"Visitor, Bates."

Bates looked up, surprised. Anna had only been two days ago, and she was back at work now, so it couldn't be her. It must be Mr Murray. Had they brought the trial date forward? John limped towards the visitor's hall in trepidation, a feeling of foreboding settling in the pit of his stomach. But at the table the guards directed him to sat, not Murray, but somebody else, a man he had never seen before. He was older, with a weathered and lived-in face, but still a thick shock of hair that had very little grey in it, and John realised that he probably wasn't as old as he looked - maybe only ten years older than him, at the most. In here, he reflected, with his own thick stubble and general unkemptness, they probably looked the same age.

As John approached, the man saw him, and regarded him with an expression that could only be described as shock, which deepened with every uneven step John took towards him.

John wasn't sure what to think. "Hello," he said.

"You're John Bates?" the man asked, his expression becoming, if it were possible, even more incredulous.

"Yes," John replied, sitting down. "I don't believe I've had the pleasure."

"No, you haven't," the man said grimly. "I'm your bloody father-in-law, mate."

It was John's turn to look incredulous. "Mr Smith?" he spluttered, making to stand again and hold out his hand, only to be stopped by, not one, but two guards, one barking, "Sit down, Bates!", the other, "No touching!"

"I'm sorry, sir," John said. "I would like to shake your hand…but…" he gestured lamely to the guards.

"And what makes you think I'd take it?"

John swallowed. "Nothing at all. But I should like to offer it to you all the same."

"The way you walk, why is that?"

John took a shaky breath. "That is because I have a piece of shrapnel lodged behind my knee, which inhibits the movement of the joint, and…" He realised that the details of the severity and permanence of the injury were probably not going to make him sound a better husband, so he abruptly stopped talking.

"Bloody war hero, are you?"

"No, I…the presence of an injury is not necessarily an indication of-"

"When'd it happen?"

"1902, in Africa."

"So it's not going to get any better?"

John sighed. "No."

"Uh-huh. What sort of husband do you hope to be, then?"

"I can do most things, just a little slower than some people."

"Most, you say?"

"Yes, I can do most things just fine."

"Well, the other question is, how much longer can you do them for? How old are you?"

"Forty-six."

"I'm fifty-four. There are several things I can't do on the farm anymore."

"I would struggle with farm work, yes. But I don't work on a farm."

"Yes, I know, you're a valet. Or you were."

"Which I manage perfectly ably, and -"

"Yeah, and what if Lord Grantham dies, eh? Then you've lost your job. What would you do then?"

"Well, Anna and I have a plan, when we are able and ready, to sell my mother's house in London, and use the money to buy a small hotel in Yorkshire. That would provide both a steady income for us, and a secure inheritance for our children."

"A pub, I see. And would you be able to lift the barrels onto the bar, or would Anna have to do that?"

John looked at his hands. "I'd find a way," he said quietly.

"If she lifts something that's too heavy for a woman to carry, and she does her back in, then you're both invalids! How can you run a business then?"

John's tone rose. "I'm not an invalid, sir, and I would never put her in danger!"

"Did you afford the same courtesy to your first wife?"

"I didn't kill her."

"That's not what I'm asking. There must have been some reason why the marriage went sour. I'm just wondering what it was."

John cleared his throat. He'd never been asked that question so directly before. Hell, he'd never been asked that question before. "There were many reasons," he said. "On both sides."

"Faults on both sides, you say? What were your faults?"

John froze like an animal in the headlights. They hadn't told Ida about his previous prison sentence or his alcoholism. And she had been the supportive one.

"Well?" Pete's eyebrows were still raised in curiosity, but they were showing signs of descending into a frown very soon. John had to give him an answer.

If Mr Smith found out… well, he'd get even more angry, but if they lost Ida… No, Anna needed her mother's support and Anna had decided not to tell her. Anna knew them, she knew how they'd react, and she'd decided not to tell them. That meant she knew that they'd react badly. John hung his head.

"I'm asking because if there is some quality about you that makes you a bad husband, then I will stop at nothing to get you away from my daughter."

"No, Anna's different."

"She's different, is she? That's what they all say."

"No, I mean it, they…Anna's the polar opposite of Vera! And so is my regard for her. I love Anna. And she loves me, we look after each other, it works. It couldn't be more different than my marriage to Vera."

