A/N: This is the conclusion of my little trip down memory lane to S1-S2. Thank you so much to everyone who has taken the time to review or send me a PM.
As the months passed, they fell into a quiet rhythm, a sort of unmarried partnership among the staff. Anna made no effort to hide her preference for his company, and strangely, no one challenged her on it. Bates expected barbed comments from the likes of Miss O'Brien, but she seemed unwilling to challenge the head housemaid or the valet with Thomas gone off to join the army.
Bates knew he should not allow Anna to spend so much time with him, but he couldn't help himself. Her presence made everything wonderful. Her smile, her laugh, her Yorkshire accent like music in his ears... He'd never counted himself a particularly romantic man, but when he was with her, he understood the urge that drove some men to write poetry. Some days she filled his thoughts like a siren, slowly driving him to distraction. Other days she was like an intoxicating scent which left him relaxed and unable to stop smiling.
He realized the depth of his folly when even Lord Grantham took notice of it.
"I've heard you have developed a taste for certain company downstairs," his Lordship commented in a friendly, teasing manner.
"Where did you hear that, milord?" Bates queried with alarm.
"Her Ladyship mentioned it. She probably got it from O'Brien, but I thought I'd ask you about it directly." Sensing his valet's distress, he said, "There's nothing wrong with liking a pretty girl, Bates. And Anna has a good head on her shoulders. You could do a lot worse."
"I do like Anna very much," he admitted quietly. "But it will do her no good to be linked with me in such a manner. She's done nothing wrong. Neither of us have."
The earl turned to look at his valet, slightly confused. "I meant no disrespect to you or her," he said quickly. "And I'll say no more on it if it makes you uncomfortable. But why shouldn't you be together, if it is what you both want? I can't remember ever having married servants at Downton, but it is no longer unheard of. Arrangements could be made."
Pausing a moment to take a breath, Bates answered, "She could do a lot better, milord."
The other man sniffed before remarking, "Couldn't they all? But that doesn't stop the heart from wanting."
Lord Grantham was a wise man. And Bates had to admit, at least to himself, that his heart wanted Anna.
They sat together in the moonlight, the relative privacy of the courtyard surrounding them, the secluded area both a shield from prying eyes and chaperon to ensure proper decorum.
"I've looked for her," Bates said, the admission wrenched from his lips. "She refused the suggestion of divorce when I was still in prison, but I was penniless then. I have some money I've set aside now. It is most of my savings, but if I can convince her we'd both be better off..."
"But you don't know where she is?" Anna asked.
"She disappeared shortly before I was released from prison. I've written to everyone I can think of who we used to know, and those who have responded have not seen her."
The housemaid frowned. "Do you think she's hiding from you?"
"Perhaps. But she has no reason to hide. I was never angry with her."
"Not even when she stole?" Anna asked. "What she did sent you to prison."
Shaking his head, Bates looked away, his expression a picture of shame. He rarely spoke about Vera and he mentioned his time behind bars even less often. But he never demonstrated resentment over the fate to which his wife's actions had resigned him.
"I know I failed her as a husband. I've come to realize that she was a part of it too, but she was certainly not solely to blame. I think she stole the silver because she was unhappy, and I cannot blame her for that."
Anna looked as though she wanted to argue, but she simply asked, "What will you do?"
Sighing, Bates told her, "The only thing I can do. Continue looking. Continue waiting. Continue hoping that when I do find her, she is amenable to what I'm asking."
Anna wrapped her arms around her midsection and shivered slightly. The temperature was not quite cold, but a steady wind blew, stealing through the thin fabric of her dress. As she leaned into his larger frame, Bates found himself wrapping one arm around her shoulder. Her quaking gradually stopped, just as her his own stiff-backed posture slowly began to relax as he enjoyed the contact between them.
They had almost kissed once, in that courtyard. Bates sometimes found himself back in that moment with her, a battle waging within him between doing what he knew was right and doing what felt good.
"What if she doesn't agree?"
He did not answer immediately. She already knew the answer anyway.
"Then we can be parted only in death."
Anna let out a sharp breath at his words, and he felt her inch slightly closer to him.
"I can't imagine God wanting that life for you," she murmured, "just waiting and waiting to finally have a chance at happiness."
"You know I don't believe. But if I did, I know he wouldn't want that life for you," Bates responded. Slowly, he withdraw his arm from around her shoulders and stood up from his seat beside her. "Anna, I don't want you waiting for me."
"I'm not-"
"No, I mean it," he interrupted. "If you find someone else, I won't stand in your way."
She simply looked at him for a moment, her eyes focused first on his, then on his lips, then back to his eyes again. He knew what she was thinking about, remembering their almost kiss on another such night in this very place. When he found himself wondering what it would feel like to kiss her, Bates pushed the thoughts away.
