Chapter Four

Anna hurried down the hallway, the Viscount's voice fading behind her.

Turning the corner at the salon, she nearly collided with Miss O'Brien, Lady Crawley's new lady's maid. "What's happening?" O'Brien practically shrieked. "Is there a fire?"

Anna collected herself. "No, Miss O'Brien, there's no fire, at least none that I started," she answered before taking off again. She had to find Emilie and Beryl, the assistant cook, her closest friends at Downton Abbey. She practically flew down the stairs to the servants' hall and kitchen below.

"Beryl!" she shouted as she burst into the kitchen. The cook jumped. "Sssshhhh!" she hissed. "I'm baking a cake. You'll gonna ruin it with all that yelling!"

Anna skidded to a stop. "Sorry," she giggled. "But I have to tell you something. It's about Lord Crawley's visitor."

"Outside," Beryl ordered in a whisper, pushing her toward the door that led to the kitchen courtyard. "What of 'im? And is he worth ruining his lordship's favorite cake?"

"Oh Beryl, you won't believe it. I was supposed to clean up the library but Miss O'Brien called me to help the nanny with the girls. Emilie offered to do the library for me. While I was dressing the baby, the nanny said she'd take Lady Mary and Edith to the library."

Beryl cut her off. "What does this have to do with a visitor? And who's visiting anyway?"

"Let me finish! After I finished cleaning and dressing the baby, I gave her back to Lady Crawley and went to find Emilie. She told me she finished cleaning the library. I told her that Nanny was taking the girls down there and that they always make a mess in there. Nanny and Mary read the paper and take it all apart so no one else can read it and Edith uses books like building blocks. But she said, no, everything was fine when she left but I didn't believe her and since I'm supposed to tidy the library I went down there—"

"And what, you found a stranger in there cleaning it up?"

Anna laughed. "No, but he offered to help!"

"Who offered to help?"

"Lord Crawley's visitor!"

"What visitor? No one told me there's a visitor? Are we having a bunch of guests here I didn't know about? Am I going to have to make the portions smaller? I didn't order extra food for guests!"

"No, just one more than usual. But he's big, I warn you, he probably will eat a lot."

Beryl was silent for a moment, then burst out laughing. "Oh Anna! So who is he?"

"Well, first, let me tell you, I didn't even notice him. I ran into the room, went straight to the desks and found a right mess, just like I expected. So I'm complaining out loud to meself about how Emilie said she'd finished when she hadn't, how can people tear up the papers so, and then I found all these books Edith must've been playing with so I scooped 'em up and started taking them to the other end of the room to put 'em back—and there he is, sitting in a chair with a book and looking at me like I'm some crazy person carrying on to no one at all!"

They both laughed, words shaking out their mouths.

" 'E probably thought you was complainin' about 'im!"

"He probably thought I was insane!"

"Mebbe 'e thought you was talkin' to the library ghost!"

"Maybe he saw the library ghost!"

They were now clutching each other, wiping away tears and gasping for breath. "So it gets better," Anna choked out, "because, I have to say, he's rather nice-looking. Black Irish like. And I'm thinking, Oh, Emilie will be so cross to have missed him!"

Beryl exploded with another shout of laughter, Anna joining in.

She paused to take a breath. Beryl had calmed down to giggling. "So I'm just standing there and saying something stupid like, Oh I didn't see you, I'll come back later, and he says not to worry and just comes over and starts taking the books from me because he can see they're heavy and next thing I know, he's reshelving them!"

"Oh, my," Beryl wheezed. "And you're just standin' there watching 'im do yer work?"

"Well, yes, what was I supposed to do? He's all over the place like he's knows where everything should go. But the thing is, he's got a bad leg from the war, so he gave me the books for the lower shelves. He said it's hard for him to kneel down."

"How do you know his leg was hurt in the war?"

"Well, I started talking to him, asking him questions."

"You-did-not!"

"Well, he started it first. He asked me how old I am."

"Really? That's rather forward!"

"No, not that way. I think he thought I was about 10 or something so I made a joke about the Dickens people coming to interrogate Mr. Carson. And then we just started talking but you know me, I wanted to find out who he is."

"And-?"

