A/N: This chapter is the one with the most additions and revising. I'm happier with it now than I was with the original. It's still not perfect, but it is a starting point for further revisions. Word count now approximately 15,500, which is fairly large, but I won't be splitting it.
Special thanks to the person who talked out Green's fate with me.
10. No One Mourns the Wicked
For the next couple of weeks, John simply frightens her. He can't keep still for even a moment, constantly fidgeting, pacing their cottage like a caged animal. If he is given the opportunity to slip loose, then he will wreak hell and destruction.
After she had passed out at the table, Alice had run off to find Mrs. Hughes, who had sent for Mr. Bates immediately. When she had come around only a few minutes later, she had found both beside her, Alice wringing her hands on the other side of the table.
"What happened?" Mrs. Hughes had demanded to know as John took her hand in his, sweeping his other over her forehead.
"I don't know," Alice had answered for her miserably. "I was talking to her one minute, and then the next…"
She had been grateful that the young housemaid hadn't blurted out exactly what she'd been telling her. She'd supposed Alice was afraid of what would happen if the housekeeper knew that she'd been spreading gossip that she shouldn't have been privy to.
"Do you need Doctor Clarkson?" John had asked her softly. "Is it the baby?"
She'd noticed Mrs. Hughes averting her eyes as he'd brought his hands up to cradle her stomach, giving them a rare moment of affection.
"No, everything's all right," she'd said, her voice shaking and her heart pounding. "But Mr. Bates, I do need to speak with you."
"Later," he'd promised, smoothing her hair back. "Gather yourself together a bit."
"No, now," she'd insisted. "It's important."
Evidently noticing the distress in her gaze, John had relented and looked to Mrs. Hughes. She'd sighed and nodded.
"The courtyard?" he'd asked. She'd shaken her head, knowing that they needed somewhere more private than that.
"Your sitting room, Mrs. Hughes?" she'd pleaded, looking to the older woman. The housekeeper had stared hard before relenting.
"Oh, very well, then. But you must be quick."
John had led her away as if she was an invalid, his arm around her waist, the other clutched in his. Anyone would have thought that she'd gone into early labour. But she'd held her tongue until they'd reached Mr. Carson's parlour, and had promptly turned to him as though the end of the world had been announced.
She'd told him everything.
And ever since that moment, he has been acting like this. Dark. Dangerous. She has never seen him like this before, and even though she knows that none of it is aimed at her, she is still scared of him. No, not of him. For him.
The date for Lord Gillingham's return has been set. Just one week away. Just one week until she is forced to confront all of her fears. She isn't sure how she is supposed to face him again. Not after what he did to her. She feels sick at the very thought of him, and she is sick when she remembers the way that his clammy hands had pulled at her.
She wonders why Lady Mary had not mentioned it to her. Although she sees less of her now than she had before, she still dresses her most days. Perhaps it had simply slipped her mind as they'd discussed her nearing birth date.
And how would you have reacted if Lady Mary had told you?
Perhaps it's better that she hadn't.
But how is she supposed to keep composed now, when everything is falling about her head? God, how is she supposed to shake his hand and welcome him back with open arms, laughing and joking with him at the table, passing the time of day with him?
She can't. For all the money in the world, she isn't strong enough to do that.
If she has been a lioness at points in her life, then he is a lion tonight, his eyes dark and wild, his teeth bared. He looks almost too big for their room, as if his black anger has made him swell several more inches. She watches him go back and forth with more than a little trepidation. John has always emphasised the prowess of the lioness, who hunts and kills and protects the ones she loves without a care for herself. The lion, John had said, is a lazy beast when all things are considered. Anna prefers docile, she'd joked; tame until provoked or it is needed, but always with the killer instinct. If she is his lioness, she'd teased, then he is her beautiful lion.
Never has the metaphor rung truer. John is a docile man at the best of times, breaking only for a warning snarl when the people he cares about are threatened by external forces. But it has always hinted at that killer instinct, that desire to protect the rest of his pride. Passive until provoked. And then that natural power is unleashed, that magnificent, terrible temper. She watches his shoulder muscles strain and flex beneath his undershirt. He roams without his cane. It lends more to the formidable image. Every part of his body is poised and coiled, itching to attack, to hurt, to kill.
She shivers, drawing the sheets tighter against her. John doesn't even notice.
"Come to bed," she begs him.
"I can't," he growls. "I won't sleep tonight. Not with tomorrow." He gnashes his teeth, muscles straining. Even injured, he is not someone to be underestimated. A thrill of fear shoots through her, not for Mr. Green, but for John. Mr. Green will underestimate him, no doubt about it. And John will take advantage of that, would never relinquish it. She knows his temper, even if she has never witnessed it for herself.
"Please, come here," she says. "I need to hold you." It is not a lie; she is trembling, and not with the cold.
He stares hard at her for a moment with a look in his eyes that makes him a stranger to her, but he does go to her, and there is nothing but John in the gentleness of his touch as he sweeps her up, a stark contrast. She burrows herself against him, breathing in his scent.
"Stay at home tomorrow," he says suddenly. "I'll say that you were having a bad morning, and you couldn't make it."
Anna squeezes her eyes tight shut. "I can't. I can't put on Lady Mary and Mrs. Hughes that way. And he'd know the reason why."
John locks his jaw. "He won't be thinking anything of the sort when I'm finished with him."
The thrill of fear transforms into full-blown terror, and she pushes herself away from him. "You mustn't go near him. You can't."
"I will not stand back and let that bastard think he's got away with it all."
"Stop talking like that – you're scaring me!"
The dangerous look in his eye does not abate. "I couldn't protect you last time. I will never make that mistake again. You stay here, and I'll take care of him."
"Listen to yourself!" she cries. "It's not you! You sound as if you're going to kill him!"
"I could," he says softly, and her blood runs cold. "I could rip him limb from limb."
A lion's answer. She clutches at his shirt, terror coursing through her like poison.
"No," she says. "Stop talking like that. What about your job? Me? The baby? I won't have you risking the noose again. Stop talking about killing. It's not who you are, John, and it's horrible."
He thins his mouth into a firm line, but he pushes the hair from her face gently. She keeps her eyes focused on his face. The darkness is still there, lingering.
"Promise me," she says. "Promise me you won't go making trouble tomorrow. No one can know."
His gaze burns into hers, unwavering. He doesn't say a word.
"Promise me," she repeats. "Promise me you'll stay out of his way."
A lifetime seems to pass before he opens his mouth. She holds her breath.
"I promise," he says tonelessly.
She isn't sure if she believes him.
The mixed feelings of trepidation and fury that course through John's blood the next morning are indescribable. His hands shake so badly that he can barely dress himself. He can't face breakfast, even though Anna has prepared it for him. She herself doesn't touch a morsel, tipping the entire contents of her bowl away. He suspects that she's shaking for very different reasons, and it only makes him angrier. That bastard has reduced his vibrant wife to this, a timid, quivering wreck afraid of things that should never have occurred to her, burdened with something that should have been a gift.
They don't speak much at all that morning, preparing themselves individually in their own little worlds for the demons they will have to face. John goes through a thousand different expressions in his head, mentally readying himself for that first meeting.
He won't make a scene, not in front of the family. In fact, he hopes that he won't need to make a scene in front of anyone.
But he does have an agenda, the endless hours of insomnia the previous night providing him with the perfect conditions to formulate a plan of action, and he is determined to go through with it.
Outside Downton Abbey, Anna stops him with a touch to his arm. Reluctantly, he meets her eyes, which are enshrouded by shadows, proof of her own tiredness – he'd felt her toss and turn all evening long while he'd been staring sightlessly into the darkness. She looks pale now, almost tinged green with fear. Her lip wobbles. He notices that one of her hands has drifted to the swell of her stomach.
"You promised me that you won't make trouble."
"I did."
"You'll stick to it, won't you? I don't want any attention. No one can know."
He suspects that people will find out anyway – just looking at her face will be enough to raise suspicion.
"John, promise me again."
He forces himself to meet her wide-eyed gaze. He thinks on everything that he has to lose, and everything that he has to protect and fight for. She has always been the one to fight for and protect him, right from the beginning. She deserves nothing less than the exact same commitment from him. He will be the man that she needs him to be.
She doesn't want you to fight like that for her.
He grits his teeth, squeezing his eyes tight. He doesn't want to break her trust. Not when she has put her faith in him, not when they both want to keep their marriage lie free.
She is still staring at him imploringly.
"I promise," he manages. It seems to be enough to appease her, at least for the moment. Believe. It's something she's always done.
She shouldn't expect too much of him. She should be used to his promises by now.