"So you didn't look after this Vera, then?"

John looked at his hands. "No. I didn't."

"Did you beat her?"

"No! No, we just… We fought, we weren't suited, we didn't care for each other – it was a disaster. And I thought that that was what marriage was, I thought it was more trouble than it was worth, that I was better off on my own. That's why I never sought a divorce when the marriage actually ended. The actual married relationship ended ten years ago, but I never sought a divorce then because I thought I'd never need one. She was gone, good riddance, and I thought I'd never have to even think about marriage ever again! And then I met Anna. She changed my life, she changed everything…"

Pete simply stared at him, his face unreactive.

"Look, I…I know there are a hundred reasons why a man like me should not be with a woman like Anna."

"We haven't even got onto the part about you being in prison yet."

"I know."

"Even if you didn't do it, and I'm not saying I believe you that you didn't do it, but even if you didn't, you must have done something to be suspected. You have to be a certain kind of person to be suspected of murder; usually a violent one!"

"Mr Smith, I swear to you on my mother's grave, I would never touch a hair on Anna's head."

"Your mother? How do I know you were good to her?"

"You don't! All I can give you is my word, it's up to you whether or not you believe me, all I can do is swear to you that I love Anna more than life itself and I would never ever hurt her. As to whether I'm suitable for her, well no, I'm not, of course I'm not. No-one knows that more than me, and no-one has wondered about it more than I have. But surely the thing that weighs the most, the thing that's more important than anything else here, is her choice."

Pete nodded. "I know she loves you. I just think that if you love her you should push her away."

"I did. So many times."

Pete frowned. "Are you saying she pursued you?"

"You could call it that."

"Are you calling her a slut?"

"NO! No, she – she's the complete opposite of that, she just…she's honest. When she feels something, she says it. And when I feel the same way, how could I say no?"

"I'm not saying it'd be easy. But it's the best thing for her."

"Are you trying to convince me to divorce her?"

Pete leaned back in his chair, and crossed his arms. "I'm not sure what I'm trying to do, I just want answers."

"After all Anna has done for me; she waited seven years for me, patiently, never once judging me or becoming frustrated; she has defended me, fought for me in so many ways; she has never once lost faith in me; she takes care of me; she supports me; she unfailingly, unconditionally loves me; she married me even though she knew I would be thrown in here; she spends her evenings reading law books so she can understand what's happening to me; she spends her entire weekly time off visiting me; she writes me three letters a week; and after all that, you think I should repay her dedication and her kindness, by divorcing her?"

Pete took a breath, and frowned. "No," he conceded.

"Good. Because let me tell you, as she has fought for me, I will fight for her. I will not let her down, and I will not let her go."

John stared at his father-in-law, not allowing him to break his gaze. He breathed in and out, deeply. Pete did the same, still squaring him up, still preparing for round two, but he found himself essentially speechless.

"So I'm afraid you're stuck with me," John declared. "I do not ask for your approval or even your consideration, and if I was you, I wouldn't like me either, but there is one thing I must request."

Pete raised an eyebrow, half offended, half curious.

"Please, for Anna's sake, could you pretend to accept me? She doesn't need to know what you really think. She's suffered enough. And just as I may never change your opinion of me, neither will you change hers. If you try, you'll only upset her, so please…please let her be. And please believe me when I tell you that she knows what she's doing."

"I don't want to upset her. I want…to help her, she's…I've never seen her like this before! It breaks my heart."

John nodded. "Mine too."

"I can't help her, I- "

"Yes you can."

"How?"

"Just support her. She'd feel so much better if you did."

"That would help?"

"Just knowing that you're behind her would help so much. It doesn't matter if you really are or not, just…just give her your support, be her crutch to lean on. You don't have to give me anything."

"Yeah, well, she's not talking to me anyway."

"You could apologise."

Pete's expression had softened slightly, but upon hearing this it blackened again.

"I don't mean for what you said," John added hastily. "I mean, I don't know what you did say, but if you haven't changed your mind then obviously you can't apologise for that, but I think…maybe the way you said it upset her. You could apologise for the way it made her feel. You didn't mean to upset her, did you?"

"I'm not afraid of tough love."

"That's not what she needs right now. She needs, just…love. And support."

