could say. It meant a lot to know that someone was pleased to see him stay, pleased enough to want to mark the occasion with a gift of friendship. It occurred to him briefly that it might be an overture to something more than friendship. He firmly squashed the immediate leap of his pulse. Anna was a lovely girl, but he was no man for her, or any woman.
Still. He studied the bookmark, then reached for his book, a copy of The Hound of the Baskervilles he had bought from a used bookseller. It was a worn old volume, and the flowers looked particularly cheerful against it. The contrast made him smile, and John Bates hadn't had much to smile about in a long time.
The next evening there was a brief time of quiet at the end of the night, seated in the servants' hall, and he took out his book, opening it to display the bookmark before he started to read. Anna was darning a sock next to him, and out of the corner of his eye he saw her glance at him and smile. He lifted the book just a little, in a subtle salute to thank her, and she dipped her head in response.
The fact that the whole byplay appeared to have gone unnoticed by Thomas and his crony O'Brien was an extra victory.
