A/N: So…I had meant to get this chapter up by the start of S4. Only a few weeks late! :)
I did try to include characters readers inquired about in the last Astute Reader Challenge. We don't get to see what happened to every character (sorry Mr. Carson and Mrs. Patmore), but we do learn about many and most importantly Anna and John.
Enjoy! Hope it's not too insanely long.
Chapter 7:
He was thinking again. John Bates was the loudest thinker Anna had ever met. Not that he made a sound while doing it, but she knew he was. The workings of his mind resonated from his body in tense waves.
They were making their way back to the village. As Anna drove, John leafed through the brochure that the real estate company had put together for the estate. She'd wager he hadn't read a single word of the listing. His eyes may be looking down, but he was somewhere else . . . thinking.
Not that he was the only one. Anna's mind was working overtime too.
They had made it back downstairs to meet Mrs. Saxby with time to spare. In fact with enough time for John to pull Anna into a kitchen alcove for one last frenzied kiss which left them both breathless and their adrenaline pumping at the prospect of being caught. Then as they walked through the gardens and explored the grounds, their bodies brushed and fingers touched. It wasn't on purpose, but it wasn't on accident either. There was just an inexplicable pull.
But once they climbed into the car and left Downton behind them, reality began to settle around them. Even though it didn't make sense, Anna felt that she had been cloaked in a dense fog. She couldn't explain it. She knew what she had done and didn't question that fact. Yet her actions felt more like reactions to the surroundings . . . to the house . . . to that room . . . to John. Only now that they were driving away was an unseen veil lifted and she could begin to understand what happened earlier.
And what exactly had happened? She had wanton sex . . . in the middle of the day . . . in a strange house . . . while she was supposed to be working . . . with a man she had met less than a week ago. Dear lord. Never in life could have imagined such a scenario taking place. But it did and so easily. She wasn't sure if she should be ashamed or impressed with herself.
She unconsciously shook her head. No, she wasn't ashamed. Not one bit. For starters, she was an adult woman who made an adult decision to have consensual sex with an adult man. They had both wanted to. There had been no cajoling or force. She knew all too well what that was like. In fact, John had gone out of his way to make sure she was the one in charge. But there was more to it. With someone else, the whole encounter would have been tawdry and cheap. Not with John. With him everything was warm and right . . . sincere . . . real. It felt like coming home.
Confused, she shook her head again. What did she mean by home? Making love . . . coming home. Coming home to John. Another shake. Too much to take in right now.
Out of the corner of her eye, she could tell John was secretly eyeing her too. What was he thinking, remembering or worse regretting?
Anna turned her focus back to the road. She didn't want to look him in the eye fully, not yet. Still she couldn't help recalling how he had gazed down at her with their bodies joined at all points. It was more than mere passion; it was electrifying. Before today Anna would never have believed making love could be, for lack of better words, so . . . earth shattering. She had always made fun of the soap operas Lynnie watched where out of the blue two characters couldn't keep their hands off each other in some mad love scene. Anna had always doubted such spontaneity and hunger existed. It had never been like that with Mac, but with John . . . well, she simply couldn't resist him.
A bubble of laughter rose in her throat. Christ, what happened was a like a scene out of the bloody EastEnders. So unreal, but at the same time more real than anything she had ever experience. She could only imagine what Lynnie would say if she told her. A giggle surfaced at the thought of her friend passed out from the shock.
John looked over. "Are you okay?"
Anna covered her laugh with a cough. "Oh yes, just fine." The look in his eyes said he wanted to ask more, but unsure of his footing.
They drove into the village of Downton. Anna followed the signs to the high street and pulled into a small car park.
After putting the stick into gear, she turned to John. He was looking out the window. "I thought we might get a bite to eat before exploring the village."
He replied absently, "Hmm . . . What? . . . Yes, lunch sounds good."
She didn't like this wall that he was erecting between them. They needed to talk this out. Now.
"John," she waited for him to face her before continuing, "I think we need to talk about . . . you know, what happened this morning."
He nodded with a sigh. "I know."
Her hand found his and gave a squeeze. "Come on, let's grab lunch first. Everything makes more sense with food in you."
John mouth twisted upward despite himself and he gave a quick squeeze in return before opening his door.
It was only a short walk to the village centre where a store-lined high street lead to an open green. A wave of nostalgia hit Anna. She remembered it so well from her childhood. The old book shop was still there and looking as musty as ever. So was the Grantham Arms and the flower shop on the corner. New businesses intermixed with old. Thankfully, unlike many villages, Downton appeared to be keeping its head above water commercially. Shoppers were plenty especially in the market that was set up on the green.
They wandered in that direction. It seemed like only yesterday that she was doing cartwheels there; her dress fluttering around her as she flipped over. That memory yielded another. One she couldn't quite place. A tall man in a dark coat and dark hat. She was running after him . . . searching for him . . . never quite finding him.
Odd. She had no idea who this man was, but she needed to find him desperately. Who on earth would she had been chasing after as a child? So very odd.
A baby's cry from across the green broke her reverie. She blinked twice to clear her brain. It seemed lately she had the hardest time focusing, especially when it came to the past. Memories were fleeting and blurred.
She turned to John. "You go pick a table and I'll get lunch."
John glanced over at the picnic area she pointed to. "Okay, what are we having? Let me pay, Anna. Please."
"Nonsense. I get a generous per diem to cover expenses. Lunch is covered. Ever had a pasty?"
"A pasty? Never heard of it."
"John Bates, you have lived a deprived life." She was pleased to see a wry grin form. "I'll just pop into the bakery across the way."
Less than ten minutes later, she was back with two piping hot cheese and onion pasties and a pile of napkins. She sat down at the table John had chosen. The rest of the tables were empty. It was past lunchtime. Almost two o'clock. Anna couldn't believe she had been up since nearly five in the morning. Her stomach issued a silent growl of reminder.
As they took bites, a companionable silence fell over them; food providing a temporary reprieve from discussing anything weighty.
"These really are good."
"I told you so. Don't doubt me when it comes to food." Anna warned as she licked melted cheese off a finger.
John's eyes narrowed as he followed her tongue. God, the way he looked at her. Her insides were jelly. If they were going to spend any more time together, they had to talk about what happened at the Abbey. She couldn't stand to have things unresolved.