"Well, I'm not much of a one for writing, I can't…I'm a man of few words, I don't…"

"You could go and see her."

Pete shrugged non-commitally. "You just said she spends all her time off here."

"Her half-day off, yes, but she goes to the village every Wednesday to run errands for the house. She goes in just after lunch, at about 12:30, one o'clock."

"You know her movements very well."

"I know her well. She's my wife."

Pete grunted. "You think I should just show up, then?"

"I could write to tell her you're coming if you wish."

"No, I don't want you putting your spin on it."

"I'll tell her to listen to you."

"Don't tell her what to do. I'll do it meself."

John couldn't help smiling at the irony of what Pete just said.

"How am I going to get her to listen to me, though?"

Pete looked up suddenly, and John had to look down to hide his smile. "She's a very reasonable woman, Mr Smith."

"I know, I'll get her a present, what does she like?"

John hid his smile no longer.

"Come on, this is what you're supposed to know, isn't it?"

"Well, I do, but maybe it'd be better to get her something that means something to the two of you - something that reminds her of her childhood, perhaps."

"Liquorice allsorts. They were the latest thing, when she were a kid, and she loved them."

John laughed. "She still does. That sounds perfect."

"Alright, listen, there's one thing I have to know."

"Certainly."

"If they find you guilty, will you be executed?"

John looked down. The thought chilled him. "According to the law, the punishment for premeditated murder is execution."

"Was it premeditated?"

"I…I didn't commit murder, I…"

"Yeah yeah, are they accusing you of premeditated murder?"

"Yes, but...obviously my lawyer is arguing against that."

"See my question is, if you're found guilty but you're not executed, say you're sentenced to life in prison or some horribly large number of years behind bars, what would Anna do then?"

"Knowing Anna, I believe she would fight for an appeal of the conviction."

"And if she can't?"

John sighed. "If… If we'd tried our hardest, and the lawyers had tried their hardest, and we'd looked over everything and there was no new evidence and no special circumstances – if there was no hope… If there was no hope that I would ever be free, I'd take myself off."

"Really?"

"I would not tie Anna to a life of prison visits every week and nothing more." John shook his head. "I'd rather die."

"Have you thought about this before?"

"Yes. I've thought about every possibility, and planned what I would do, what is best for Anna. I wouldn't have married her if I didn't have a plan for what I can do for her in all circumstances. If it comes to pass that the best thing for her is for me to die, than I will gladly do it."

Pete nodded, noticeably impressed.

"Don't tell her that."

"No, no."

"You may think me selfish for marrying Anna despite knowing that I would be incarcerated – well, I knew there was about an eighty percent change I would be, anyway. You may think that I selfishly wanted to take what I could while I was still able, or that I simply wanted someone nice to visit me or defend me under these circumstances – you may think that through the bond of marriage I wanted to oblige her to do so. That is not the case. I wanted to marry her, desperately, had done for years and had been waiting to do so, but I wouldn't have done it if I hadn't been convinced that it was the best thing for her. And it is, because she feels the same. She's told me that I'm the only one who can make her happy, and I want to do it, and I should do it if I'm the only one who can! But in the shadow of the impending incarceration, she said to me, "If they take you and I am not your wife, I will have no rights." She would be left at the side somewhere, in the same amount of pain as she is now, but with no regular visiting rights accepted by either the house or the authorities; no right to be kept informed about what is happening – if they move me, if the trial date changes, if I become ill – as my wife, she has to be kept informed of that, but if she wasn't, she wouldn't be.

"The other thing is how she is viewed by society – a wife is respected, no matter what the husband is accused of, the wife is respected - but if she was…well, she was never my mistress, but when this goes to trial and the story appears in the papers, it would look like she was, if she wasn't my wife. I won't let her be disrespected like that – and it would be my fault if that happened, I put her in that situation, I jumped the gun and asked her to marry me when I wasn't free, and I shouldn't have done that, I should have waited, but I didn't and…we were engaged and everybody knew, so it was my duty to make good on my promise before it was too late. I had to make an honest woman out of her, and an honest man out of myself.

"And the final thing is the money. She's my next of kin now, if I die it's hers, and no-one will question it. And the house. She can sell it, or she can rent it out for a steady income. She'll want for nothing, I promise you."