A/N: With thanks to Panuchartrain, who helped find me a line that I needed when I'd misplaced my copy of the series one scripts (though it's only mentioned in passing here).
7. Choices
Saturday 13th April, 1912, 01:00
John sat alone at the bar, sweat standing out against his forehead, the glass of whiskey held up in front of his face. He examined it hazily, swilling the contents round, watching as it hit the sides. Occasionally, a drop would spring free from the glass, splattering against his hand. It felt divine, so cold and inviting.
He could do it. He could do it easily. Just raise the glass to his lips and down it in one. It would burn a welcoming path all the way down his throat, and he would feel alive. And he could do it over and over again until he couldn't even remember his own name, let alone Anna Smith's.
What else did he have to lose? Really?
The amber liquid beckoned him, invited him to lose himself in its friendly depths. He very much wanted to give in. He hadn't had a drink in so long. The fumes were heady, and he felt a little misty simply by breathing those in. It was a delightful promise of how he would feel if he actually downed the whole thing.
Come on, Bates. Do it. What else have you got to lose? You lost your self-respect a long time ago.
Yes, that had well and truly deserted him the moment he had been shoved into prison, amongst the real thieves and murderers. It had been sure to never return to him when he'd been ridiculed and tormented for his limp. He had fought back, of course, but there was only so much a recovering alcoholic with the shakes could do against six healthy young men with more than just a keen desire to show him who ruled.
He raised the glass to his lips. He could already imagine it fizzing on his tongue.
There was no need to hide behind a façade. Who did he think he was, sitting there with the other men and not touching a drop while they lost themselves in drunken oblivion? He was no better than any of them. He had been there many times before. He told everyone that he didn't drink. Hypocrite. He could drink. He could drink a lot. And now he had no reason not to.
He hadn't even realised until today how much Anna Smith's friendship had touched his life, until those few hours ago. A woman he had barely known two days somehow had the power to give his life a bit of light, had given him reason to smile and look forward to the breaking of the day.
And now she was never coming back. Because nothing good could ever last in his life.
Even out here, Vera could ruin everything for him. In the middle of the bloody Atlantic Ocean, she was reaching out those poisonous claws of hers and holding on tightly to him. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, and Anna's face, torn between anger and agony, sprang up in the blackness. She knew about his wife. She thought he had a family. But her assumptions were wrong. He didn't have a wife, not in the real ways. And he most certainly had never had a family with her. She wasn't here with him. She didn't understand.
But what was there to understand, really? She knew the facts, and they would be more than enough for most women.
It was clear that Anna was a woman of strong morals, and he would never blame her for that. He respected strong morals in women, and he had even when he had returned home from Africa injured, wanting nothing more than to drink and use them. He had never pursued a woman with strong morals, even then. He had only been interested in chasing the ones who would fold easily beneath his clumsy words and his even clumsier touch. The respectable women he admired, because they had said no and had meant it.
Anna was one such woman, and despite everything, he respected her determination to do the right thing, even if she didn't understand everything in this instance.
Why should she take the time to understand you, anyway? She doesn't know you. What right do you have to her understanding? She's right. You've done nothing to earn it. All you've done is lead her on with vague explanations.
He gritted his teeth and tilted the glass. Now he could feel the liquid burning against his lips. It would be so easy to open his mouth and let the liquid pour down his throat.
Just do it. Anna's opinion doesn't matter now.
No, it didn't matter anymore.
He opened his lips slightly. The whiskey was almost there.
But there was someone whose opinion should matter.
His mother's.
Guilt flooded his body at once, and he slammed the drink back down onto the counter. The barman looked around at him, but he kept his gaze trained on the liquid, mind whirring. Of course his mother still mattered. How could he have even thought of drinking it? After everything she had done for him, standing by him while she watched him ruin himself, having to put up with the mocking whispers and jeers about her useless son, and that was how he was going to repay her for her kindness? She had spent so much of her money to get him this ticket, to buy him another life. Had he really been about to throw all of that away for a drink that he knew would never stay at just a one time slip?
Utterly unbelievable, Bates.
He closed his eyes, lifting a hand to massage at his temples. He had promised his mother that he would make a new life for himself. He wouldn't let her down now. Not this time. He'd go for a smoke instead.