His lips twist bitterly as he follows her inside. She should be used to the way that he always disappoints her with words that he can't keep, promises that lie in ash.
In the boot room, she scrubs at a pair of Lady Mary's shoes over and over and over. They're not even that dirty. But it's something that she needs to do. Something to occupy her hands so that they don't shake. Even if the inside of her mouth tastes like acid. Even if her stomach roils and rolls, threatening to empty all over the floor.
She's hunched in the corner, as if cowering there will make her disappear. As if she can disappear into the shadows and never be found again. Disappear to a place where the monster will never find her, never hurt her again.
But he's coming for her. Creeping ever closer with the movement of the minute hand on the clock. Stalking. Snarling. Eyes flashing. Ready to claim its victim again.
She bolts out of the room as the sickness rises to feverpitch, barely making it to the courtyard. Something else she has to clean up. Coughing, fighting back the tears, she presses her back against the unforgiving stone. She's too numb to feel anything.
Please, God, she prays, keep me like stone.
She knows all too acutely that she will be nothing like stone when he arrives, exposed bone marrow that cuts her to the nerve.
The nightmare is only just beginning.
The morning passes by painfully slowly. Every time John glances at the clock, the hands don't seem to have moved at all. It's like waiting for the end of the world.
Distracting himself with work doesn't help. Three times he drops his lordship's intricate things, almost cracking a prized snuffbox. One time, he almost loses his cufflinks down the side of the bed.
He doesn't get the chance to see much of Anna, but one glance at her face as he makes his way into the servants' hall for luncheon tells him all that he needs to know. She's been faring no better.
"When we've eaten, we'll go straight upstairs for the arrival of Lord Gillingham," Mr. Carson announces before they start eating. The maids twitter excitedly. John's heart booms like a cannon on a warship.
"You don't have to come," he whispers as they all begin to tuck in, so low that he isn't sure if she can hear him. "Mr. Carson wouldn't object. He likes order, and a pregnant lady's maid isn't order."
"I have to go," she replies dully. "I haven't got a choice, have I?"
"Of course you have a choice."
"No I don't, and you know it. Look, leave it alone."
He's apprehensive that she might snap, or burst into tears, or both, so he does as he's been told, picking at his food for the rest of the meal.
"Oh dear, is my cooking no longer meeting the Bates' standards?" Mrs. Patmore enquires huffily as she comes in afterwards with Daisy and Ivy to clear the table.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Patmore," Anna says listlessly. "It's the baby, I'm afraid."
The cook's gaze softens, before she turns it on John.
"And what about you, Mr. Bates?" she asks.
"Sympathy?" he offers meekly, and she rolls her eyes, obviously giving up. Mrs. Hughes shoots them one of her looks, but Mr. Carson chooses that moment to stand.
"Very well, then," he says. "If everyone is finished, I think we should make our way upstairs."
The maids shoot to their feet at once, almost flying out of the room. Mr. Carson blinks, torn between looking surprised and thunderous, before hurrying after them in a more dignified manner.
John stands slowly, helping Anna to her feet to let his hand linger over her back.
"It's not too late," he murmurs.
She stares past him, out into the hall.
"Yes, it is," she says.
Standing out on the driveway only makes things worse. John keeps his gaze fixed on the horizon, waiting for the motor to arrive. He wishes that he could stand by Anna, but he has to content himself with shooting her glances. Even from here, he can see that she is shaking. Christ, he wishes he could sweep her up into his arms and take her away from here, to start over again with no more pain.
Then, the buzzing of an engine, an angry wasp on a summer's day.
He tightens his hold on his cane. Even in the cold, sweat breaks out at his temple. He tenses his jaw. The car draws closer. It's all he can do to keep himself standing upright where he is, abiding propriety.
The car rolls up. John feels his insides protesting. He takes one last glance at Anna to stop himself from rushing forward and dragging the bastard out of the front seat by his hair.
And there he is. Mr. Green unfolds himself from the car. He's leaner than he was before, his face tanned. His eyes wander down the line, and John's blood boils as his eyes rove over each of them.
His eyes stop on Anna. His smile widens, a friendly smile that carries sinister undertones.
The red mist descends, filming John's eyes. His muscles tauten, straining to attack.
Keep calm, Bates. Don't ruin everything.
Somehow, he manages to keep perfectly in place, averting his eyes. He can't look for a second longer. He'll snap if he does.
Thankfully, the pleasantries between Lord Gillingham and the family don't continue on outside for long, and as soon as it is humanely possible, John rushes to his wife's side, catching her hand and pulling her along the gravel path back towards the servants' quarters. The maids are too distracted by their excitement to notice him drag her into a little alcove, and he waits until they've all passed before speaking.
"Are you all right?" he says frantically, smoothing his hands over her cheeks.
Her bottom lip trembles, and she moves forward to bury her face against his chest, her small frame shuddering. He feels wetness against his shirt, and wraps her up in his arms, enveloping her as best he can.
"I'm here," he reassures her. "No matter what, I'm here."
"I'm not sure I can do this," she sniffles, and he pulls her more firmly against him.
"You can," he says. "We won't let him beat us."
He won't let him drag them down and destroy everything that they've tried to build back up.
At last, she pulls away from him, obviously conscious of the fact that they can't be much longer. She swipes her knuckles across her eyes, chasing the tears away.
"Just keep your distance from him, and we'll be all right," he says softly.
She nods listlessly, and slips back outside. He takes one moment to appraise her, from the hunch in her shoulders to the whole defeated aura that enshrouds her.
His resolve strengthens. He will make Green pay.
She wishes that she could shadow John, keep close to his side. If she was with him, he would make sure that the monster came nowhere near her. But she can't. As soon as they set foot through the door to the servants' quarters, he is called away by Mr. Carson. He gives her a worried look, squeezes her hand.
"Will you be all right?" he asks.
She nods. What else can she do? Even as her lip quivers, even as the panic wells up inside her at the thought of the snake sneaking up behind her and sinking its fangs into her neck.
"If you need me, don't hesitate to come and find me. I don't care what anyone else will think. You understand me, Anna? Don't suffer alone. Not again."
"Mr. Bates!"
"I'm coming!" he calls, but he turns beseechingly back to her. "Anna…"
"If I need you, I'll come straight away," she says. "I promise. Now go, before Mr. Carson loses his temper."
He squeezes her hand one last time, his hand taking an age to slip from hers. And then he is gone, and she is left alone. Her heart hammers in her chest, threatening to shatter her ribs. She is unmoored at sea, unsure of which direction to turn in. All she knows is that she has to get as far away as possible. Escaping upstairs seems to be her best option. She'll hide in one of the bedrooms, one that no one ever goes in. He won't find her there.
But what if he does? What if he does it all over again?
She shivers violently, her bottom lip beginning to tremble. No, God wouldn't be so cruel.
He was cruel enough to give you a child.
Shaking as if she's in sub-zero temperatures, terrified tears welling, she rushes up the staircase, a fly attempting to escape the hungry spider.
She cowers upstairs for as long as she can. Her ungainly bulk makes it impossible for her to squeeze into some unknown crevice, as she would like, so instead she drags a chair over to the door, positions it behind it, sits there like stone. Her hands won't stop shaking. She is ashamed of herself for crying, but she can't stop that, either. The memories are still too raw, the slimy touch of his hands still too real. Tainted and dirty, that's how she feels again. John has tried so hard to make her feel differently, but all of his hard work has been undone by the roaming reminder of what she's endured. She imagines him down there now, forked tongue tasting the air, trying to catch her scent. Dipping his head into every room, hoping to find her alone. Trapping her.
What if he comes upstairs?
The breath shudders from her. Safety in numbers, isn't that what they say? What if she finds someone first and sticks by them? Not John, too many questions would be raised. But perhaps a maid or Mrs. Hughes –
For a moment she is caught between worlds, afraid of opening the door and coming face to face with the prowling demon, afraid to be by herself for a minute longer.
She takes her courage in both hands. Opens the door. The world swims around her, and she clutches at the frame, afraid that she's going to pass out.
Nothing. The corridor is empty.
Each step she takes is painfully slow, creeping along like a thief in the night. Every few seconds she whips her head round, every sound a sign that the snake is slithering closer.
"Mrs. Bates, are you all right?"
The voice scares her so much that she does shriek, but it's just Miss Baxter, her soft, feminine voice filled with concern. Tears well at once, but she manages to get herself under control. No emotion, no weakness.
But she is weak. A frightened slip of a girl.
Miss Baxter's eyes are still on her as she approaches, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder.
"You look terrible," she comments. "Should I take you to see Mrs. Hughes?"
Anna shakes her head. Her voice wavers. "No, no. I'll be fine." Inspiration strikes. Hadn't she wanted this? "Are you off to see to some of her ladyship's things?"