She took her last bite and wiped her face with a napkin. It was now or never.
"Okay, so . . . about this morning . . ."
"Anna, I don't know what happened. I mean, I know what happened. It's just that I don't know how we got to that point." John closed his eyes and shook his head. "Everything happened so fast. I'm not sure I was even thinking. I'm so sor . . ."
"Stop right there!" He was going to say it. He was going to ruin everything and say he was sorry. She couldn't allow it. "Please don't say you're sorry because I'm not. Not at all."
John's head snapped up. "You're not? I mean, I pushed you into the situation and didn't give you many options. After your last time . . . with him . . . you deserved better."
"You're right. I did deserve better." She could see his whole body wilt at her words. "But John what we shared today was better. No, not just better . . . for the first time in my life sex was something special. Oh, I don't know what I mean exactly . . . but I wasn't just going through the motions hoping that it would be over soon like I always did with Mac. With him, it was just sex, a purely physical act or worse." She didn't have to say what worse was, he knew.
"But John . . . with you . . . it was so different. We were truly making love. No, I don't have any regrets."
"Really? You're not just saying that?" John reached over and his palm cupped her cheek.
"No, I'm really not." She brought her hand up to touch his fingers.
"I just feel bad that I didn't take it slower. It's your first time since . . . since . . ."
Anna didn't bat an eye. The only way to move forward was to acknowledge the past. "Since I was raped?"
John nodded; his eyes cast down.
"John, listen to me. For the first time in a long time, I was just myself . . . Anna. Not Anna stuck in the middle of never ending divorce. Not Anna who should have left her husband years ago. Not Anna who should have never gotten married in the first place. And not Anna . . ." she gulped and took a shaky breath. "who was beaten and raped by that same husband. It was empowering to shed those descriptors. With you I am just Anna.
He lifted his head, eyes moist. "You are amaze and humble me. I just wish . . . you still should have had much more than a quick tumble on a bed in a strange house."
She shyly lowered her head. "I know I'm not as experienced as . . .well, you are . . . but nothing in my past even comes close to this morning. It was simply . . . incredible."
He didn't answer for a few seconds. Worry began to take root. It had been amazing for her, but maybe it hadn't been for John. Her sexual experience was so limited and he seemed to be an expert. It might have only been average sex for him while it was mind blowing for her.
"Maybe for you it wasn't . . ."
A finger lifted up her chin. Her eyes met warm green ones. His whole face was beaming. "Anna, I hate to disappoint you, my history with women is not as extensive as you seem to think. Making love to you was amazing. I mean it, what I felt in your arms I have never felt with another living soul. We have a connection. We do. I know you feel it too."
Anna nodded his palm still on her cheek. "I do. So what happens now? John, I don't want what we have to end . . . not yet."
He leaned forward and rested his forehead against hers. "I don't either. I may not have much time left here, but I want to spend it with you . . . every day and every night." His voice was husky and his breath heavy on her face.
"Me too," she murmured in agreement as her lips found his cheek and traveled towards his mouth. "Every day . . . every night."
"I believe this is it." Anna pushed open the door to a storefront that served as the Downton Historical Society and Museum. A tickling of bells above their heads welcomed them. In a large picture window, mannequins dressed in outfits from various eras faced the high street. An accompanying sign announced the current exhibit: Dressing Downton—Fashion Through the Ages, 1860-1960.
It was four o'clock and they had arrived to speak with Mr. Molesley, the local village historian. For the last two hours, John and Anna had explored Downton's high street. They had wandered in gift shops, laughingly compared titles in an old record store, took their time in the book shop and at Anna's instance sat down for an early tea. John had even managed to slip into the Boots Pharmacy for a purchase. His side was killing him. The train ride, touring the estate, walking around the town was all catching up with him. His body wasn't used to that much exertion. A steady ache shot down his side to his hip. The doctors had warned him the muscle and tissue would never be the same and there wasn't much they could do for him except provide pain management. Drugs, in other words. Well, he was done with that. He could live with the pain especially on a day like today.
John still couldn't quite believe how the day had unfolded. He had made love with Anna. Yes, made love. It hadn't been just sex. It still seemed part dream to John. Not the actual act; his hands, his fingers, his mouth could still feel her. But everything leading up to and after was . . . fuzzy. His head was drunk with sensation and memory. It wasn't until they left the manor that he began to think things through. Jesus, he had particularly pounced on a woman who had recently been raped. He berated and called himself every name in the book. Then amazingly Anna absolved him. He has nothing to be sorry for, she said. It had been as special for her as it had been for him. Unreal.
There was still a part of him that didn't want to accept her words. Self-loathing ran deep in John. Yet as they sat there in the picnic grove, he couldn't resist her or the prospect of spending more time together. For once in a long while, things were going his way. Good fortune was his and to his amazement he was . . . happy. Such a strange, foreign feeling. He knew it wouldn't last. He didn't deserve to have it last. But damn it, he was going to savor it, if only for a day or two. No more thinking.
The museum was only one large room, but it was jammed pack. Mannequins in formal attire lined up against one wall. A farming exhibit with an early tractor took up another part of the room. There was even a children's section where a mock barnyard had been set up.
A bald head poked out from an adjoining room marked Genealogical Research.
"Miss Smith?"
"Yes, that's me."
The man popped out of the room and strode across the room in bouncy steps despite his age. He was definitely older, probably around retirement age. He wore a tweed jacket and corduroy pants. The jacket had patches on the elbows. Even though he was dressed respectfully, there was a disheveled air about him. This man had to be a professor or teacher of sorts.
"Hello there, I'm Harold Molesley. I'm the one you spoke to on the phone, Miss Smith"
"Ah, yes." Anna shook his hand. "And please, just call me Anna."
"All right . . . Anna," he tried out the name. "And call me Harold." John could swear the old man was blushing. He inwardly laughed at the effect Anna had on the male species. He wasn't the only one to fall under her spell.
"And this is my colleague, John Bates."
"John Bates, you say?" Harold asked with a laugh as he shook his hand.
"Since birth," John joked, but couldn't help feeling this man's inquiry was a bit weird. "Why do you ask?"
"Oh, you'll see." He turned back to Anna. "You did want to know about scandals, right? Well, a John Bates plays a pivotal part in one."