Wearily, he left the whiskey on the bar. Someone else would be happy to finish it for him. The air was still too cold outside, but perhaps it would do him good. He was sweating, and he couldn't bear the thought of returning to his cabin just yet. He withdrew his cigarettes and lit one shakily, moving to lean against the railing and peer down into the invisible sea. Smoke billowed gently around him, and he welcomed the nicotine, feeling it snake through his bloodstream and calm him just slightly. The wind was still blowing. He shivered, remembering the way that he had felt earlier when Anna had dragged him outside. Before everything had gone wrong. He inhaled again, dropping ash. God, he really did need that drink. But he wouldn't succumb. He was stronger than that.
He wasn't even sure why he had been compelled to return to the bar. He had stayed outside for a long time after Anna had left him, simply staring at the spot where she had stood, getting progressively colder until he had been almost frozen in position.
He hadn't returned then, had instead decided to take a walk—anything to get him moving. Anything to forget the past. But he was notorious for being painfully slow with his injured leg, and his thoughts had never left him even once. His head had been filled with her, and how she would never return again.
It had been enough to drive him to the bar.
It had almost been enough to drive him to drink.
Sighing now, he leaned further over the railing, furrowing his brow as he thought. The cigarette hung loose between his fingers.
It was strange, the way that Anna Smith had made him feel. He had never expected to feel so at ease, so…happy when in the company of another woman. Of another human, if he was honest. That kind of comfort had been a foreign thing to him ever since he had returned from Africa. Vera had not been a comfort to him, their relationship slowly disintegrating with every day that passed. The other women that he had taken to bed had only been poor attempts at making himself feel alive. Nothing had passed between them, except meaningless sex. But Anna…Anna was unlike anyone he had ever known before. He couldn't quite put his finger on it. For the first time since Africa, he had felt as if he could connect with someone. As if she could understand him.
But she hadn't.
He wasn't enjoying his cigarette very much. Listlessly, he dropped it into the ocean below, then tapped his fingers against the railing. He wished his mother was here. She'd be able to help him.
Johnny, if you want something, then you have to make it happen for yourself.
Her voice flooded his mind in a moment, and he jumped, so clear it was.
She had spoken those words to him a thousand times before. Right through his childhood, they had been his guiding light. They had spurred him on to join the army—something that John thought his mother secretly regretted—and they were used against him as a rallying point when he had returned from Africa indolent and angry at the world. She had used those words when he had been released from prison, despondent and tired of life, and she had used them the day she had given him the ticket to America.
It had always been sound advice. And perhaps it really could be of use to him now.
Anna had said that she would never be returning again. But…but what if he was the one who contacted her, tried to explain himself properly? It was something that usually he would never do. But this was not a usual situation. It was the strangest kind of all, one that he had never experienced before. He didn't understand it, but he did understand that he didn't want to lose Anna Smith's friendship. Not yet. Somehow, she had the power to make the world seem brighter. She made him feel more like a real human. And, more than all of that, she was one of the kindest and loveliest people that he had ever come across.
No, he most certainly didn't want to lose her yet.
When they docked in America, everything would change. They would bid farewell and go their separate ways. He would remember her for the rest of his life. But they still had four days left yet, and he didn't want them to part on bad terms. He owed it to himself, to her, to make amends.
And that was exactly what he was going to do.
With the determined furrow of his brow, he turned away from the railing and made his way back inside.
07:00
She hadn't slept a wink all night.
Now, attempting to pin her hair into a tight bun with the help of the tiny mirror squashed into the corner of their room, Anna cursed herself for being so ridiculous. Why had she had so much trouble sleeping? She shouldn't have done. She was proud of what she'd achieved yesterday. She'd stuck by her principles and not allowed herself to sway. She'd delivered her message in a professional manner, and she'd gotten her lucky charm back.
So why was it that she was feeling so empty inside?
No, not empty. Just betrayed. She was just hurt that she had been taken for a fool, nothing more.
Yes, nothing more than that. She was used to trusting people and not having people betray that trust. So it was simply a shock to the system to find out that someone who had appeared as kind as Mr. Bates could be so cruel and cunning.