Miss Baxter nods. "I am, she's wanting to get a new wardrobe. She wants me to sort out her old clothes."
"Might I be some help to you?"
The lady's maid looks suspicious. "Why?"
The words trip off her tongue, clumsy, unbelievable. "I have no work to do just now, and I don't like idle hands."
"Shouldn't you be resting with the baby?"
"I – I –"
Miss Baxter shakes her head. "Never mind. Come with me."
Anna isn't sure if she's comfortable with the comprehending look in the other woman's eyes. What connections has she drawn?
Her fear of being found out doesn't outweigh her fear of being caught again. Heart still hammering, she traipses along behind the lady's maid.
And then the time that she's been dreading finally arrives. It has been creeping ever-closer like a stalking predator, but she can outrun it no longer.
It's time for dinner. Where she'll have to sit in the same room as him, sit there silently while he laughs and makes jokes and leers at her, knowing exactly what he's done. She'd managed to avoid it at tea, citing too much work, but she can do so no longer.
"Are you sure you're feeling all right?" Miss Baxter asks her as they leave the room together. "I've never seen anyone as pale as you look now. Perhaps I should tell someone? Mrs. Hughes could get the doctor to take a look at you."
Anna considers it for half a moment. She'd be sent home, she's sure of that. But what about tomorrow? The day after that? The day after that? Her time at Downton is drawing to an end, but she had been adamant that she didn't want to leave too early. What if retiring now sparks off suspicion?
Worse, what if he finds her? What if he sneaks down to the cottage when she is alone, and does it all over again? What if he pins her to the bed and forever destroys the one place that John has made a sanctuary for her?
"No," she croaks. "I'm fine. I probably just need something to eat."
Miss Baxter nods, but she looks unconvinced. Silently, they make their way down to the servants' hall. Almost as soon as they're within hearing distance, Miss Baxter is called away by Mrs. Hughes. Shooting her an apologetic look, the other lady's maid hurries off. Anna takes a deep, shuddering breath. She can do this. She just has to dismount the last few steps, cross the very short distance to the servants' hall, take her seat. Even if John is not there yet, she won't be alone. Safety amongst numbers, she reminds herself. He won't be able to hurt her, not in front of everyone –
"Hello, Mrs. Bates."
The cold, slimy voices blindsides her, is sharper than a stake through the heart. It takes every ounce of self-restraint not to scream and carry on screaming even as she leaps, even as her heart kickstarts in her chest as if she's taken adrenaline. Grabbing at the handrail to stop herself from falling and possibly damaging the baby, she remains rooted to the spot. He's appeared silently from around the corner, as if he has been waiting just for this opportunity.
"You don't look well," he notes with a sneer. "Shall I escort you into the servants' hall?"
"Stay away from me," she gasps, stumbling up a couple of stairs. "Stay away!"
"That's not a very nice greeting," he says, ignoring her. "And how friendly you were with me last time…"
Oh God, she's going to be sick. Her throat works desperately to keep it down, even as her breaths come in short, sharp flurries.
"Seems a lot has changed since the last time I was here," he continues casually, taking another step closer. "You and Mr. Bates have been busy, have you? Must be due any day now. I expect he's the image of a happy expectant father, isn't he? Unless it's a miracle baby?" He smirks, an awful, awful leer. "Are you to be heralded as the next Virgin Mary?"
She is voiceless. Back there in that room, when he'd slapped her face and smothered every attempt at screaming for help. Her hand slips on the rail, slippery with sweat. There is no way around him, no way of signalling for help. He can do whatever he wants with her, and he knows it too –
Behind her, the door opens at the top of the stairs. She jumps again, her heart jolting. Heavy footsteps descend. She daren't turn to see the newcomer, afraid that if she takes her eyes off the snake for a second then he'll sliver away, only to strike her from behind –
The tap of a cane. She isn't sure if she feels relief or more terror at that. It's her husband.
"What's going on here?" His voice comes out in a low growl, the promise of a storm ahead.
Unfazed, Mr. Green says, "Hello, Mr. Bates. I was just catching up with your delightful wife."
John hurries down the remainder of the stairs, coming to stand tall at her back. She presses herself against him. She's trembling all over as if she's caught a terrible fever. His hand comes to rest on her shoulder. An impressive, unmoving statue at her back. He doesn't say anything. Anna doesn't dare turn around. She knows what she'll see in his eyes. The cold desire to kill. Mr. Green either doesn't see it or doesn't think it worthy of his time, for he pushes his hands into his pockets and passes his gaze up and down her body. John takes another step down, jostling Anna to the side. His arm comes around her.
"Why don't you go on ahead?" he says.
Mr. Green offers them a smirk. "No need to worry, Mr. Bates, I'm not flirting with your wife. You don't have to guard her like a dog."
John bristles, but he doesn't rise to it. Evidently sensing that he isn't going to get a reaction, Mr. Green chuckles darkly.
"I'll see you inside," he says, and leaves them alone.
Anna slumps as soon as he is gone, physically collapsing against her husband's side. His arm comes around her, enfolding her in his embrace. She tries to hold back her emotions. She can't cry now, it would arouse too many questions. Instead she breathes in the scent of his skin, clinging onto him as tightly as she can. He's the only thing keeping her sane in this godawful mess.
"Are you all right?" he asks her, smoothing loose strands of hair away from her face. "What happened? Has he harassed you before? I swear to God…"
"This was the first time," she says, her voice no more than a whisper. "I've been following Miss Baxter around all day. She doesn't have the foggiest clue why, but she's been very good about it. Even so, I won't be able to keep it up any longer than today. It'd be too suspicious."
He cups her elbow tenderly. "What was he saying to you?"
She takes a moment to swallow hard. She won't cry. She won't. "It was horrible, John. Horrible. He – he asked me about my pregnancy. Like he knew it was his. Asked me if you were happy with the news. And there was nothing I could do." Her voice catches, and she shudders. "I…I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't come…"
"That arrogant bastard," John says lowly. She feels the anger rippling through his body, even as he brings her closer to kiss her forehead.
"It won't be for much longer," he says. "And I'm with you now."
"It is," she says. Her frame shakes again. "He'll be here for almost a month. You can't be with me every minute of every day. I don't know how I can cope."
"I promise you this," he says soothingly, "I won't let anything bad happen to you. Not again."
She wants to believe that so desperately, more desperately than she's ever wanted to believe anything in her life. But she just hopes that it isn't at the cost of everything that she holds dear to her.
Dinner is almost unbearable. John sits there quietly, focusing on his food, listening to everyone bombard Green with question after meaningless question about India and the heat and the elephants. The only thing he can be grateful for is the distraction; Green is not throwing nearly as many mocking looks at Anna as he would have been otherwise. She stays quiet throughout, pushing the food into her mouth and chewing with much effort. He's desperate to take hold of her hand and remind her that he's there for her, but he doesn't want to draw Green's attention, who would surely notice the movement. The laughter and the chatter goes on around him, crashing into his eardrums and pulling him under the wave, and bit by bit he composes himself. There can be no frayed nerves for what is to come.
"So, Mr. and Mrs. Bates," Green says quite suddenly. John snaps his head up, muscles tensing. Anna lets her cutlery clatter unsteadily to her plate. "Soon to be parents. How do you feel about that?"
"Ecstatic," he manages, and even accomplishes a smile. Fake, just like the bastard's. "It's a happy time for us."
"And when is the baby due?"
"In just a few weeks."
"Well, how fine for you. What about names? Have you thought on any?"
John glances to his left. Anna's knuckles are white. How he wishes he could spare her this.
Soon.
"No, we're waiting until we have it here with us before we decide on anything like that," he says.
"What about John for a boy then, Mr. Bates?" Green pushes. "A nice strong name, taken from his father?"
His smirk is all that John can see. It burns behind his eyes. Anger flays him. He flexes his hands, counting to ten. The arrogant bastard, taunting her in front of everyone. Subjecting her to such torment. It needs to be stomped out entirely.
"Perhaps," he says.
The others take up the mantle then, Daisy and Ivy, who have poked their heads in curiously, vying over their own names for the baby. Mr. Carson finally restores order and moves the subject swiftly along. John lapses back into silence, planning his next move carefully.
By the end of the night, Green will be sorry.
When dinner is over, most of the servants mill around the table for a talk while they get a brief respite before the family retire to bed. Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes disappear into her sitting room. Thomas breaks out a pack of cards and cajoles Jimmy and Alfred into a game. The maids linger around, chatting and giggling and sending blatant looks Green's way. He ignores them, rising to his feet.
"I'm just going outside for a quick one," he says, flashing his cigarettes.