Anna looked up at John. She was partly confused and amused. So was he. A John Bates at Downton and involved in a scandal? What a random coincidence.
"Come on now, let's have a seat in the research room and I can fill you in on everything you would ever want to know about Downton Abbey including its scandals."
As they followed him across the museum, Harold kept up a steady patter of conversation. "I'm glad that you were able to meet so late in the afternoon. I was teaching classes all day at the FE college in York and couldn't get back any earlier."
"Are you a professor?" John asked. Totally pegged him at first glance. Must be a school teacher.
"No, only a part-time instructor. It's sort of a hobby for me. I teach classes in local history and lore. There isn't a man who knows more about Yorkshire than me," Harold bragged. "I actually only came into teaching a few years ago when I retired."
"What did you retire from?" Anna inquired with polite interest.
Harold held open the door to the genealogy room. "Well, I'm not sure I'll ever fully retire from it until the day I die. You see, my family runs the flower shop just up on the corner."
"Of course, Molesely's. I loved that shop as a kid."
"Been in the family for four generations. My son Ronald runs it now, but I still help out on days I'm not teaching."
"That's so nice you're able to keep it in the family."
"Ronald is a right responsible lad. And my daughter Katie too. She's a doctor up in York. She's the brains of the family. Recessive genes, I guess."
Lord, this guy was a trip. John couldn't help but like him and also feel a bit sorry for him at the same time.
"You must be very proud."
"That I am, especially since I had to raise them on my own," Harold turned his back as he began to rummage through boxes and old files. "Their mum wasn't from England. We met through . . . shall we say . . . written correspondence."
"Mail order bride?" John mouthed to Anna with a raised eyebrow.
"Oh, shut up!" she mouthed back, but he could tell she was in danger of chuckling.
Oblivious to their side bar, Harold continued, "She never liked it here. Went back to the Ukraine after a few years, but left behind what was most important . . . the kids."
John felt an unfamiliar pang of regret. Long ago he had given up the idea of marriage and children. It simply wasn't compatible with military life. The divorce rate was exceedingly high among soldiers especially those in the Special Forces. Then afterwards with his injury and addiction finding a wife was the last thing on his mind. Now he just felt too old to go down that path. It never really bothered him. He had his niece and nephew. They were his surrogate children and he loved them dearly, but now as he listened to Harold he knew it wasn't the same. They weren't his children. He would never experience that unique bond between father and child. There would never be anyone who truly belonged to him and vice versa. Before he even realized it, an unconscious streak of melancholy seeped through his body.
Harold turned back around with an armful of files and photos. "Well, enough about me. Go ahead, have a seat. Now where would you like to begin? Maybe you could tell me what you already have learned about the Abbey?"
As Anna filled Harold in on what they found out from Mrs. Saxby, he opened up the files and began spreading old photos across the table.
"Well, that's about it," Anna finished up. "I was hoping you could provide some more details about both the house and the family and perhaps even the workers. Maybe some juicy stories. Right now, the tale of the daughters is pretty grim. One dies in childbirth. The other's husband dies on the same day their only child is born and then that son dies in the war. Extremely sad."
"Yes, Lady Mary's story is miserable," Harold agreed solemnly. "But I have to tell you if it hadn't been for her losses, I would never exist."
"How do you reckon that?" John asked once again being drawn into the stories of the past.
"You see my grandfather was valet to Matthew Crawley, Mary's husband, the one who died in the car wreck. After he died, my grandfather was out of a job and around this time his father also died. Since he longer worked at Downton, he took the small inheritance from his father and opened up the flower shop. Well, Grandpop knew nothing about flowers. They were a hobby of his father and he was sort of honoring him by opening up the shop, but he had no idea what he was doing. So he hired this headstrong young lass to help him out. She was a farmer's daughter and had an exceptional green thumb. This was soon after World War One and women were beginning to work outside the home more. She didn't have many suitors since so much of her generation had been killed off in the war. Well, one thing led to another and they not only built a successful shop, but they ended falling in love or as Granny told it she ordered him to marry her."
"Oh, how romantic," Anna cooed. Didn't sound all that romantic to John, but the story still made him smile for some reason. He bet Grandpop Molesley was as much of a lady killer as his grandson.
"So your grandfather shared stories of Downton with you?"
"Oh yes, he told me all about the family and the staff. He kept in touch with quite a few of the staff even after he left service. In fact, when I was young child Grandpop would take me up to the big house."
"To visit who?" Anna kept up with the questions.
"This was in the early fifties. I was just boy of five or six. He would take me to visit the old head housekeeper. Mrs. Hughes was her name. She was the last of the live-in staff at Downton. You see, the Second World War made everyone downscale to support the war effort. Large homes couldn't employ the staff anymore and were often reduced to just a butler and housekeeper. Then after the war, it was never the same. It became cheaper to have staff live off the grounds and just come in to work during the day, but they didn't want to kick out Mrs. Hughes since she had been with them for over fifty years. So she stayed there until the day she died."
"What was she like?" John asked without thinking. Smart, kind, stern when needed, loyal . . .
"Oh, she seemed ancient to me, but very sweet. She always had butterscotch candies in her candy dish when we dropped by. I think Grandpop felt sorry for her."
"Why?"
"Maybe because she didn't have a family of her own. She had given her life to run the house. I still remember Grandpop saying being forced out of service was a blessing in disguise. He got to have a wife, a family . . . a life, one which he wouldn't have had if he had stayed a valet."
With a shake of the head, Harold continued, "Look at me blabbering on about my family again. Let me tell you some more about the Crawley Family."
Harold proceeded to recount Downton Abbey's founding in the late 1600's by the 5th Earl of Grantham. It cost a fortune to build which ended up causing financial headaches for subsequent generations until it came to the point that the 11th Earl of Grantham, a one Robert Crawley, was forced to marry an American heiress in order to save the estate.
Harold was pointing and passing around photos of the home and family from the Historical Society's archives.
"Well, I'll be damned," John murmured and shook his head. He couldn't believe his eyes.
"What is it, John?" Anna looked over.
He pointed down to an old black and white photo. It appeared to be a couple on their wedding day.
"Is this Robert Crawley or Lord Grantham or whatever his name is?"
"Yes, that's his wedding picture. Why?"
"Okay, this is going to sound stupid, but someone I work with is named Robert Crawley." He glanced over at Anna. "You know, Robert in Afghanistan?"