Perhaps that's a bit harsh.
It wasn't. It wasn't.
Anna sighed loudly, giving up on her hair for the moment. Scowling, she turned to make her bed instead, pulling the covers up viciously and tucking them under the mattress.
"Blimey," sneered Miss O'Brien from the other end of the room. "What's got into you this morning?"
"Since when is that any of your business?" she shot back through gritted teeth, shoving her nightgown under her pillow haphazardly.
"Touchy this morning, I see," the lady's maid said nastily. "I bet I know why."
"You know nothing," Anna snapped heatedly. "So kindly keep your nose out." She picked up her brush again and yanked at her hair, willing it to co-operate.
Miss O'Brien narrowed her eyes. "You should learn some respect, Anna."
"And you should learn to keep yourself to yourself," she shot back. "You don't frighten me, Miss O'Brien, no matter what you think."
The other woman smirked a little, and Anna gritted her teeth again, choosing to head to breakfast before she lost her temper completely. A few servants were milling about at the tables, and she sank down onto a seat at the corner of the room, listlessly drumming her fingers against the table top. She wasn't hungry in the slightest. Her stomach was still churning with apprehension.
She had told Lord Grantham last night that Mr. Bates had declined his offer to meet on Sunday for the morning service. His lordship had expressed his disappointment, and had pressed for countless answers. Anna had answered him as fully as she could, but it had been painful. Almost too painful, for someone who had only met him days previously. She couldn't understand it. Why should it hurt so much? It wasn't as if she'd known him for years.
And yet there was something within her that made her feel like she had.
Anna sighed, burying her face in her hands. This was no good. Her mother had always told her that dwelling on the past was a pointless exercise. Usually, she had been able to follow this advice perfectly. She had been heartbroken when the first boy she'd ever kissed had ignored her only a day later, but she had quickly put it aside and moved on. She had been lonely when she'd left home to work at Downton, but she had concentrated on the future and gradually the pain had lessened.
Why couldn't she stop herself from thinking about Mr. Bates?
She pushed herself to her feet determinedly. Her mother had always looked down on ill people, blaming them for it. Perhaps that applied to an ill mind too. She hated being ill for that reason; it brought up reminders of the disappointment and slight contempt on her mother's face. If she worked, perhaps her mind would be taken off Mr. Bates. It had to. She would not allow her mind to distract her from working to her best.
And they would be in America soon. There was bound to be plenty to distract her there.
Although why she would still need distracting from thoughts of Mr. Bates in America, she wasn't so sure.
10:00
John tapped his cane nervously against the decking, watching the two men discussing something in low voices not far away from him. He tried to appear as inconspicuous as possible, pretending to be taking in the sight of the sea—it was certainly very beautiful this morning, and a little warmer than it had been yesterday—but he still kept his eye on them as much as he could. He couldn't let this opportunity pass him by, not when he had made his mind up.
He'd barely had any sleep the previous night, his thoughts too preoccupied with Anna. He had tried to fight against it desperately at first, knowing that it was wrong to spend so much time thinking about the young woman, but in the end he had given up, and allowed his thoughts to travel to wherever they'd wanted to go. He thought that he'd dozed after that, caught in that plain between waking and sleeping, and he had dreamed of her. She'd been sitting next to him, and even though he'd known that she wasn't really there, he had still been able to feel her. Her warm breath against his ears as she'd spoken in that low, broad tone. Her bright blue eyes had been trained on him, and he'd known that he'd been staring into them as though he was mesmerised. And then her warm fingers had curled around his, small and delicate and tender.
He'd woken then, to find the hairs on his body standing on end, and his heart beating a little too fast in his chest. Sleep would never have come back to him, not after such a disconcerting moment, and so he'd heaved himself out of his bunk, rustled round in his belongings for a sheet of crumpled paper, and taken it, a pen, and a bottle of ink out onto the deck, heedless of the loud snoring of his roommates. There he'd proceeded to put his plan into action.
The wind ruffled his hair, and he casually withdrew a cigarette, flaring it up while pretending to contemplate the horizon. Smoke furled from his mouth, and he shifted from foot to foot, chancing a glance over his shoulder. The men were still deep in discussion. The younger was looking decidedly put-out. He wished that they'd hurry up.