"Isn't it cold?" questions Alice.
"Oh, that doesn't bother me."
"Then what about some company?" presses one of the other maids.
John does not miss the way that his eyes fall on Anna, who shrinks away.
"I can think of some wonderful company to keep, but I'll be fine," he says. "Back soon."
John waits a full minute after, pretending to concentrate on his tea. And then he too stands.
"I'm just going to fetch some of his lordship's mending," he says.
Anna's eyes latch onto him at once.
"What?" she asks, and her voice quivers.
John gives her the best reassuring smile that he can. "I've been putting it off all day, and I can't do so any longer. I'll be back in a few minutes. You won't miss me."
He knows that she can't protest any further as it would look odd, and nor can she follow him. He gives her hand a squeeze and rounds the table. At the entrance to the hall, he casts one last smile over his shoulder. She doesn't return it.
He leaves the room. Further down the corridor is a little cupboard for cleaning supplies. Glancing both ways to make sure that no one is watching him, he throws in his cane, and fishes a battered packet of cigarettes and a box of matches from one of the inside pockets on his jacket. He slips them into his trousers, then shrugs out of his jacket, throwing that in alongside his cane. Both of those things would only get in the way.
Satisfied that he hasn't been seen, he hurries as quietly as he can along the corridor towards the back door. He pushes it open. An icy blast of wind hits him square in the face. He pushes his shoulders back. This is it.
As casually as he can, he makes his way outside. He can make out the heated circle of orange flaring from the tip of Green's cigarette. He's over in the corner by a stack of crates. Perfect.
Green looks up at the sound of his footsteps, and offers him one of those smirks. John reminds himself to keep calm.
"Mind if I join you?" he says lightly.
"By all means," says Green. "Though I didn't know you smoked. New thing, is it?"
"Not really. Just something I don't do very often anymore. Only when I'm feeling agitated. Soothes the nerves, doesn't it?"
Green shrugs. "I couldn't say. I'm not one for nerves."
No, he isn't. Just arrogance and threats. But John will show him more. He's surprised by how steady his hand is as he flares up a cigarette of his own, inhaling deeply, letting it filter into his lungs. The smoky taste is soothing, and it clears his head. Anna hates this habit of his, so he indulges in it rarely, only after a particularly stressful day or when he thinks he can sweet talk her into forgiving him his weakness. He'd smoked quite a lot in the aftermath of her confession about Green, and then again with the news of the baby. He keeps his peppermints with him at all times to freshen his breath afterwards, so Anna won't wrinkle her nose at the thought of kissing him.
"What are your reasons, anyway?" Green asks after a moment's pause. "Impending fatherhood?"
"Something like that," says John airily.
"You and Anna have my congratulations."
"Thank you," he says. He takes one last, long drag on his cigarette, then drops it to the floor. He raises his gaze, eyes burning with an unsuppressed hatred. "But we don't need it."
Without giving Green even a second to register his words, John launches himself forward with all of the power of a big cat. He's dimly aware of the fact that he is snarling. And then his fist makes contact with Green's face. There is a sharp crack. Blood splatters, warm and wet, and the sight of it only spurs John on, like a red rag to an enraged bull. He goes in again. And again. Green stumbles as he tries to raise his arms, then loses his footing; he's on his backside in the next moment, swearing loudly and panting hard through his mouth. The fall seems to help him regain his senses, and he is up on his knees in a second, his own dark eyes burning with a chilly fury.
"Not such an old cripple now, am I?" John jeers breathlessly. His knuckles smart. They're flecked with blood.
"I don't know," Green hisses back. "You still look like a worthless old fool to me."
John snarls again and lurches forward, but this time, Green is quicker. He lowers his head and squares his shoulders and pushes up violently just as John reaches him. Through sheer luck he sneaks underneath John's flailing arm, connecting forcefully with his chest. John stumbles. Green is quick to pounce.
Now John is the one on the receiving end of the blows, and he grunts as each one meets its mark. Green is strong and doesn't have the disadvantage of a gammy leg. But he refuses to lose now. Not to him. The blows continue to rain down on him, hitting him in the face, the gut, the chest. His own blood trickles down his face. He can taste it in the back of his throat. He catches Green's fist and shoves it away, hurling himself back towards him. They scuffle again, two ferocious beasts fighting over the same female.
John can barely hear anything over the thunder of the blood in his head. He hits the other valet's writhing flesh again and again and again, barely feeling the blows that land on him. His knuckles scream in protest when they slam against Green's hard cheekbone. The man makes a long whining noise, and lashes out blindly with his feet.
A stray kick lands directly on John's injured knee. With a howl, John rears backwards. And then there is another boot, more deliberate and deadly this time. His knee gives way as if it has a mind all of its own, and he collapses like the slain Goliath, his head ringing as it slams into the unforgiving concrete floor of the courtyard. The stars are bright above his head, spinning dizzily.
Then, a shadow.
"Leave it, old man," Green croons, delivering another sharp kick to his knee. John cries out. "You're no match for me, so don't even bother trying. There's no wonder your wife finds you so pathetic. Couldn't take her hands off me."
"You liar," he pants. "I know what you did to her, you bastard."
"Did she tell you I forced her into it? How original. And you believed her."
John struggles to his elbows, shaking his head. Christ, it hurts. "I know my wife."
"Every man knows his wife until something like this happens. Women are worse than men when it comes to pursuing the needs that aren't being fulfilled. And that wife of yours, good God."
"Shut up," he hisses. "Shut up or I swear to God that you'll be sorry."
Green's hedonistic expression only opens. "Oh, yes, lovely little Anna. She has exquisite legs, you know. So soft and supple. Beautiful thighs. Shaped but firm."
Now John is up on his left knee, his right protesting too much to put any weight on it. Green obviously doesn't detect any threat from him, for he continues to stand there, his hands loosely in his pockets. John's vision swims.
"And those pretty breasts of hers," he muses. "Would you like me to describe exactly how I touched them? Or what about her pussy? Shall I tell you about how ready she was? I bet you'd like to know. It'd give you something to fantasise about."
John's limbs tremble wildly. "Shut your mouth, Green. I mean it, I'll shut it for you."
Green's smirk is deadly. "Oh, will you now? So you don't want me to tell you about the way that that bitch of yours would have got down on her knees and begged me to take her if I had told her to?"
John's blood reaches boiling point, but he inhales deeply, willing himself to keep calm. He needs a few more seconds to recover, and the only way he can do that is to keep Green talking for just a little longer. If he can cope with listening to such vile words any longer.
"I know Anna," he repeats. "She told me everything. You…" He stumbles for a moment, finds his voice, "you raped the most beautiful soul on earth. She would never do anything like you're insinuating."
"Why, because you love each other so desperately?" Green jeers. "Very well, then, if you'd prefer it. Would you like to hear about the way she struggled and cried? What about the way she tried to keep her skirts down? Or the sound she made when I took her that first time? I can describe it all in detail. She didn't want it, but I always get what I want. She's tight as a drum, every man's dream."
It's the final straw. Knowing that he won't be able to struggle to his feet, John does the next best thing. He throws himself at Green's midsection. His arms close around him, and his head shrieks with pain. His leaden weight sends them both hurtling into the pile of crates, which crash to the floor with an ear-splitting bang. This time, John doesn't relent in his blows. They have taken on an other-worldly kind of power, as if God, or even the devil, has restored his strength. He smashes his fist into every part of the other valet that he can.
"I'm going to make you wish you'd never set eyes on her," he pants. "You destroyed her spirit, and now I'm going to hurt you a thousand times worse."
Green struggles valiantly, his arms flailing. He lands a few more hits, including a glancing blow against his temple, but John barely notices it, the adrenaline coursing through his veins making him invincible. Green groans loudly when he drives his fists into his ribs. The man's hands scrabble uselessly, and he bucks up in an attempt to throw him off. John is heavier than him, though, and much bigger. It does nothing. For the first time now, there is raw fear in Green's eyes. Unadulterated. He understands the kind of man he's dealing with at last. His struggles become more violent. Punch after punch hits him in the face and against his broad shoulders, but John feels nothing, only the animalistic desire to kill, to crack his skull against the flagstones like a hard boiled egg. Green chokes and wheezes, his pushes becoming weaker.
And then, behind them, there is a huge crash. The door reverberating on its hinges. Even then John does not stop, burying his swollen knuckles in his enemy's ribs again.
"What the bloody hell!?"
The cry is sharp and loud, like a bullet. In the next moment, someone is behind him, yanking at him, dragging him backwards. He snarls and snaps, trying to throw the intruder off, but he is unable to do so. Green scrambles backwards feebly.
"Let me go!" he roars, fighting as ferociously as he can.