Anna nodded, but he could tell she had no idea where he was going with this.
"Anyway, he's a dead ringer for this Lord Grantham. I mean, looks exactly like him, only without the bow tie and tails." For that matter, his wife even looked like Cora, only much younger. God, this didn't make any sense.
"Well, your friend couldn't be a direct relation of our Robert Crawley since as you found out earlier the Irish side is the only branch of the family still going. Perhaps your friend is distant family."
"Oh no, I don't think so. Must be just a bizarre coincidence. " He couldn't help laugh at the thought of Robert being of noble blood. He had grown up in London nowhere near Yorkshire and didn't have a pretentious bone in his body—except perhaps when he insisted John drink tea. Yet he couldn't help stare at the photo. This toff could be Robert's twin.
"Did you ever happen to meet Lord Grantham when you were a kid or any of the family for that matter?" Anna followed up.
"Well, I knew Lady Edith and Miss Catherine quite well. They were both great patrons of the historical society. Much of the clothing you see in our current exhibit came from the family. Also, upon her death, Lady Edith donated boxes of family papers and photos. I'm still trying to sift through them. That's where all these photos came from."
John picked up another. Three young ladies in their prime posed in front of Downton. Had to be the daughters. Even though the photo was black and white, he could easily envision the girls alive in color.
"As for Lord Grantham, I never met him. He died toward the end of the war. Heart attack, it was. Believe it or not, his mother outlived him. The Dowager, that was her title, was over a hundred when she died which was right after her son. They say it broke her spirit to outlive him. But oh, she was known for being a tough old bird. Grandpop always said she scared the beejesus out of him."
"What about the rest of the family?"
"Well, I do remember seeing Lady Grantham with Edith, but I never saw Mary. After her son died, she did find a modicum of happiness with a man by the name of Evelyn Napier. They married and she went to live on his estate. She never came back to Downton. There were just too many bad memories, I guess. Unfortunately, she died soon after, cancer of the breast."
Poor Harold's face flushed at the manner of Lady Mary's early demise.
"Who's this?" Anna held up a glamour shoot of a young woman. "She looks familiar."
"Oh, that's the star of the family, Cousin Rose. Better known as Rose Bellamy, the silent movie start."
"That's why I recognize her! My grandmother loved to watch old silent movies. They used to play them on BBC 2 late at night. She was a huge star."
"For a time, but she was never able to make the transition to the talkies and her career dried up in the 30's. She did have a resurgence in popularity during the war years with variety shows she organized and appeared in to support the troops overseas. She even hosted a fundraising event for the war effort at Downton. All the biggest names in British film and radio were there. We did a special exhibit on it a last year."
"I always thought she was so pretty," Anna admired holding up Rose's photo for John's inspection.
"That she was," Harold agreed. "She was also quite the troublemaker for the family. She was very charming and attracted a lot of male attention if you know what I mean."
"I take it the wrong type of 'attention' as far the family was concerned," John guessed.
"Right you are, but Rose didn't really care. The 20's were a time of change, but not fast enough for her. Her flings were notorious and very public. Quite scandalous for the family especially his Lordship."
Anna turned to Harold. "Speaking of scandals, what juicy stories do you have to tell of Downton?"
"Well, let's see. There was the 8th Earl of Grantham who was quite the exhibitionist. The story goes he walked around everywhere . . . the dining room, the study, the parlor, the main hall, the outer grounds . . . I mean everywhere, completely naked. The family and staff found it rather unsettling, not to mention visiting guests."
Anna shot a look at John. She looked like she wanted to laugh. Laugh hard. He bet that wasn't exactly the scandalous story she was hoping for.
"How about stories that involve a bit more intrigue? Perhaps . . . oh, I don't know . . . sex, revenge, blackmail, romance . . ." John offered. Anna flashed him a grin of thanks.
"Well, there was the rumor that a dashing young diplomat visiting from Turkey of all places died in the bed of Lady Mary. This was before she was married."
"You mean she murdered him?"
"No, not murder exactly. It was said he died while . . . well, you know . . . while having . . . well . . ."
"Having what?" John insisted.
Harold was now rosy as he leaned in conspiratorially and whispered, "Intercourse."
"She killed him with sex?" John blurted. "What kind of kinky stuff was she into?"
At his question, Harold turned absolute beat red. Anna began to chuckle.
"I don't know; it was only a rumor. The family worked hard to keep it a secret." Harold wrung his hands. "Oh, maybe I shouldn't have told you. I don't know if it would be right for such a story to get out into the public."
"Don't worry," Anna squeezed his hand and Harold nearly jumped out of his seat. "We won't use any story that you think inappropriate. You're the local expert here. Now are there any more scandals that you remember, maybe ones that don't involve the family.
Harold thought for a second and then smacked his red forehead and looked over at John. "Of course, I have to tell you of the story of John Bates! How could I forget? It's a doozy and a good one to tell since all the principal players are long gone."
"All right, so tell us who was John Bates?" Anna asked as her eyes met John's.
"Well, he was Lord Grantham's valet." He pulled out a worn photo from the bottom of the pile. "But he wasn't just his valet. He had also served as his batman during the Boer War."
"What exactly is a batman?" Anna asked.
"Isn't it sort of an aide de camp? A servant who is also a soldier and right hand man to an officer especially of aristocratic birth," John answered off the top of head.
"Yes, that's right." Harold looked over surprised. "Very good, Mr. Bates."
"I must have picked it up in one of my military classes dealing with foreign armies." But as soon as the words left his mouth, John knew they were a lie. He had never heard of a batman before today. He had no idea where the knowledge came from, but somehow it sat there in his brain.
"As his batman, they had become quite close in wartime. Bates had actually been wounded saving his life and his Lordship never forgot it. He offered him the position of valet even though he was somewhat of a cripple and used a stick to get around."
"So what if he used a stick?" Anna's response was swift and defensive, almost angry. John was baffled by her outburst.
"Nothing, nothing at all," Harold squawked taken aback. "I only meant that you didn't often find servants with disabilities especially in large manor homes. It would have been seen as a disgrace of sorts, but Lord Grantham was adamant that he wanted Bates as his valet."
John could feel his patience running low. "So what's the scandal? That he limped around with a cane?"