At last, the men parted, and John turned around at once. The younger was still hanging around, watching the older walk away with a deep scowl on his face. Once the older one had turned the corner, he pulled out a flask and brought it to his lips, downing whatever was inside it in several gulps. This was perfect. John doubted very much that it would be water, especially when the man glanced around furtively before tucking it back out of sight. Then, sighing, he folded his arms and made to move in the opposite direction. John knew that this was his one and only chance.
"Excuse me, sir!" he called, forcing his leg to move quickly as he limped after the lad. "Sir!"
The man jerked around when he heard the shout, and he raised a questioning eyebrow at the sight of the undoubtedly harried looking man hurrying up to him.
"Can I help you?" he asked self-importantly,
John reached him, panting for breath. He cursed the fact that his leg made him even more useless, but he forced himself to pull himself together.
"Sorry," he said. "But I need your help."
The man's eyebrows rose further. "In what way?"
There was no easy way of wording what he wanted, so he decided that he should simply put it out there. "I need you to do a favour for me."
Now the young lad looked disdainful. "You want me to do you a favour? I'm not sure if I can do that, sir."
"I know it's unorthodox," he said. "But it's imperative."
"And what does this important favour consist of?" The lad's tone was condescending, but John bit his tongue to fight his desire to snap back.
"I need you to take a message to first class for me," he said, holding the boy's stare calmly.
The lad did a double take. "Excuse me?"
"I need you to take a message to first class for me," he repeated.
"I'm sorry, sir, but I'm not quite sure that I understand."
How much plainer did he have to be? "I have an urgent message that needs to be taken to first class. You can help me."
The lad's lip began to curl. "I'm afraid that that's just not possible."
"And why not?"
He arched a lazy eyebrow. "I would have thought that that was obvious. What business do you have with anyone in first class?"
"I have a friend there," John said. "I need to get a message to her, as quickly as possible."
The eyebrow arched further. "A friend?"
He could feel the hot flush creeping up his neck, but kept his composure. He wasn't doing anything wrong. "Yes, that's right. She's a maid."
"A maid."
"With Lord Grantham."
"Lord Grantham!?"
"That's right. So I would be grateful if you could deliver it for me."
"I know it might seem like it, sir," the boy started self-righteously, "but I am not your slave while you're on board this ship. I am not here to do your bidding."
"I never meant to suggest that you are. But I think it would be in your best interest to do me this small favour."
"Oh?" he sneered. "And why's that?"
"I saw what you were doing earlier," John said simply. "And I'm quite sure that the White Star Line would be very interested in hearing that you were drinking on the job."
Those were the magic words. The young man in front of him paled significantly, and he looked as if he was going to be sick. "You wouldn't! This is the only job I have!"
John shrugged. "We both have something that we can do for each other. You can take this letter up to first class for me. I can keep quiet about what I saw."
"And what's stopping you from speaking out as soon as you know that I've done what you wanted?"
"I don't have much self-worth left anymore. But if I give you my word, then that's one thing that you can always count on."
He could tell that the young man was warring with himself, but he knew that there was really only one outcome.
"Give it here then," he said moodily. "Let me get this over with. Who do you want it delivering to?"
John felt relief wash through his body. "Thank you. If you could deliver it to a Miss Smith, that would be most appreciated. And you have my word that I won't breathe a thing about what I saw to anyone."
The young man nodded grudgingly and snatched the letter when John held it out to him. He tucked it into his pocket.
"Do I have your word that you will deliver it?" John asked.
"I'll deliver it, I promise."
John nodded, deciding not to pursue the matter further. He had little faith left in most of the human race, after his months in Africa and the way that his perceptions of the world had been warped by his drink abuse, but he just had to hope that the lad would uphold his half of the bargain. Perhaps the fear would make sure that he would. He didn't like to be manipulative. It reminded him too much of the man that he had once been, and that did not make him feel good about himself. Plain and simple, he had been an absolute bastard at times. It was a part of himself that he was trying to bury; he had vowed that he would never become that man again.
But, he tried to comfort himself, he was doing it for a good reason.