The arms around him tighten. "No."
He finally recognises the voice over his primitive instincts. Thomas. Thomas has stopped him from teaching Green a lesson. He's all for turning on him, too, when the second voice booms across the courtyard, a rumble of thunder on a day when a storm has been threatening each hour.
"What is the meaning of this!?"
Mr. Carson. The fight wilts out of him at once. In front of him, Green manages to claw his way back to his feet, leaning heavily against the wall. Footsteps pound on the ground behind him, and then Mr. Carson pulls him backwards too, rougher than Thomas. He falls back to his knees, issuing a curse as his right one flashes with white-hot pain, his head hanging.
"Inside. Both of you. Now."
He has never heard Mr. Carson's voice so cold before. He daren't disobey the order. Slowly, he pushes himself to his feet. His vision spins. Thomas steadies him. Mr. Carson looks towards Green, who walks ahead of them all, hobbling like an old man. John tries to follow. Each step sends excruciating pain flaring up his leg. To his surprise, Thomas stays close by, ready with a supporting hand.
The short journey across the courtyard seems to take years, but it isn't over as he reaches the reality of Downton's walls once again. Mr. Carson casts around a glance to make sure that everyone is still safely inside the servants' hall. The merry sound of the piano music, along with the cheers and claps of the servants, gives John the answer as to why no one else had been disturbed by the commotion outside. Mr. Carson ushers him towards his parlour, Thomas on his heels. John almost falls inside, hanging on desperately to the first thing that he can, a cupboard.
"Wait here," Mr. Carson snaps. "I need to fetch Mrs. Hughes."
Thomas positions himself by the door, his gaze flickering between him and Mr. Green. John ignores him, instead focusing his attention on the man who has ruined his life in so many ways. Despite the discovery by Thomas and Mr. Carson, he feels a euphoric, perverse pleasure upon taking in his appearance in the light. Green's right eye is swelling shut, circled in a ring of black. His busted nose has left spatters of blood all over his face. John is sure that he must have at least a couple of cracked ribs. He doubts that he's come off much better, but God, he hopes the bastard hurts all over. It could never be enough for what he's put Anna through, but it's a start. Green stares at him with a cold hatred, but he doesn't move. The moment for physical action is over. In his head, he sees himself castrating him with his bare hands. He should have thought of that sooner.
In the next moment the door opens again, and Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes hurry into the room. Mrs. Hughes gasps loudly at the sight before her, clutching her hand to her heart.
"Oh my," she says faintly.
Mr. Carson is less horrified, storming into the middle of the room and rounding on them all.
"I want an explanation for this," he growls. "Now."
For a moment, John freezes. Anna has stated time and time again that no one can ever know, and he doesn't want to betray that wish. But then he looks at Green's battered face. He imagines the tall tales that he will weave, have everyone eating out of the palm of his hand. He and Anna might become the outcasts of the story.
It's time for the whole truth and nothing but the truth. They've kept the secret for too long, tried to live a lie.
They can't do it any longer.
"He raped Anna," he says quietly.
The whole room lapses into stunned silence. Even Thomas holds back any scathing comment he might have, staring.
"I beg your pardon?" says Mr. Carson. John has never seen someone's face go the colour of whey so quickly before. "Raped Anna?"
Mrs. Hughes turns to look at Green, unblinking. She's shaking. John chances a glance at him. He stares straight ahead.
"Mr. Gillingham?" Mr. Carson prompts. His voice is colder than the Atlantic Ocean. "What is Mr. Bates trying to say?"
No response. A rat caught in a trap, with no way out. John knows that Green can't protest – or at least he can't plead total innocence. But he knows the other valet won't give up without some kind of fight. Rats will gnaw off their own legs to survive, John had once read.
"I wouldn't call it an attack. Not with her being a willing participant."
"You liar," snarls John. "How can you stand there and muddy the name of my wife after the way that you defiled her?"
Mr. Carson looks ill. "I want the truth, whatever that might be."
"You've worked with Anna for years. You know her character. She would never do anything like that. Green is lying."
"Mr. Bates is right." It's Thomas defending him. "That's not Anna."
"Of course it isn't," agrees Mrs. Hughes. Her voice trembles.
"He forced himself on her," continues John, and he doesn't care that tears have welled up in his eyes. "He cornered her in the laundry room, and he…he…" He sobs. Mrs. Hughes' arm comes around him. He leans heavily into her touch. Green can say nothing. Four pairs of stony eyes are upon him.
"When did this happen?" she asks quietly.
He squeezes his eyes tightly shut. His head throbs. "Last time he was here. The day Anna went home ill."
Mrs. Hughes gasps again, and her grip tightens. "All that time ago? And you've kept it to yourselves since? I knew something was wrong, but never in a million years could I have imagined something like this."
Mr. Carson brings his hand up to his face and scrubs it vigorously over his features. "Mrs. Hughes, call for Doctor Clarkson and get the both of them cleaned up. After that, we'll discuss the matter further. Mr. Barrow, take Mr. Bates to Mrs. Hughes' sitting room and wait for the doctor there. I will stay here with him."
The housekeeper and the under-butler both nod. Thomas takes hold of his arm. John allows himself to be led away. Mrs. Hughes casts him a worried glance, but she stays silent, hurrying across to Mr. Carson's desk to make the phone call.
In the quiet of Mrs. Hughes' office, he leans against her desk, his head bowed. He hears Thomas rustling behind him, then the strike of a match and the stench of smoke. Then, a touch on the shoulder. He turns wearily, and is greeted by the under-butler offering him a cigarette.
"You look like you need it," he says gruffly.
John stares at it for a moment. "Won't Mrs. Hughes disapprove?"
"Since when have I cared about things like that?"
He quirks his lip sardonically.
"If you're worried about getting into trouble, then I'll take the blame for it. Saint Bates will still have his halo."
"You're an arrogant bastard, you know that?" he says, accepting the cigarette and bringing it to his mouth.
"And so are you," Thomas shoots back, but there is no real animosity in his tone.
John rolls his eyes and continues to smoke the cigarette. It's becoming a regular habit again. But at least it's helping to calm his nerves; the shakes have almost stopped.
"You look a right bloody mess," says Thomas.
"And still better than you," he replies, tongue firmly in cheek.
"What on earth did you think you'd achieve from this?"
He closes his eyes, breathes the smoke out through his nose. "I don't know." And Anna will kill him. For the first time since his decision to go after Green, he feels a wave of burning shame. He's broken her trust. She'd pleaded with him to keep his temper, and he'd told her he would, when he'd had no intention of keeping his word.
He doesn't regret it. He can't, not after everything that the man has put Anna through. But he is ashamed of the fact that he will have hurt her in the process.
"He deserved it," Thomas says, as though he can read his mind. "No one should go through something like that."
Perhaps Thomas does have a heart after all, John muses. Perhaps he's not all bad.
In the next instant, there is a commotion from outside. Thomas barely has the chance to move out of the way before the door smashes on its hinges. Anna flies into the room, her eyes wild, her cheeks red.
"Mrs. Hughes has just told me," she says, and then screams. John winces as the sound reverberates in his head. She flies across the room to him, barrelling into him and almost winding him. He manages to catch her around the waist as she brings her hands up to him, touching his face with shaky fingers.
"What's going on?" she says frantically. "What's happened to you? Oh God –"
"Calm down," he tells her firmly. "You'll stress the baby. It's nothing."
"Nothing?" she shrieks. "Have you seen the state of yourself?"
He flinches when she touches the cuts on his face, and opens his mouth to protest, only to be cut off by her own lips. Surprised, he allows her to kiss him fiercely, her fingers hurting his bruised face, his own trembling hands coming up to cup her elbows. She questions him between kisses, fretting over his appearance and demanding to know what's happened. She doesn't allow him to answer, however, bringing her mouth back to his almost as soon as she's finished speaking. At last, he manages to push her away, his face glowing despite his pain.
"Anna," he mutters. "We're not alone."
She blinks confusedly at him, then automatically turns around. He notices the tops of her ears redden.
"Don't mind me," Thomas smirks. "In fact, I think I'll get rid of the evidence of your smoke before Mrs. Hughes gets back. Give it here, Mr. Bates."
John hands over the burned out cigarette, and Thomas exits the room, leaving silence behind. Now that the moment has been broken, Anna steps back, appraising him.
"You need to tell me exactly what happened," she says. "You went after him, didn't you? Even when I told you not to?"
He hangs his head. "I'm sorry, Anna."
"You lied to me!" she cries. "You promised me you'd keep away from him, and you didn't!"