"No, no. According to my Grandpop, the household came to accept and eventually respect Bates especially a young maid half his age."
"A romance?" Anna's eyes soften.
"Yes, Bates . . ." Harold pointed to a tall figure in a line-up of servants posed in front of Downton. ". . . that's him here with the stick, he fell in love with one of the housemaids."
John peered down at the man he shared his name. Tall and stiff, stoic. His hair was dark and slicked back. Cane in hand.
"Why John, you could pass yourself off as his twin. You've got his build," noted Anna.
John wasn't so sure, but there was something about this man that beckoned as if he was speaking to him from the photo.
Anna gestured to the maids also lined up in the photo. "Which one was his sweetheart?"
Harold shook his head. "I don't know. The Historical Society came into possession of this photo only after Lady Edith died. There's nobody alive to identify the servants. I only know who Bates is by his stick."
But John knew. His eyes zeroed in on a pretty maid two servants to the right of Bates. Even though the photos was devoid of color, he knew her hair was blonde and her eyes blue. She was the one.
"But I can tell you her name was Anna."
John snapped out of his trance and blinked at the sound of her name.
"Anna? You mean John Bates fell in love with an Anna." She nudged John with her elbow. "Seems you're not the only one to share a name today."
John managed to smile down at her, but to be honest, none of this settled well with him. It was just so damn odd.
"Ah-ha," chortled Harold, slow to catch on. "I get it. You're Anna and he's John. Wow, quite the coincidence!"
"What happened to our namesakes?"
Harold sobered up. "Well, things didn't go well for them. You see, Bates was a married man."
Anna sighed. "So he didn't want to give up his wife for Anna?"
"Not at all. He loved Anna. He absolutely wanted to divorce his wife. They had been estranged for many years long before he came to Downton. Seems they had a rocky marriage and she had been less than supportive when he came back from the war injured. She had abandoned their marriage many years prior."
"So what was the problem?" John asked.
"A divorce wasn't as easy to obtain as is it is nowadays," Harold began to explain.
"It's still not all that easy," Anna couldn't help interjecting.
Harold's eyes widened and he blinked a few times before continuing. "But back then it was not only a legal headache, it was quite expensive and not to mention the social stigma that followed in its wake."
"So they never married?"
"No, as it turns out Bates inherited a tidy sum from his mother when she died. He tried and tried to get his wife to agree to a divorce and eventually ended up paying her off, but still she managed to delay and blackmail him."
"Blackmail? What sort of blackmail?"
"I'm not really sure. Mrs. Hughes told Grandpop that Mrs. Bates had some hold over her husband. She knew things about Downton that would ruin the reputation of family. She basically bled him dry and still refused a divorce."
That bitch.
John shook his head and rolled his eyes. Jesus, he couldn't believe how much he was getting sucked into this story. It was only that . . . a story.
"So what did they do?"
"Well, it wasn't a question of what they did. It was a matter of what he did." Unconsciously John held his breath. He had a bad feeling about this.
After a slight pause for effect, Harold leaned in and continued in a hushed voice. "Bates went to London, that's where his wife was staying, presumably to try to convince her one last time to agree to the divorce. Well, it must not have gone well because he came back with scratches on his face and then the next day there was a cable that said Mrs. Bates had been found dead. She had been . . . poisoned."
Anna gasped. "My god, you mean he killed her?"
"All I said was that she was poisoned. According to Grandpop, Bates maintained his innocence and reasoned she must have committed suicide. Everybody at Downton took him at his word and stood by him."
"Well, if everybody believed him, then so must have the police. And since his wife was dead he could marry Anna, right? Right, Harold?" Anna's voice was desperate, on the verge of pleading. John wasn't the only one who was getting wrapped up in the story.
"Since his wife was dead, he and Anna did marry, but their troubles weren't over. The police were bent on an arrest. Grandpop said how the London police at the time were in hot water for not making enough arrests. So based on entirely circumstantial evidence, Bates was arrested and charged with the murder of his wife."
Anna gasped, "Oh no! What happened next?"
"There was a trial and he was found guilty."
"But he wasn't really guilty was he? He couldn't have been."
"I don't know for sure, Anna. I don't think anyone knew for sure what happened except Bates and the late Mrs. Bates, but I can tell you that Grandpop always said it was a great miscarriage of justice. That there was no way that Bates was capable of such a crime."
"Oh, you'd be surprised what man is capable of when pushed to his limits," John pointed out in a low voice. He should know. He pulled the trigger. Twice. On purpose. With intent to kill.
Anna briefly glanced over, brow furrowed, confused before turning back to Harold. "So he ended up spending the rest of his days in jail? How heartbreaking for Anna to visit him and know there was no hope of him ever being released."
Harold cleared his throat. John knew it was worse than Anna suspected. "I'm afraid that back then it wasn't life imprisonment for murder. Bates ended up being hanged to death. He's buried out back in the village cemetery behind the church."
"Dear god," Anna muttered. "I forgot that we did that. How absolutely horrifying."
John heard a sniff. He looked down to see her quickly wipe a tear from her eye. The whimsical air of the afternoon was gone. Learning about Downton wasn't fun anymore. They needed to get out of there.
"You know, we should be taking off. It's getting late and we still need to check into the inn and find a place for dinner," John attempted.
Anna continued as if she didn't even hear him. "What happened to Anna?"
"Obviously heartbroken, she didn't want to return to Downton. The family must have secured her position because she went to America to work as a nanny for one of the Crawley's American cousins. Mrs. Hughes, the housekeeper I mentioned earlier, kept in touch with her. I believe the family lived in Chicago. The cousin had married into a very wealthy family there. They made a fortune selling gum. Oh, you might know the name Mr. Bates, being American and all. It advertises with those twins . . ."
"Doublemint twins? You must mean Wrigley chewing gum."
"Yes! That's the one."
Anna had moved to Chicago. His hometown. She may have walked the same streets as John. The realization was strangely comforting.
"So she became a nanny to rich family in America, what happened after that?" Anna wanted the whole story, every last bit.
"I'm not really sure. I believe Grandpop said she started her own business after the kids she nannied grew up. I have no idea what kind of business. After Mrs. Hughes died, she didn't keep up with anyone else in the village, so who knows what happened to her."