He watched as the lad gave him one last glower and turned away, muttering something about delivering it just as soon as he could find the time to. John nodded his acceptance, though the lad didn't see it.
There was nothing more that he could do now. Nothing except wait.
And hope.
13:00
Anna was sitting herself down with a plate of food when the man entered the room. She glanced up when the whole room fell silent. It was rather amusing to see the way that the servants closed ranks against outsiders, viewing the lad who had dared to enter with barely disguised suspicion. He looked nervous, standing there. He was clutching at something in his hand. Anna was instantly intrigued. This was the most interesting thing that had happened here in the servants' quarters since she had boarded the ship. Everything was usually so ordered and stuffy. Was someone in trouble? It would be rather diverting, to see someone else getting in trouble for doing something that they shouldn't have been. All of the servants were so very imperious. It would be nice to see some of them getting taken down a peg or two. Especially someone like Lady Astor's maid. Anna spied her sitting in her usual corner, looking down her nose as she raised her fork to her lips.
The man was looking around the room. Anna heard him clearing his throat.
And then the blood froze in her veins.
"Is there a Miss Smith in here?"
No. No, it couldn't be. Smith was a common enough surname. She wasn't going to be the only Smith serving a member of the aristocracy on the Titanic…
And yet no one else was responding. There was not even one miniscule movement from anyone else in the whole room.
This couldn't be…
But then she realised how paranoid she was being. Mr. Bates had been on her mind all night and for the majority of the morning, but that didn't mean that this had anything to do with him. She was being ridiculous. More likely, Lady Mary wanted her for something, and hadn't been able to send one of the other servants to find her because they were also in here. So sending a member of the White Star Line was the next logical step. And if Lady Mary wanted her, then she couldn't delay any longer.
On shaky legs, she stood. All at once, the eyes of the servants were on her. She swallowed hard. When had there been this many of them?
"I'm a Miss Smith," she said. Her voice sounded impossibly small. "Could it be for me?"
The young man shrugged. "Do you work for the Earl of Grantham? Have you been in contact with a man in third class?"
Now the tension in the air was palpable. Anna could feel her ears burning with embarrassment. If people hadn't been paying attention before, then they most certainly were now. She could almost feel the weight of the stares, crushing her where she stood. She didn't dare look for Thomas and Miss O'Brien.
The young man was still waiting for an answer. She opened her mouth, but no sound would come. Perhaps she could lie, say that she wasn't the right Miss Smith. She could hardly believe this. She had told Mr. Bates not to contact her again. She'd thought that he would keep his side of the bargain.
What on earth was she going to do?
"Well?" the young man prompted, making the decision for her. "Do you know this man?"
The last time that she had told a lie had been when she was eight years old, and she'd told her mother that she hadn't eaten the bread that she'd baked, even though she had. When her mother had found out the truth, she had smacked her legs so hard that she'd wept for hours afterwards. She'd never lied since. And she couldn't start doing so now.
Clearing her throat, she managed to croak, "Yes, I know him."
The man looked relieved at her admission, moving forward through the room towards her. Everybody's head swivelled round to watch his progress. Anna felt her face flushing hotter than ever. This was absolutely surreal. How was any of this even be happening?
It seemed to take hours before the man reached her, leaving plenty of time for everyone to ogle her openly. But it was even worse when he did reach her, for she could finally see what he was holding in his hand properly. Clasped in his grasp was a white envelope. A letter.
From Mr. Bates.
Anna stared at it for a few moments with wide, frightened eyes. What could he possibly have written to her? Why did he seem to think that writing to her was a good idea? She had told him yesterday how she felt…why was he disregarding her wishes? What could possibly be important enough for him to pursue her like this? What about his wife?
"Miss?"
She realised that she'd been staring at the envelope for too long. The young man looked half-quizzical, half-irritated.
"Are you going to take this or not? Only, I have a job to get back to, and I can't stand around here all day while you look like a rabbit about to be eaten by a fox."
A hysterical bubble of laughter effervesced up inside her at the thought, but she clamped it down firmly. Now was not the time for such things.
What was she going to do? Should she say that she didn't want it, to send it back down to Mr. Bates? That would surely get the message across.