"And how did you expect me to?" he demands. "How did you expect me to sit back and tolerate his smug face, to let him torment you? Christ, how could I have done nothing when he hurt you like he did? And if he came back again? And again? He would have shadowed us our entire lives!"
"But look what he's done to you!" Her lip quivers dangerously, her voice wavers. "He's hurt you!"
"I hurt him back," he growls. "I hurt the bastard just as much."
"And what were you hoping to achieve by…beating him? How was that going to help us!?"
His eyes flare. "I wanted to hurt him enough to scare him away. To make sure that he never returned here. To give back a little of what he did to you."
"He would have gone straight to the police. You would have been behind bars again! You've been behind bars twice already! Do you think they would spare you when you've behaved so violently? They wouldn't have listened to your defence! He would have made me out to be a wanton whore who didn't want to say no. He would have been the injured party, and you would have left me alone with this baby! How could you do it?"
His temper is simmering dangerously, too much adrenaline coursing through his body. The last thing he wants is to snap at Anna when she is frightened and angry herself. Scrubbing his hand over his face and wincing as he hits a particularly tender spot, he lowers himself into Mrs. Hughes' chair. Anna takes several deep breaths herself, moving to sit opposite him. Slowly, she reaches out her hand. He grasps it with relief, bringing it to his lips to kiss.
"I'm sorry," she says. "I shouldn't snap."
"It's all right. You have a right to be angry at me. I don't regret what I did, but I shouldn't have done it."
"Who stopped you?" she asks timidly.
"Thomas did. I don't know what he was doing outside."
"He was going out for a cigarette too. I think Alfred was irritating him, and he needed to get out."
John nods silently. That makes perfect sense.
"So what happens now?"
He squeezes her hand, feeling a stab of fear that he won't admit to. "I don't know. Doctor Clarkson is coming down to take a look at us. After that…who knows."
Anna moves forward, kneeling down, tentatively reaching out to touch him. "Let me take a proper look at you first."
He closes his eyes as her gentle fingers probe. It's soothing even if it hurts, her tenderness overwhelming. It's better than any salve Doctor Clarkson could give him. Her fingers quest into his hair, running through the locks. And then she pauses, drawing away, staring down at her fingertips. It takes a moment for him to realise why.
"You're bleeding," she says, surprised. He reaches his own hand up.
"I hit my head outside when I fell. But I'll be all right."
She kisses him again, gripping onto his shoulders. He coaxes her upwards.
"Off the floor," he says. "That's not good for you or the baby."
She sighs but doesn't argue, falling back into her seat. John drags his own chair beside hers, reaching out to press his palm against her swollen stomach. He takes a deep breath. She has to know what else he's done against her wishes.
"Anna, they know everything," he says quietly.
For a moment, the words don't seem to register. "What?"
"Mr. Carson, Mrs. Hughes, and Thomas. They wanted to know what had happened, why I attacked Green. I had to tell them the truth."
Anna wilts completely, a summer flower lost to the winter. He smooths his thumb across her belly. She doesn't seem angry at him.
"How can I ever face anyone again?" she says.
"You can. You're incredible, Anna. You can do anything."
She shakes her head. "I can't."
Her despondency is terrifying. But then the baby kicks beneath his hand, reminding him of their strength.
"We can," he says decisively. "You and me together."
She sniffles, and he brings her closer, kissing her forehead, her cheek, her mouth. It's chaste but lingering, and she presses her hand on top of his, holding it against her bump. They don't break apart until they hear the door opening, and even then John keeps his hand against her stomach, as tender as he can.
It's Mrs. Hughes, and Doctor Clarkson is in tow.
"My goodness, I wasn't expecting this," he says, but he passes no judgement and presses for no more answers, busying himself with checking him over. His cuts need cleaning, and he winces at the antiseptic. He is given some salve for the bruising, although it will take several days for it to go down, the doctor tells him.
"There was blood at the back of his head," Anna pipes up.
Doctor Clarkson bids him lean forward, and Anna lovingly parts his hair. John stares down at the floor while Doctor Clarkson ums and aahs, biting his lip to stop himself from hissing in pain. Eventually, the doctor urges him upright.
"The damage there doesn't seem too bad," he says. "It's stopped bleeding, so I don't think I need to take any action. How do you feel?"
"I've got a headache, but I suppose that's to be expected."
"Take some aspirin for that. What about blurry eyesight? Fatigue?"
"I was dizzy before, and my eyesight was shot, but it's cleared now. I don't feel tired."
"Very good. I don't believe you've got concussion. Just keep an eye on him, Mrs. Bates, and make sure he rests."
"Yes, Doctor."
"Now, I must hurry and see Mr. Green. Take care, Mr. Bates, Mrs. Bates."
Doctor Clarkson takes his leave. Anna and John remain where they are, until Mrs. Hughes knocks on the door. Her face is pale, set.
"You're to go to the library at once," she says. "Lord Grantham wants to see you."
The fire's crackle is the only sound that can be heard in the room. Anna stands quivering by his side. He holds her hand tightly in his own, propriety be damned. He won't let her go now.
Five pairs of eyes are trained on them. Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes stand one side. Lord Grantham, Lord Gillingham, and Lady Mary stand on the other. Green is in Lord Grantham's study, with Thomas standing watch over him. John is relieved about that. He doesn't know what he would have done if Green had been here, if he'd been forced to listen to him repeat the things he'd said all over again, and he's sure that it would only have made Anna freeze up entirely. It's also a credit to Lord Gillingham, he thinks, for not taking his valet's side immediately and denouncing Anna as a liar. Perhaps one day he really will be a good match for Lady Mary. He seems to take her word on board earnestly.
"Anna, would you like to sit down?" Lord Grantham asks kindly. "Bates, get her into a seat."
John nods and gently brings his spare arm around her, coaxing her over to the seat by the fire. His cane is by the door, but he's restored his jacket to make himself look more presentable, hiding the blood from view. There is nothing he can do about the state of his face, but so far no one has passed judgement. He's prepared for the fact that he might be reprimanded harshly for his actions, but he will accept his punishment. For Anna, anything is worth it.
Lord Grantham squats down in front of them. John keeps his arm around her, drawing her closer to his side, his hand strong in hers. Lady Mary slowly makes her way to Anna's other side, rubbing gently at her shoulder.
"In your own time," Lord Grantham says gently. "Take as long as you need. There's no pressure."
Anna nods. A thousand expressions chase across her face. None of them are good. John pulls her closer, and she rests her head against him, taking a moment to compose herself. He hopes she can draw strength from him. She keeps her gaze firmly fixed on their joined hands, which she keeps on her lap just below the swell of her stomach.
"When Mr. Green first came to Downton, he was pleasant and friendly. I liked him. But he started to make me feel uncomfortable, little by little. He'd seek me out when I was working. Sometimes he'd brush against me, and they didn't feel accidental. And he gave me a gift. A selection of love poems. I didn't think they were appropriate, but he said that we'd been discussing poetry and I might find them interesting. I didn't know how to give them back without looking ungrateful, so I slipped them in here. I thought nothing more of it. Not until he kissed me."
There are audible gasps at that. John tightens his hold on her.
"I pushed him off," she continues. "And the next morning he left." All the way through her explanation so far, her voice has been mechanical, as though she is going through the motions. It's rather unsettling, hearing her explain such traumatic events as though she's merely discussing the weather.
"Why on earth didn't you tell me immediately?" asks Mrs. Hughes. Her hands twist together in front of her.
"I didn't want to cause trouble," Anna says, lowering her eyes.
"Of course you wouldn't have been causing trouble! It was my job to stamp such behaviour out!"
"She was protecting me," amends John quietly. "She thought I was going to lose my temper, and she didn't want me to get into trouble." The whole room can see how futile that was now.
"Go on," Lady Mary encourages her, rubbing her shoulder more emphatically.
She closes her eyes, gathering herself, squeezing his hand so hard that it hurts, her fingernails digging deep into his flesh. He says nothing, soaking up her pain. The hardest part of the story is upon them.
"For a while, everything seemed to be back to normal, so I didn't see the point in dragging it back up when there was really no need to. And when I heard the news that you were returning, milord, I felt as if too much time had passed, and too many questions would be raised about why I hadn't reported it sooner. So I chose to sort things out myself. When he came back again, I told him to leave me alone. And at first I thought he'd listened, because he did leave me. But then he…then he…"
John presses his lips fiercely against her temple, uncaring that everyone's eyes are focused on them. Anna takes a shuddering breath, then continues.
"I was in the laundry room. Earlier, he'd told me and Mr. Bates that he was going into the village for his lordship. We had no reason to believe otherwise. But he must have followed me and…and he blocked my way."