"Her life couldn't have been very happy after seeing her husband hung for a crime he didn't commit. Do you know if she ever remarried?"
"I can't say," Harold shrugged and continued with surprising insight. "But I can tell you this, Grandpop claimed he never saw two people more in love than those two. Personally, I tend to think when you love another that much you not only belong with them, you belong to them. Nothing can tear you apart."
"Not even death," whispered Anna.
"I sat through many an endless sermon here." Anna told John as the strolled down the main aisle of St. Andrew's. After leaving the Historical Society, they headed back up the high street toward their Inn. But Anna had noticed the doors to the village church open and suggested they peek inside.
"After all I've seen I don't hold faith in much, but I do wonder sometimes if I missed out not going to church growing up." Sunlight shimmered through the stained glass making a sea of broken light to wade through. "It is astoundingly beautiful in here."
"You really never went to church?"
"Hardly. My mother was a recovering hippie and despised organized religion," John laughed. "And my father was devout enough to make sure my sister and I were christened and took first communion, but he worshipped a greater god on Sundays . . . the Chicago Bears. We only managed to get to mass sporadically and only during the off season."
Anna's light laughter echoed through the sanctuary. She ran her fingers over the tops of pews as they walked. Her heels clacked softly.
"So what did you think about during those endless sermons?"
Anna paused and leaned against a pew. "You really want to know?
At John's nod, she sighed, "I suppose I daydreamed liked most kids forced to listen to a pastor drone on and on, but I remember vividly planning . . ." she paused and shuffled her feet.
"Planning what?"
"It seems so silly, but I spent hours and hours planning my wedding for when I grew up."
"That doesn't seem so silly. I bet most young girls do."
"Maybe so, but I was so sure that it going to take place in this very church. I would be wearing this beautiful white dress with a train . . . but not too long of train, mind you. I would walk down the aisle by myself since my parents had passed with a bouquet of wildflowers. And at the end of the aisle he would be there; tall and handsome, waiting for me."
Anna ducked her head embarrassed. "Sorry didn't mean to ramble about girlish dreams."
"Nothing to be sorry for. I take it you didn't get married here?"
A humorless laugh escaped. "You are correct. Mac and I were married before a local registrar. It was a spur of the moment affair. I had just graduated from university. To celebrate, he took me out on the town to a fancy restaurant and even a show in the West End. Very unlike Mac. Then we checked in for a night at the Intercontinental Hotel on Park Lane. I had never been anywhere so grand. I don't know, maybe it was the elegant surroundings or too much cheap champagne, but when he asked me to marry him . . . I said yes. Then before I knew it, he had found a registrar who would marry us the next day. I barely had time to call Lynnie to serve as a witness and find a dress. I ended up wearing a tea dress off the rack from Harrods."
She closed her eyes and sighed even deeper. "The wedding lasted all of five minutes. The registrar's office was . . . well, a registrar's office. Nothing special. We waited in the lobby for our turn and it was over in no time. I don't know what possessed me. The worst decision of my life."
"Not exactly the wedding you envisioned?"
"Not at all. For a long time, I harbored resentment about the wedding and how it paled in comparison to my fantasies.
John leaned against a pew and tried to alleviate the pain in his side. "It would only be nature to feel that way. You were cheated out of a lifelong dream."
Anna shook her head. "But I came to realization that it wasn't the wedding that I was upset about; it was that I had married Mac in the first place."
John crooked his head. "I remember hearing once that it's better to marry the right person, than have the right wedding." Where had he heard that? Must have been from his mom. Sounded like something she would say. But no, it hadn't been her; he was sure of it. Then who? As of late his mind was playground for lost thoughts and blurry memories.
Anna sadly agreed. "Wise advice. I only wish I had heard it before marrying Mac. With a different man . . . the right man . . . it wouldn't have mattered if we had gotten married in this church or Timbuktu."
He couldn't stand seeing her so dejected. She needed cheering up one way or another. First step was to get her out of this church and the missed opportunities it represented.
"Come on, let's go see the church gardens. Mr. Molesley mentioned how pretty they are." John held out his arm. "After you Milady."
The gloom floated from her face and only a trace of regret remained as she took his arm. "Thank you, Milord. Lead the way."
The garden cobblestone path ended in the soft green grass of the church cemetery. The late afternoon sun shone down upon them. The grass was lush and new. As evident by the gardens, spring had come early to Downton. Everything smelled fresh. Alive.
"Come on." Anna tugged at John, but his feet were rooted. He couldn't move. A queasy feeling began to settle in his stomach and his head was light. He couldn't move.
Anna removed her arm from his and found his hand instead and gave a warm squeeze. "Let's walk some more."
He followed not by choice, but instinct. He would follow Anna anywhere.
"You're going to laugh, but I loved this place when I was a kid. After Sunday services were over, Granny would let me run around out here while she visited with townsfolk. I'd walk around, pick wildflowers and place them on different graves, especially the neglected ones." Anna sniffed self-deprecatingly. "What a peculiar girl I was."
John struggled to make sense of her words. His mind was muddled despite the brilliant colors of the coming sunset all around him.
"Odd as it might sound I always thought it was such a beautiful place with the elegant headstones. So warm and inviting. I felt a connection."
So did John. "Are your parents buried here?"
"No, they're buried in Petersbourough where my father's family is from, but Granny's buried in far section over there by the other entrance. I want to buy some flowers for her grave before we head back."
Anna suddenly stopped. "Oh John, look!"
John Bates
October 17, 1871-January 7, 1920
Loving Husband
Rest now my love . . . 'til we meet again
His head rang with a tinny buzz. His body was as thin as a piece of glass left out in the desert. He would shatter at any moment.
Anna continued oblivious to his torment. "This has to be him . . . Don't you think?"
She dropped his hand and stepped closer to inspect the tombstone. "Those dates match up with Harold's story. Oh, and look at that inscription." She brushed a hand over the top of the stone. "Just breaks my heart."
She glanced back at him. "Do you think . . . John, are you all right? You're as white as a sheet."
Her concern not only focused him, but embarrassed. He had been holding his breath and hadn't even realized it. Jesus John, get a hold of yourself. Why was he so shook up seeing the grave of a man who shared his name? So what. He didn't know this man. He was of no relation. Hell, he had been dead almost a hundred years. They just shared a name. That's all. Nothing more.