And yet…and yet she'd be lying to herself if she didn't admit that she was curious. She was so terribly curious. Her curiosity would be her downfall, her mother had often told her, but she couldn't stop it. There was a niggling feeling in her stomach, the anticipatory fluttering she always felt before she was going to do something exciting, or forbidden.
She should take it. It didn't mean that she had to do anything with it, but at least her curiosity would be sated. She wouldn't need to drive herself mad with wondering.
"Yes, I'll take it," she said quietly, reaching out a shaking hand to grasp at the envelope. Obviously relieved that his task was over, the young man turned to leave. Anna didn't watch him go, too transfixed by the envelope in her hand.
People were whispering around her. She didn't care. She just needed to get away, to read the words in the privacy of her own room. Slowly, she began to move towards the exit. The whispering grew louder. Everyone was watching her now. Some were sneering. She kept her eyes trained ahead. The envelope was clenched tight in her hands, twisted between her fingers. It was almost burning her. Just what did this mean?
What did any of this mean?
13:20
John leaned listlessly against the railings, watching the sea churning beneath him. It was a majestic sight. The wind ruffled through his hair. The sun was beating down, but there was still a chilly breeze. He was glad for his jacket.
The young lad had been gone for a while. He was bound to report back to his post soon. John just needed to be patient for a little while longer. Not so very long ago, he had considered himself a patient man. He had needed great patience ever since his release from prison.
Now, however, was a completely different situation. When it came to Anna Smith, John wasn't sure if he could ever be patient.
A thousand questions were rattling around his skull, but there was only one that was taking precedence. What if she refused to take the letter? What if his painstaking efforts had been for nothing?
Better to know now, he thought to himself. At least that way you'll not be standing around later waiting to know if she took it.
The door in front of him swung open. John jerked his head up at once.
It was the young lad. He was looking harried. When he caught sight of him, he frowned.
"What are you still doing here?" he said gruffly, sullen-faced.
"I only want to know if Miss Smith took the letter or not."
"She took it, yes. I don't think she was pleased to receive it, mind."
John's heart, which had begun to rise a little in relief that she'd accepted it, sank immediately. He'd been expecting it, but for some reason, it hurt a little.
The young man was regarding him with a mixture of curiosity and contempt. "Can I actually get on with my job now?"
"Yes, of course you can," said John distantly. "Thank you for doing that."
The lad snorted, beginning to saunter away, leaving John alone.
Well, it wasn't as bad as it could have been. Anna had not point-blank refused to take the letter. Of course, that didn't mean that she would definitely read it. She might simply drop it in the ocean. Or burn it in the fire. She might read it and not care.
Still, there was nothing he could do about that now. The only thing that he could do was wait and see if she turned up later on in the evening. He would be waiting for her, either way.
The evening would come soon enough.
14:15
"Are you quite all right, Anna? You seem very distracted today."
"I'm sorry, milady," Anna muttered, bending down to retrieve the hairbrush that she had dropped.
"Is there anything that you want to tell me?"
Anna looked up cautiously, peering into the mirror with a little trepidation. "Milady?" Lady Mary rarely took an interest in her feelings.
Lady Mary swung around in her chair so that she was facing her properly. "Is something bothering you? Is it that business with that man who Papa used to know?"
She fidgeted with her hands, feeling her face flush. "Oh, no, milady. I wouldn't say it was bothering me."
"But it is on your mind?"
She paused, wondering how much she should say. While she liked Lady Mary very much indeed, she wasn't known to be the most sympathetic of the three daughters. And yet she knew that she just had to share the news with someone.
"Milady, will his lordship be available after I'm done here?"
Now Lady Mary looked more curious than ever. "I think he will be…but why?"
Anna shrugged. "It's not important, milady."
"But you can't whet my appetite like that and then say no more about it! What's happened?"
Anna kept her mouth in a firm line. "It's nothing, milady. Honestly."
Lady Mary sniffed, looking affronted that she wouldn't budge on the subject. "Well, never mind. Papa will tell me what the problem is later on."
Anna sighed, moving to help her into her dress. "I'm not being awkward on purpose, milady. But until everything is sorted out, I think it's best not to go making wild stories."