The pride John feels for his beautiful wife is almost overwhelming, even if her words are like a stake through the heart. She's got through her story dry-eyed and strong. He can feel her trembling against him, the only sign of her fear.
"Oh, Anna," says Mrs. Hughes. He detects the wobble in her voice. "My sweet girl. Why did you think you could keep it from me? We would have helped you!" She sounds quite hurt that Anna hadn't trusted her enough to confide in her.
"I didn't even tell Mr. Bates right away," she says softly. "I didn't want it to get out. I didn't want people's pity – or worse, to have people thinking that I was making it up after making a mistake. I did make a mistake in thinking that I could handle the matter by myself, but I never wanted to betray Mr. Bates!"
"I know, I know," Lady Mary soothes, then looks helplessly to her father. "Papa?"
Lord Grantham snaps back to attention, his tone business-like. "Mrs. Hughes, take Anna and Bates to the drawing room, and wait with them there. Give Anna a shot of whiskey for her nerves. We'll bring Green back in here to hear what he has to say for himself, and then we'll sort out what we're doing with him."
Mrs. Hughes nods and steps forward. John heaves himself to his feet, then with help from Lady Mary, coaxes Anna up. She looks dazed, and allows him to lead her from the room without a sound. Once in the hallway, however, she clings to him harder, her voice hysterical.
"They don't believe me, do they? I can see it in their faces! He's going to spin a tale and they'll dismiss us both!"
John presses her head tighter to his chest, meeting Mrs. Hughes' horrified gaze. "Shh, love. You're not thinking straight. Of course they won't believe him over you. Come on, stop thinking like that. They know you're not the kind of person to lie and do those kinds of things, I promise."
She shifts, sniffling, and he gently disentangles himself from her. He can tell Mrs. Hughes is longing to throw her arms around her too, but she refrains from doing so, leading them instead into the drawing room.
"We could all see how genuine you were," she says as she bustles about, clinking glasses and pouring out the rich amber liquid. After a moment, she pours a second glass and downs it herself, wincing. John swallows hard. He would love one of those. But he can't succumb to that. He'd never stop if he started tonight.
Anna takes the proffered glass without a word, and John helps her to a seat. He presses another kiss against her hair.
"I'm going to get a glass of water, all right?" he tells her softly. "I'll be back in one minute."
She nods vacantly, staring at her tumbler. He casts her a worried glance, then hobbles over to Mrs. Hughes. Christ, his knee is almost screaming bloody murder. He suspects he will be paying for his actions for weeks to come.
"She's been going through hell, hasn't she?"
Mrs. Hughes' almost unheard whisper makes him look to his left.
"Yes, she has," he replies. "She's been to hell and every other dark place in the world."
"There's no wonder she's been acting so strangely."
"I'm sorry for not telling you, Mrs. Hughes. You have no idea how much I wanted to. And I know Anna did too. But she was frightened of the consequences."
The housekeeper shakes her head. "She ought to know by now that she has my full support. But I understand what fear does to a person, even someone like Anna."
They look to her now. She's hunched over, nursing the glass between her fingers. His throat constricts. "There's more."
Mrs. Hughes' eyes are on him immediately. "More? In what way?"
"The baby. It was conceived around the time of the…when Green did what he did." It feels good to finally speak of the burden that's been weighing on his heart for so long, even if he's pushed it aside for Anna's sake. A tear spills down his cheek, and he brushes it roughly away.
"Oh, Mr. Bates," Mrs. Hughes breathes, and his heart breaks anew at her tone of voice. "It didn't even cross my mind. How are you even coping?" Her arms come around hm. She's hugging him. He stiffens for a second, then leans in to her support.
"I can't let it bother me," he says. "It would destroy Anna. We have to make the best of it now."
"But even so…" She trails off, then sniffs. "You've been through so much."
His shoulders sag. It's as if the world is determined that they shouldn't get their happy end.
Mrs. Hughes disentangles herself then, asking silent permission with her eyes to go to Anna. He nods, watches her cross the room and sink down beside her, putting her arms around her and drawing her closer. The dam breaks. Anna sobs. John turns away to give them some privacy.
How long they stay there in that room, he doesn't know. He paces despite the searing pain in his knee, then moves to sit beside Anna again, taking her hand. She keeps her head against Mrs. Hughes' shoulder, but clasps his hand just as tightly.
Together, they wait for judgement.
And, at last, it comes in the shape of Mr. Carson, who enters the room tentatively, as though he's afraid of what he will find. All three of them look up in tandem, but the butler's face expression gives nothing away.
"His lordship wants to see you again," he says.
Anna turns to him with fear in her eyes. It's his turn to pick up the months of hope and unwavering belief that she showed him through his incarceration.
"It's going to be all right," he promises. He can see that she doesn't believe him, but at least she doesn't question him. Mrs. Hughes gives her arm one last stroke and then resumes her position beside Mr. Carson. Together, they return to the library.
For a brief moment before he enters, John is afraid that things won't have gone in their favour, that Green will be smirking broadly as they're both dismissed, Anna for promiscuous behaviour and John for violence. They will be cast out into the world with a baby to feed and no chance of employment.
But he shakes it away, and squeezes Anna's hand tighter. Cautiously, they move inside.
The first thing John notices is that Green is missing. He isn't sure if it's a good thing or not, but one look at Lord Grantham's face assures him of his previous assertions.
"Green has been dismissed from Lord Gillingham's employ," he says, and John is glad he isn't dragging their misery out. "It was quite clear from the moment we saw him that he was lying. I won't repeat what he said, but the point is that he's leaving tonight. Barrow is with him now, making sure he takes everything he has and leaves at once."
"Thank you, milord," says John. Anna says nothing, but he can feel the waves of relief radiating from her.
"We'll ensure that he never works again," Lord Grantham continues. "Everyone we know will be informed of his true character, and we'll insist that they spread it too. Green's name will be notorious, and he'll be ruined."
John nods, silent. It's probably the best they can hope for.
As though reading his mind, Lady Mary steps forward, laying a gentle hand on Anna's shoulder. "There are other things we could do. We could call the police for one thing. But that would mean you'd have to testify against him in a trial."
"No," Anna says at once. "No, I couldn't face that. Not ever."
"Then the first option is our only viable one, if you're in agreement."
"I am." Anna's voice is almost unheard.
"Bates?"
It doesn't sit completely well. Green will walk away and be ruined, but his crime won't be recognised by the law. He can go out and do it again and again. Can he really let someone like that walk free?
One glance at Anna's face gives him the answer. He has to, no matter what he really feels. Anna doesn't want to go down that path, and there's no way he can put her through that ordeal. They've already proven that they can begin to put it in the past. If they drag it out any longer, it will only damage them further.
Slowly, he nods.
In some small way, the ordeal is over.
There is still one thing that he wants to know, however, and he clears his throat, looking directly at Lord Gillingham. He doesn't care if the question is impertinent, it needs asking.
"Milord, if I may risk speaking out of turn for a moment, I would like to know how he remained undetected for so long. I got the impression that it's not the first time that Green has got what he wanted, in whatever form that might be."
"You're asking me why I didn't have some inkling when I hired him?" says Lord Gillingham, but there is no anger in his tone. "Well, truth be told, he came to me with no references. He'd been a soldier in the war, and was out of work, and I didn't feel references were necessary. He was a perfectly charming fellow, and I thought giving him a job was the least I could do when he'd served our country. There was never any mention of unseemly behaviour, but I've no doubt that it must have happened in some way before he came to me. It's frightening, seeing how different people can truly be."
What can John say to that? He should blame Lord Gillingham for not checking on Green's background, for not keeping a closer eye on him, but he knows he can't. It's not the young lord's fault, not really, and he does look so remorseful. So he nods, backing down.
"And now we need to do something about the way you look, my dear fellow," says Lord Grantham.
"I'm terribly sorry for coming to you in this state, my lord. I won't apologise for what I did because I don't regret it, but I am sorry for this."
"Nonsense, man. I dare say anyone would have done the same. Now, as I was saying, we need to do something about your appearance. You certainly can't stay here, otherwise awkward questions might be raised. Especially with Green disappearing at the same time."
He hadn't thought of that, and neither had Anna, judging from her expression.
"Then what do you suggest, milord?"
"I have an idea," says Lord Gillingham. "If Lady Mary and Lord Grantham have no objections, they could come and visit me at my estate. I have yet to extend the honour to them, and then the two of you could visit in relative peace. I assure you, every member of my staff will be discrete, and you needn't tell any of them anything."
John looks from Anna to his lordship to Lady Mary. The young woman stares at Lord Gillingham with a kind of intensity that is almost sinful to intrude upon. He thinks in that moment, if Lady Mary Crawley hasn't already fallen in love for a second time, then she will do soon. He is clearly a compassionate, kind man, exactly the sort she needs.