"There can be no one else for me," she informed him.
Closing his eyelids tightly for a moment, he managed, "You don't know that. You can't."
Anna stood up to face him as she challenged, "Why can't I know that? I've told you before - I know my own heart, Mister Bates."
"I have no doubt that you do," he told her. "And you have a good heart, Anna. It is strong and courageous and full of more love than I could ever imagine in one person. Don't break your kind and beautiful heart on the likes of me."
"I think it may be a little late for that," she said quietly.
Pain flitted through him as he looked at her standing there, so certain of her own emotions even though he could see the doubts about his that she still harbored. Honor held his tongue from saying what he knew she wanted to hear. It held every part of him away from her but his own deep feelings.
"I never wished to hurt you, Anna."
He felt miserable at the notion that he'd done just that and would continue to until the day when was able to find Vera and gain his freedom.
She gave him a small smile. "Then don't hurt me."
"What can I do?"
"Don't push me away."
She reached out to take his hand in hers. Her fingers were like ice, and he instinctively pulled them closer to his body for warmth.
Anna went on, "Don't suggest that I should love someone else. Because there can be no one else. Don't give up on us. I haven't, and I won't, Mister Bates."
He gazed at her for a moment, enraptured by her steely stance as she stood so close to him.
"You know, you could call me by my first name, if you wish," he told her. They both knew it was not proper, but it could be no worse than holding her hands so intimately when he had no right to take such liberties. He amended the offer to, "When we're alone."
Before she could respond, they heard the distant sound of footsteps in the gravel which heralded someone approaching. Bates let her go and stepped away, a dance they had nearly perfected in their stolen moments together.
As months spread into years, Bates forced himself to admit that his love for Anna was not going away. She had ingrained herself inside of him so completely that any thought of disentangling her brought him nothing but anguish. He even went so far as to contact a private investigator and solicitor in London about the steps necessary to look for Vera and file for divorce. But the news was disheartening. He would need to find Vera to initiate the proceedings, and even then it would be difficult without securing her cooperation.
While he doubted that Vera would ever go out of her way just to help him, he wondered if he couldn't scrape together enough money to buy her compliance. To that end, he saved every bit of money he could, hopeful that it might be enough. Vera had always been greedy. He suspected that she'd stolen items before the incident with the regimental silver, as she always seemed to have clothes and jewelry beyond the means of the humble wife of an army solider.
As the war pressed on and more and more young men went off to fight the Germans on the continent, the chances of Anna finding someone else to share her life with seemed to dwindle in Bates' eyes. Of course, he had more and more trouble with reconciling the idea of losing her.
"I wish I could come with you, to visit your mother," she told him mournfully as he descended the stairs with his case in hand.
They both knew that the 'visit' was not a simple one. Rather, he was being permitted to see his only family member before she succumbed to the illness which had been diminishing her health for over a year. Bates knew that Anna had written to his mother a few time since seeing her in London, and his mother in turn had mentioned the young housemaid in her letters to her son. Her most recent letter to her son, the one which told of her rapid decline in health, had included one further detail.
I saw Vera yesterday. She came sniffing around the house but did not stay. I told her about your desire for a divorce and the possible reparations you'd be willing to make her. You should talk to her when you come, if you can.
Bates had wanted to tell Anna about the news, but not until he could settle matters with Vera.
"I'll be back before you know it," he said to her instead, favoring her with a casual smile.
"You will write to me while you're gone?"
She put a hand on his arm as she asked the question, apparently not caring if anyone downstairs saw her. Writing a woman letters was not as intimate of an activity as it once was, but it very well might draw questions from Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes. Bates could tell by her pensive expression that she did not care
"I will," he promised her, already know that she'd worry. He never would understand her concern for him, nor the deep well of affection she kept in her heart. And while he could not comprehend her obvious love for him, he'd passed the point of being able to deny it or push her away. "And I'll see you again when I return."
"Tell your mother that she's in my prayers."
He nodded an acknowledgment of the sentiment. They both knew he was not a religious man, but his mother was and she would appreciate Anna's message. While he regretted that the two women who mattered most to him had not been able to meet more than the one time, he at least had his mother's good opinion of Anna. She had never approved of Vera.
"I'll miss you," Bates ventured softly. There was so much he wanted to say to Anna, so much he did not feel the right to say just yet. He was still not a free man, despite how desperately he wanted to be with her.
Slowly, over the years they had known each other, she had chipped away at his opinion of himself until even he could see a glimpse of the man inside. Anna loved him, and he knew that her judgment was sound. If she believed him worthy and capable of providing her with the sort of life she wanted, then the least he could do was strive to meet that belief and expectation.
"I'll miss you too, Mister Bates."
He smiled at her use of his surname. She had never called him by his given name - not once, despite his invitations. Sometimes he wondered if she still remembered it. And while he loved the sound of her voice when it pronounced those few syllables, he did long to hear her address him more intimately.