"It's fine, Anna. Now, can you pass me my diamond necklace? I need to look my best for this luncheon." There was something in her tone that was very, very bitter. "No doubt Mr. Patrick will expect it."
Anna chose not to comment, knowing that it wasn't her place to do so. Nothing more was exchanged after that, as Lady Mary went back to brooding silently, fluffing her hair in the mirror.
14:25
Anna's heels clipped along the wooden floorboards as she made her way towards Lord Grantham's quarters. Her heart hammered wildly in her chest. The letter was tucked safely in the pocket of her apron, though she kept touching it to make sure that she hadn't dropped it somewhere along the way. She tried not to take note of how sweaty her palms were.
When she reached the door, she knocked on it smartly.
"Hello?" Lord Grantham's voice was muffled, and he sounded confused.
She took a deep breath and pushed it open, praying that Thomas had already finished dressing him. The last thing she needed was to have him hovering around like some kind of vulture, eager to gorge on whatever titbits that he could get his hands on.
Thankfully, the room was empty apart from his lordship, and she heaved a great sigh of relief. Lord Grantham's face expression didn't change in the slightest as he regarded her with furrowed brows.
"Anna?" he asked. "Is there something wrong? Does Lady Mary want me?"
"No, milord," she said, feeling horribly awkward. "I've actually come to see you. I've had a strange…request."
"Request? That sounds rather ominous."
"Oh, it's nothing too bad, I don't think."
"And who is this strange request from?"
"It's from Mr. Bates."
"It's from Bates? I thought you said that he wasn't going to be coming tomorrow, and that it was doubtful that there would be any more contact from him?"
She bit her lip. "Well, that's what I thought, milord. And I don't think that he's changed his mind on the business of coming up here tomorrow."
"So what is this request all about?"
She withdrew the letter with shaking hands. Lord Grantham's eyes widened.
"He wrote to me this morning," she explained needlessly. She cursed the waver in her voice.
"And what does it say?"
Anna held it out towards him. "He says that he has something to ask me."
This is extraordinary," he said. "What on earth could that possibly be?"
"I don't know, milord," she said miserably.
"Well, I don't want to know the ins and outs of it all," he said. "Though it is a rather odd."
"It's nothing to give you any concern, milord, I promise."
"I think I can trust you when you say that." He smiled, evidently trying to make her feel more comfortable.
"Would it be possible for me to go if I wanted to?"
"I wouldn't stop you, no."
Anna nodded. Her heart was pounding in her chest. She didn't think it would be right to visit Mr. Bates down in third class once again. But she wouldn't deny that there was a part of her that was very curious indeed. He'd written that he needed to tell her the whole truth, and he'd be grateful if she took the time to listen, though of course he'd understand it if she didn't want to. He'd also written that she could eat in third class, if it was acceptable, to make sure that she would be back to serve Lady Mary in time for bed.
"I know it would be unconventional, my lord."
"That's putting it mildly."
"But I will confess to being a little curious about it all."
"It's very strange indeed that he should want to speak to you about something, when he won't come here tomorrow."
"I know, milord."
"But you want to go?"
Anna sighed. It wasn't a question of wanting. It was simply a question of needing. She needed the closure. She needed the truth so that she could move on.
"If you're truly fine with me going down there, milord, then yes, I feel that I ought to."
Lord Grantham nodded. "Very well. Ordinarily, I would object to such a bizarre request, but I do trust Bates. He saved my life, after all."
Anna nodded. "Thank you, milord. I'll be sure to report back to you later this evening."
"There's no need. You can let me know everything tomorrow. I've no doubt that you'll be exhausted once you've seen to Lady Mary."
She probably would be, but she doubted that she'd be able to sleep again tonight. Especially if Mr. Bates made some more unwelcome revelations. But that was a chance that she would just have to take.
"Thank you, milord. I'd better be getting on now."
"Of course. Goodbye, Anna."
She dipped her head respectfully, then ducked back out of the room. Her heart was still pounding in her chest.
She was going to see Mr. Bates again. He had asked to see her, and she was going running. It was absurd. Unheard of. She was getting in over her head.
Just what had she agreed to?