"I think that's a wonderful idea," she says, her eyes shining.
Lord Grantham nods in agreement. "It's settled. We'll go for a week. That should give enough time for your bruises to fade and your cuts to heal. Go home now and get packed. Carson and Mrs. Hughes will assist us. Meet us at the train station tomorrow morning, and we'll take it from there."
"And I will ensure that somewhere is found to accommodate your situation," Lord Gillingham adds. "I understand that you would wish to share the same quarters, given the circumstances."
Embarrassingly, John feels himself choke up a little at the overwhelming kindness everyone is showing them. He sees it as a sign that the conversation should draw to an end quickly.
"Thank you," he says, offering his hand to shake everyone's respectively. "You have no idea how much I appreciate this."
They accept his gratitude silently; Lady Mary gives his hand an extra squeeze.
"You must both be exhausted. Rest while you can. Anna, I'll speak to you in the morning."
"Yes, milady," she murmurs.
"Carson, Mrs. Hughes, take Anna back downstairs and clear everyone away for bed so that Bates doesn't get seen. Bates, wait here for a few minutes to give them a chance to do it."
John can't argue with that, not after everything the family has done for him, so he nods and walks Anna to the door, letting go of her hand with great reluctance.
"I'll be all right," she whispers. "I'll wait at the back door for you."
She departs then, nestled between the butler and the housekeeper. Lady Mary and Lord Gillingham take their leave too, and John and Lord Grantham are alone. As soon as the door is clicked closed behind them, John sinks down onto the sofa, holding his head in his hands.
"I'm sorry, milord," he says.
Lord Grantham settles down beside him. "Stop apologising. You did what any husband would do."
"I couldn't stop myself. He said some awful things, and that was it."
"You did quite a bit of damage to him. Carson told me you broke his nose and cracked two of his ribs. I'm impressed. You were always the good fighter."
His lips quirk feebly. "Too much time spent brawling in pubs as a young man, milord."
"Well, you certainly look like you've been brawling in a pub tonight."
"And you're quite sure that you don't want to punish me? I would quite understand if you did."
Lord Grantham slaps him on the shoulder. "Of course not. You will not be punished for defending what you have. Anna is a lovely girl, and I feel sick just knowing what she went through. God knows how you've lived through it."
"It hasn't been easy, milord. Not at all. Everything else has paled in comparison to this."
"I can well imagine. If anything like that had ever happened to her ladyship…"
John takes a deep breath and looks up. For the second time this evening, he shares his burden. "That's not all, milord. The baby…"
He doesn't need to say more, for Lord Grantham swears softly, his hand coming back to his arm. "No."
"Yes," he manages.
"How are you coping? You and Anna?"
He runs a shaky hand through his hair, no longer the least bit respectable. "I have to focus on the fact that no matter what, the baby is Anna's."
"And you intend to raise it as your own?"
"Yes. No matter what."
"You're brave to do it, Bates. Not every man would."
"What other choice do I have? I can't lose Anna. And there is still a chance, however small."
Lord Grantham nods. "Well, whatever you need, I'm here. As a friend."
John fears that he's going to embarrass them both by crying, so he stands abruptly. "Thank you, milord. Truly. It means a lot."
"And you'll bear it in mind?"
"I will, yes. Now, I'd better go. Anna will be waiting for me."
Lord Grantham rises too, following him to the door. They share one last look of understanding before John slips out, gritting his teeth against the pain in his leg. He's glad that he has his cane to lean on now. He needs it.
Anna stands with Mrs. Hughes, lingering by the door. She manages a small smile as he approaches, which he returns. When he reaches her side, he immediately seeks out her hand, twining their fingers together.
"No one knows anything," says Mrs. Hughes as she opens the door for them. "Mr. Carson and I will announce Mr. Green's dismissal in the morning, and we'll make sure that no one suspects any link between his disappearance and yours."
"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes."
She only smiles sadly, running a lingering hand over Anna's arm. John looks away, pretending not to notice, not wanting to disturb the sacred moment.
"When you get back, you and I will have a proper chat, my girl," she says.
Anna nods. "Yes, Mrs. Hughes. Thank you for everything."
"It's a pleasure," she says, and then leans in to kiss her cheek. She has never expressed such overt affection before. John closes his eyes.
Anna pulls away with a tearful smile. "Come on, Mr. Bates. We've got work to do."
John inclines his head towards Mrs. Hughes, and allows Anna to pull him away. He is tired very suddenly, the strain of everything catching up with him and pushing him down.
Perhaps the shadows of the past will finally begin to recede for their future.
It is a relief to collapse beneath their bed sheets and find their way into each other's arms, needles that swerve irresistibly to their true north. They lay facing each other, and she traces her fingers cautiously over his face.
"You could have been really hurt," she says.
He squeezes her hips, much wider now to accommodate the baby. "I don't care. I would have gone through anything for you." His knee sears, as if in agreement. He had barely made it home, each step excruciating, his shaking cane barely able to hold his weight. He dreads to imagine what tomorrow will bring. But he has no regard for his own health. He would do it again for her.
She sniffs, crinkling his shirt between her fingers. "If anything had happened to you…"
"It hasn't," he says firmly. "And nothing will. Now that everything is out in the open, we can start to move on."
"Do you really think so?"
He kisses her temple. "I do. I realise that half of the problem was us trying to cope alone. We let it fester and fester, and something had to give."
"It might be comforting to know that other people understand," she says quietly.
"Exactly. We're not alone, Anna, not anymore. And we'll have a week together to get our heads around it all."
"What do you think will happen to him?" Her voice is small.
"I hope he gets run over by a bus," he says with feeling. "But we'll just have to hope that living a life of ruin will be sufficient."
It's not the most ideal punishment. If he'd had the chance, with the red fog clouding his view, he could easily have killed Green, and while he would have hated himself for it in the respect that Anna wouldn't have deserved the terror and heartbreak that went along with it, he wouldn't have regretted it for himself. Not for protecting his wife. But looking back with hindsight, John acknowledges that his plan would never have worked. Despite the pain that Anna has been put through tonight, he knows it has worked out better for the long run.
She nods her head, then tentatively snuggles up to him. He opens his arms and pulls her as close as her stomach will allow. Its warmth spreads to him. The baby – whatever the truth of the matter might be – needs to be their priority now. He pecks her forehead and then her mouth, his eyes roving over her.
"I'm sorry for not listening to you," he says. "For lying to you. You didn't deserve that."
"It's all right, John. I forgive you. You did what you did to protect me, and I have to love that. And if I'd known what you were planning to do…well, I would never have allowed you to get away with it. And then we wouldn't have the result we have now. I'm glad you did. Knowing that you were willing to get hurt to protect me…" Shaking, her fingers trace the marks on his face again, soft and probing. "I love you."
"I love you," he echoes. "Let's try and get some rest. We've got a strange week ahead of us."
She nods, running her hand through his hair. "And you're sure that you'll be all right if I sleep? You're not going to take a turn for the worse on me?"
He kisses her again. "I won't, I promise. And that's something I have no intention of breaking."
Satisfied, she settles back down, burrowing her head into his chest. The swell of her stomach lays against his side, and he move his arm around her, drawing her closer, resting it on her back. Though she tries to keep her eyes open, she is evidently exhausted by everything that has transpired, and her eyelids flutter. He brings his hand up and reaches for her left one, which rests on his stomach. She makes a muffled little sound as he fiddles with her wedding ring, and finally lets her eyes slide closed. In a matter of minutes, her breathing has deepened, blowing across his shirt. He cranes his head to take in the sight of her – dark lashes brushing her face, expression finally clear of worry – and feels his heart swell painfully in his chest.
Unbidden, Green's words resound in his head once more, and he buries his nose in his hair, making little choked sounds. The images of Anna struggling and crying are all that he can see. He can't bear to think on the rest. She looks so perfect, sleeping against him. Will he ever be able to look at her again without those thoughts being in the back of his mind, preying on the darkness there?
They have a long way to go before Anna will feel like she's healed. Perhaps she never will. Perhaps he never will. But he is determined to make her laugh and smile as much as possible, to give her all manner of reasons to look to the future and not dwell on the past. Only then will he have a hope of moving on. The other thing he has to do is pray that the child doesn't come along to undo everything. The thought of raising a child with the face of someone who had destroyed their lives makes his stomach curdle. There's no use denying it, he would struggle; he has no idea how Anna would cope.
Don't think about it. Not now. Not after today.
He shakes his head to clear it of those black thoughts, taking one last look at his wife before closing his eyes too. For now, everything is going to be all right.
He hopes that it always will be.