Setting out for London, he should have been weighed down with worry for his mother. And he was. But in the back of his mind, he could not help but buoy his spirits with thoughts of a real future with the blonde head housemaid who watched him go.
He sent her letters each week during his time in London, and she wrote back. She cried as he described his mother's passing, wishing she could be there with him, to offer comfort in more than just words of sympathy on a page of paper.
Lady Mary noticed her subdued nature while he was away and commented on it. Anna explained simply, "I feel badly for Mister Bates, that's all. His mother was the only family he had left."
"Should I be worried he's going to steal you away from us?" Mary asked.
"I don't think you'll need to worry about that," she told the woman, "at least not for a while."
Everyone seemed to recognize her special relationship with Mr. Bates, including Mrs. Hughes.
"How are things coming along then, settling matters in London?" she asked Anna as the younger woman read through the latest letter from the valet in the servants' hall.
"Well, I think. He should be coming back soon, although it depends on when he can finish up with the paperwork for her house. Dealing with the property turned out to be more complicated than he originally thought, although I'm not sure why."
Mrs. Hughes shook her head. "Death is a funny business. It happens to everyone, but when it does, no one can be completely ready for it." She took a moment to regard Anna before remarking in a subdued whisper, "I understand that Mister Bates is married."
The housemaid gave a solitary nod of confirmation.
"I'm sure I don't have to tell you the consequences of-"
"No, Mrs. Hughes," Anna interrupted sharply, "you don't."
Her voice was not harsh or angry, but rather full of cautionary hope.
The housekeeper smiled at her softly. "Is he going to try and secure a... an arrangement, with his wife?" she asked.
Anna nodded with more animation. "Yes, he wants a divorce, if she'll agree to it. That's been the problem all along, getting her to agree."
Mrs. Hughes showed no shock at the frankness of her reply, but only said, "Well, then let's hope for the best."
He left the furniture and most of his mother's personal effects intact, determined that another trip would be necessary to get everything ready to either sell the house or rent it out. But the house itself...
It was his. His mother had actually owned it, even though he'd thought she rented it all these years. And she'd left him other money, besides. He knew not how - his father had not been a rich man; but it turned out that his mother lived her life frugally, having worked until she was unable, and late in life she'd inherited an unexpected sum from a distant relative.
And with her gone, it all went to him. He had to finish settling her estate, of course, but he could do most of that by mail from Downton. Besides, he wanted to get home.
As he stood in his mother's parlor, trying not to imagine what it would be like to live in such a house with his own family, he caught sight of a book by her usual chair. The novel was one by Dickens, and it interested him less than the edge of envelope peeking out from the center. Opening the book, he found his latest letter to her, written several months earlier.
Dear Mother,
I'm sorry you had to deal with Vera, but I cannot express my happiness that she might finally be receptive to a divorce. Anna has been so patient, so willing to wait, and I wish I could put that wait to an end for her. For us both.
When you told me not to marry Vera all those years ago, I wish I had taken your advice. But I never thought I'd meet someone like Anna, someone who cares about me for who I am and not what I can provide for her. And strangely, all I can think about is providing for Anna - caring for her and giving her anything and everything I can. I'm not worthy of her, no matter what you or she may say. But I love her too much to let that stop me.
His letter went on to detail information about his trip to town and when he would arrive. It was the last letter he'd written to his mother before her death, but they'd had several conversations before she succumbed to the illness which had plagued her for so long. She disapproved of divorce, but as she'd told him, she wanted her son to be happy. And if the only path to his happiness led through a dissolution of his marriage to Vera - whom, she took care to remind him, she'd never liked - then she would support him. It was in that moment, just hours before her death, that she told him about her savings.
And the house.
His mother owned her house, the one he thought she'd been renting for all these years. And with her death, it passed to him. The value was not insubstantial, not to people like him who could save for a lifetime and not have enough to purchase such property outright. The money was enough to pay off Vera for a divorce, and hopefully the house would allow him and Anna to start a new life.
He still had plenty to do at the house to get it ready for rent or sale, but Bates had dealt with all the major matters required after his mother's passing. And he missed home. He missed Anna. He boarded the morning train without bothering to send a telegram informing the house of his arrival. The news would only arrive a few hours before him anyway.
And the train barreled towards Yorkshire, Bates allowed himself to dream of a future shared with Downton's head housemaid. Perhaps they could leave service together, sell his mother's house, and use the money to buy a small hotel? They could work together and if they had children, they could have the children with them as they worked. And as he grew too old or infirm to work, they could hire someone to help at the hotel. Anna and their children would be taken care of in the event of his death. Bates sighed as he imagined the joy of such a simple future together.
He was still smiling when the train arrived in the station.
fin