"I'm fine, really." He remembered to breathe. "So this is my twin of yesteryear?"
"Guess so." Anna squatted on the ground and pulled a few weeds, tidying around the grave. Her fingers traced the carved words. "It's funny . . . I distinctly remember this stone. I always thought it was so sweet; the idea that he would see his wife again in heaven."
She sighed. "But it's sad that she's not buried next to him."
"Do they have to be buried together to meet in heaven?" What was he talking about? John didn't believe in any sort of afterlife, much less one where you would meet up with friends and family.
"Suppose not, but it does seem strange that she's not here."
"Who knows perhaps she's buried in America; maybe she married someone else."
Anna picked some moss off John's name and slowly shook her head. "I don't think so. You heard Harold, theirs was a love match for all time."
"So I take it you don't believe he killed his first wife?"
"I suppose anything is possible, but sort of ruins the story if he axed the wife. What do you think?"
He hated her and she hated him. Hard to believe they had ever cared enough to enter into marriage. Her eyes were bloodshot, angry and evil. Her breath reeked of whiskey. "Over my dead body will you ever be able to marry that slut. I will see to it that happiness never shines your way. Never." At that she smacked her hand against his temple drawing blood as her fingernails raked down the side of his face. Before he could retaliate she shoved him out onto the stoop and slammed the door shut. He could hear the deadbolt slide into place.
Again. Once again. His mind was filled with thoughts not his own. John bit his lip to force himself to return to the cemetery . . . back to here and now . . . back to Anna.
"John?"
"Hmm . . ." She was still kneeling. Her eyes were large and open. She expected an answer. "I don't know. Desperate men do desperate things." But he didn't kill her. Couldn't. No matter how desperate.
Anna brushed her hand over the stone one more time before standing, shaking her head. "But he had Anna. I can't imagine he would risk their future."
"Perhaps he thought it was the only way for them to have a future."
He knew Anna didn't agree, but she snuggled her arm back in his and they walked on. "I guess the only future they were meant to have was in the heavens."
'Til we meet again.
John didn't believe in Heaven or Nirvana or Shangri-la, but he wanted to believe that they met again. These two strangers who shared their names. Somehow. Somewhere.
A cool breeze skated over her naked body. She had kicked off all her covers. Instinctively Anna rolled toward warmer comforts. She rolled towards him.
But all she found was more bed and the sheets tangled around her legs. She slowly surfaced from sleep to find herself alone. Her mind began to process. He wasn't there. Her heartbeat sped up. Had he left her?
Another breeze swept through the room. She looked to its source and there by the window sat John. He was sitting with just his boxers on and reading a small book by moonlight. The rest of the room sat still and dark.
Soundlessly, she pulled up the sheet and took a moment to simply gaze upon him without his knowledge. He was the epitome of masculinity. Tall and broad. Large, muscular thighs. Strong hands. Hair covered his chest. No waxing like Mac. Stubble had begun to dot his face.
Yet he was a dichotomy before her eyes. The jagged scars that mapped his side were reminders of a past that still haunted him. Hurt and shame readily visible in his green eyes. It was an extremely vulnerable man that held the small book within his big palms.
He stretched and slightly held his side, obviously in some sort of discomfort. Anna instinctively sat up and got out of bed. Maybe there was something she could do to ease his pain. She took with her the single sheet and wrapped it around herself. It didn't matter that he had seen and touched her . . . all of her . . . she was still getting used to the fact that she was actually engaging in a sexual affair.
But most definitely she was. As she softly padded across the room, she felt sore in places she hadn't been sore for a very long time. She couldn't help a slight smile from forming. They had made love twice since retiring to their room that evening. Twice. Anna had never done that before. It was exhilarating and a bit overwhelming all at the same time. Thank god, John had stopped by the pharmacy for a box of condoms during their afternoon shopping.
As crazy as it might sound, making love with John had been incredibly therapeutic in addition to being physically gratifying. This was the first time that she felt that she was equal partner in the venture. John had been beyond considerate and selfless. He knew what she had been through and was determined to make it a good experience. Little did he know . . . or maybe he did know . . . that it was the first time she ever really enjoyed sex. It was empowering. She now knew what she had been missing. Never again would she let a man treat her like Mac did in bed or in life in general.
She was proud that she allowed John to touch her in the first place. From her support group, she remembered women saying how they would never be able to have a man touch them, much less make love to them, ever again. She had thought she might fall into that camp. She remembered how she cringed just a few weeks ago when a male co-worker gave her a hug in celebration of her birthday. But this morning and tonight . . . Anna didn't know what it was about John but she knew he would never hurt her . . . and Christ, she ached for him. She wanted to kiss and touch him just as much as he did if not more. The need still burned in her as she crossed the room.
"I'm sorry. Did I wake you? John put his book down. He sat in a large wingback chair with moonlight shining over his shoulder.
"No, I woke up on my own." She stood in front of him with the thin sheet. "You must be getting cold sitting by the window."
He sat up a bit and patted his lap. "Why don't you come keep me warm?" He beckoned with that half smile of his.
"Are you sure?" She eyed his side. "I don't want to hurt you."
"I think I can manage even a heavyweight like you." Damn, if his eyes weren't twinkling. "Just stay on the left side."
Gently Anna climbed into his lap. John took the edge of the sheet and tucked it around both of them. The side of her breast brushed against the hair on his chest. Such a small contact, but an explosion of sensation. Even though they had spent the better part of the evening in bed together, she still flushed at sitting naked with him.
She searched her mind for something to say. She had never had pillow talk with a naked man before. Well, maybe it wasn't pillow talk since they were sitting in a chair. How had she managed to make herself so nervous? She scrambled for a topic of conversation. Her eyes narrowed on the small book that John had set down on the end table.
"What were you reading?"
John reached over and held it up for her inspection.
"The Collected works of Robert Burns?" She couldn't hide the surprise in the face.
"I picked it up in the village bookshop today." He looked down at her. "What? I don't fit the image of someone who reads Burns?" His voice was warm with jest.
"It's just . . . Oh, I don't know . . . You were a big, tough soldier. You job is in a war zone. I just can't picture you reading poems and songs."
John pointed the book at her. "I'll have you know, I was a literature major in college."
"What? A lit major. I don't believe you."