"Well, to start off: his name is John Bates, and he's the one who was the Viscount's batman in Africa, the one who took a bullet for him."

"Really!"

"Yes, and that's why he has a bad leg. He can't walk right. But he's still in the Army. He's an uncommissioned officer or something like that."

"You could tell by his uniform you know."

"Yes, I know, Beryl, but he's not wearing a uniform. He said he's not on Army business so he's in a regular suit."

"Oh, well pardon me missy let's-put-the-guests-to-work."

They both laughed.

"So it seems that young Lord Crawley invited him to 'the country' for a day, to meet his family."

"Well I should think so! He saved his life. I'm surprised we haven't seen him before now."

"I told him I was sorry about his injury. Oh, and he smells really nice, like peppermint or something like that."

"Just how close did you get to him, Anna?"

Viscount Crawley and Bates were comfortably seated in the library, Bates listening as his host explained the background of the historic property.

It was obvious that Crawley considered Downton as much a part of his life as any member of his family. He described the layout of the farms and the village surrounding the estate, the staff, its income, and far more details than Bates ever expected to hear as a mere luncheon guest. He dared to wonder if a job offer was coming.

"Enough about Downton," the Viscount finally concluded. They had spoken of nothing else for close to an hour. "What are we going to do about you, Bates?"

Bates looked straight into Crawley's eyes. "You know my situation, sir," he said. "I'm very, very anxious to get out of the Army and away from London."

Crawley nodded. "I understand," he said, "but to be honest, I don't know what I can offer you here."

"Well, sir, as you know, I can keep accounts and books. I can do valet work. I can even help with maintaining the property, whether it's carpentry or brick laying…I am willing to do just about anything."

"We have people who do these things for us," Crawley said gently. "Downton has employed people from the same families for generations. And sadly, my father still controls the business side. It's all his people there."

Bates looked away, tears stinging at his eyes.

"Bates, please understand, I would like nothing more than to employ you here. But I don't know how, or where. I have a valet. I have a driver. I can't ask you to be a footman."

Bates remained silent. He drained the remaining rye in his glass.

"God knows I wish I had someone I could talk to…about things…about the war. It was so hard coming home. I mean, I was thrilled to be here but it was all so strange. I don't know about you, but I sometimes have these dreams, they seem so real, that I'm back in Africa and there's no one around me, just all this shooting and explosions…"

They were silent for a few moments. Bates cleared his throat. "I get those dreams, too, sir. I wake up and I don't know where I am."

"Yes," Crawley said. "I've talked to our village doctor, a chap I've known for years, and he says it's a kind of war debility that I have. It's called Disordered Action of the Heart. He says he's seen it in other veterans."

Bates looked into his glass, wishing he could get a refresher.

"I dare say you have it, too, Bates."

Bates shot a look at Crawley. "Sir?"

"Bates," Crawley began, "it's obvious to me that you aren't well and I'm not talking about your damned leg."

Bates sucked in his breath, almost daring himself to strike the man.

"I am not judging you. But you are far from well and I can't even begin entertaining how to get you on staff here until you make yourself better."

Bates remained silent. Crawley took a deep breath and continued. "I owe you my life, Bates, and I shan't ever forget it. There's nothing I wouldn't do to help you that's in my power. But some things, only you can do to help yourself. And you must quit drinking."

There. He'd said it. The elephant that had been in the room since they first met, before the war, before his injury, had finally been recognized.

"I'm not saying you're a drunk. I can't really say I've ever seen you act like you're drunk. But I can say that I've rarely seen you when you haven't been drinking. Even before you got hurt, you were drinking, and Bates, I think it's going to kill you."

Silence. Bates took a deep breath. "I can't say I disagree with you, Sir."

Crawley felt a rush of relief. "There are some people who can help you stop this, you know. The doctor told me about inebriate hospitals. They aren't only in London. There's one in Scotland, not far from here, and a few in Ireland. You can pay for it with your incapacity benefits. And I will help you."

Bates tried to listen but his mind was racing. Crawley thought him a drunkard, or at least close to one. He was not going to get a job here. He'd have to return to London, the Army, his so-called marriage. He was not going to escape, not any time soon.

"Enough of this for now," Crawley declared. "I'd like you to meet my family before we go to luncheon."