He put the book down and his hand snaked back under the sheet and gave her side a playful tickle. "You don't believe me? Trust me, I know all about Shakespeare and Twain, Fitzgerald and Ginsberg. I am even studied that dreadful Dickens." His hands roamed her body with a tickle here, a tickle there. "I might have to keep tickling you until you actually believe me."
Before John could commence a full out attack, Anna acquiesced, "All right, all right. I believe you. It just seems curious. How did you go from being a lit major to Special Forces?"
John was silent for a moment. More thinking. He pulled her tight against him and asked, "You really want to know?"
"Yes, John. I really want to know."
"All right then . . . I've always loved to read. It wasn't option in our household growing up with my mom being an English teacher. We could either go outside and play or curl up with a book. No sitting around staring at the idiot box as she called it. In fact if she had her way we wouldn't have even had a tv, but my father put up a stink. How else would he watch all his football and baseball games? As a compromise we had a tiny black and white 12 inch tv that mom regulated to the back porch."
"Your parents sound like characters."
"Indeed. You'll never guess how they met." John raised his eyebrow at her.
"Do enlighten me," she grinned up.
"During the big anti-war protests at the 1968 Democratic Convention."
"I take it they were political?"
"Well, mom was for sure, but Dad was a rookie beat cop at the time. It was mayhem downtown. Tear gas was sprayed and tons of people arrested. For some reason, he took a shine to her. She was only in high school and had snuck out my grandparent's house to be down there. Before she could be arrested or hurt, he took her aside and walked her back to the train station and sent her back home. Of course, not before he got her phone number."
"Ah, that's rather sweet."
"I've always thought so. And even though they were opposites in so many ways, they just clicked. Their core values meshed and they had a very happy life together."
"Had?"
John's breathing stuttered. She could feel him tense. "Dad was shot in the line of duty while I was in college. Freak shooting. He was a detective by then and was investigating an earlier murder, when he got caught in a retribution shooting. All gang related."
"Oh god, John! I'm so sorry." She found one of his hands under the sheet and gave a reassuring squeeze.
He looked down at her and gave a soft kiss on the forehead. "Thanks. It's okay. It was years ago, but it did play into my career trajectory."
"How so?"
"Dad was killed the beginning of my senior year. Up until then, I had envisioned continuing my studies, go grad school and probably end up in academia. I loved the atmosphere of campus, the prospect of research, just the whole university environment. But I don't know when Dad died, I begin to second guess those plans. I went to a career fair right before graduation. I had already been accepted to several graduate programs, but I still went. And it was there that I came in contact with a Navy recruiter."
"So you just up and joined? I don't think I could ever do something so spontaneous."
"You did let a strange American come stay with you," John pointed out.
"And I hope I don't live to regret it," she laughed back. "But seriously, why did you join?"
"I don't know. I guess I was looking for a way to make the old man proud. And it did sound exciting. Given my education and skill set . . . I minored in modern languages . . . the recruiter thought I was an excellent candidate for the SEALS. He turned out to be right."
"Of course, you made an excellent soldier."
John took a deep breath and struggled to find the words. "I'm not so sure, but the funny thing is . . .and you're going to think me completely crazy . . . the military seemed second nature to me even though I had never been around it at all growing up. I felt like when I joined that I had already done it before. I knew what to expect and at some level I always knew it wasn't going to end well.
John shook his head. "God, I'm not making any sense."
Anna struggled to decipher his words, but she got stuck on the end part. I always knew it wasn't going to end well. Her fingers softly glided over his puckered skin. "John, what happened over there? Was it just your injury?"
He stilled the movement of her hand and closed his eyes. "I can't, Anna. I just can't."
She shimmied up his lap so that their eyes were level with each other. "You were there for me when I needed someone to listen. Please know I am here for you. Day or night. Whenever you're ready. I am right here."
His green eyes opened to hers with unshed tears. So exposed. In so much pain.
"Thank you. You are a beautiful soul." He didn't have to say anymore. He wasn't ready to share and that was okay. She of all people understood how hard it was to share dark secrets. Maybe someday he would be ready and she would be there for him.
They sat in the moonlight listening to the breeze. Anna curled deeper into his lap. She fit nicely. Her head rested up on his chest. His arm pulled her snug. His heartbeat echoed in her ear even and strong.
"How about a little Burns to lull you asleep?"
She nodded her head against him snuggling closer. He plucked the book off the nightstand and began thumbing through pages.
"Here is it . . ." he began in a soft, low voice.
"Yestreen I had a pint o' wine,
A place where body saw na;
Yestreen layon this breast o' mine
The gowden locks of Anna."
Anna sat up a little at the sound of her name. As he continued, she craned her neck to see the title. The Gowden Locks of Anna. She met John's knowing eyes. The perfect poem for her. For them. The lilt was back in his voice with the old Scottish vernacular. It was no more than whisper, but it reverberated through her whole body. His lips found her neck. The words were slower with less cadence as he kissed a path upward to her cheeks . . . around her ears . . . across her forehead . . . and finally to her mouth. By the time his mouth found hers, Anna panted in anticipation.
Lips brushing, he breathed the last verse,
"She is the sunshine o' my e'e,
To live but her I canna;
Had I on earth but wishes three,
The first should be my Anna."
Without another word, their mouths met and hands roamed. With a small clap, Burns fell to the floor; only to soon be covered by a discarded sheet.
My Anna. Yes, she was and always had been.
A/N: Spoiler alert—Season 4 alluded to: I just have to say after watching last week's episode and seeing Anna go through the same horrific experience as my Anna did in this story made me much more cognizant about whether or not I have done her story justice. I hope so. And I hope Julian Fellowes does too (though I have my doubts).
On a lighter note, it is sometimes funny writing characters that are based on someone else's creation. But I have to say I did enjoy the feeling of having captured Molesley perfectly in this chapter. I had just written the line about Violet scaring the beejesus out of him when I watched S4 Ep.1 where Molesley pays a visit to Isobel and unbeknownst to him Violet is there. When he walks in and sees her there is the quintessential Molesley-having-the-beejesus-scared-out-of-him moment. Plain and simple. Great scene. So made me laugh. Love Molesley!
This week's Astute Reader's Challenge: Of course things never stay too rosy for John and Anna. A big obstacle comes up in their path next chapter. Any guesses?
