Anna awoke as the sun peeked over the hedges. She looked over at John. He was still asleep but had pulled the blanket tightly around him. She got up and walked over to the dilapidated gardener's shed. She remembered an old water pump near the shed and wondered if it still worked. Inside the shed she found a mostly clean ceramic mug and rubbed the dust off with the hem of her dress. Going back outside, she picked up a bucket filled with rainwater. Using the rainwater to prime the water pump, she pulled and pushed at the handle until it sputtered to life and clean water began to pour out. She filled the mug. She knew John would need it.
Walking back to the bench, she sat and looked at John. She smoothed his hair and kissed him on the forehead. "I'm so so sorry" she whispered to him. He murmured in his sleep and she began to cry.
John awoke slowly. When he opened his eyes, blinking, it took him a moment to remember where he was. To remember the night before. He remembered reading the letters. He didn't remember anything after that. He groaned before he realized Anna was sitting next to him. Stopping mid-groan, he stared at her for a moment, then looked back to the sky. Neither said anything. After a few minutes, he turned and sat up. The movement made his head throb. Anna held a mug of water out to him. He looked at the mug, then abruptly staggered away and vomited in the bushes.
Wiping his face with his handkerchief, he sat back down heavily. He took the mug from Anna and took a sip. He looked unsure whether he would be able to keep it down. They sat like that for a while, in silence. Anna looked at John, John stared at the ground.
After a while, John stood up. Handing him his cane, Anna gave him a pleading look. "Can we please talk about this?"
He looked at her with no expression and walked away.
John's drinking continued. Not at work, not during the day. But at night when he and Anna got back to the cottage, he would resume. She realized he was using it to avoid her. For a few days he said nothing to her at all, except for a few perfunctory responses in the servants hall where his silence would have been noted by the others. They had always refrained from being emotional or physically affectionate at work, so it did not seem overly out of the ordinary. The ones who knew them best, however, noticed. Mrs. Hughes could tell that Anna was upset. Thomas noted that Bates was more distant even than usual, which was saying a lot for the man. He was curious.
She wished he would say something. Anything. She wished he would be angry with her, yell at her, curse her, scream at her that she had betrayed him. What he was instead was worse. She was terrified. His silence continued.
A few days later she found another letter from Timothy. She put it in her pocket. When they got home she pulled it out and handed it to John, unopened. "I found this today. In the laundry." He stared at the note in his hand. She waited for him to say something. Instead, he turned and dropped the envelope on top of the pile of letters. They were still sitting on the kitchen table. Anna had thought she might make things worse if she did anything with them and John had left them there. She saw him looking at them sometimes. Not opening them, just staring at the pile. It was her scarlet letter.
"Please tell me what to do." Her eyes were pleading, filled with tears. "About Timothy, what do you want me to…" At the sound of his name he suddenly shot her a look. She tried to read his face. She couldn't. He wasn't angry. He wasn't upset. He just looked at her with wide, vacant eyes.
She sighed and looked at the floor. John walked past her and uncorked the whiskey.
This went on. Every time she found a letter, she would give it to John, unopened. He would add it to the pile. She didn't know, but he would check each day to make sure she hadn't opened the new letters. They all remained sealed.
She didn't know what to do. She had hissed at Timothy in the servants' hall to stop writing her letters, but he had ignored her and they kept appearing. She was so overwhelmingly embarrassed that she had allowed it to continue as long as it did, she didn't want to tell anyone, particularly Mrs. Hughes or Carson. She desperately wished John would tell her what he wanted her to do, but he wasn't speaking to her. If he had told her to confess, she would have, in an instant. But every time she tried to talk to him, to ask him, to plead with him, he told her nothing. She gave him every new letter, he knew they were still coming. But he wouldn't tell her what to do.
When they were alone, Anna begged him to talk to her. The first morning, after they slept on the bench in the garden, she had followed John back to the cottage, begging her excuses at him. "I never loved him! I didn't even like him! I don't know why he wrote to me! I never wrote him back, never." At that John had stopped and stared at her for a moment. She was out of breath.
She continued. "There was nothing, nothing between us ever. I told you everything! I told you I told him to leave me alone." John looked away from her then and continued up the path.
Mrs. Hughes peeked into Lady Mary's bedroom. Anna was making up the bed. Her eyes were red and swollen as she pulled the sheets tight. Mrs. Hughes stepped in.
Anna looked startled. She straightened quickly and tried to wipe her eyes with her hand, but the redness could not be wiped away. Mrs. Hughes looked at her kindly. She thought of Anna as a daughter, of sorts. She crossed to Anna until they were standing together. She spoke softly. "I hope you know that you can talk to me." Anna sniffled. "Is everything alright?"
Anna broke into a sob. She fell into Mrs. Hughes' embrace. Elsie let her sob there for a moment, the two women standing together, Anna's head against her shoulder. She held her tightly and felt her chest heave up and down.
"What happened?" Mrs. Hughes looked at Anna tenderly.
"It's my fault." Anna started.
Mrs. Hughes looked incredulous for a second. "I'm sure it's not."
"No. It is." Anna looked down at her hands.
Growing more concerned, Mrs. Hughes leaned toward Anna. They were sitting at Lady Mary's dressing table. She placed her hand over Anna's.
Anna looked up at her. Mrs. Hughes looked at her imploringly, but patiently. Anna let out a deep breath and told her everything.
Carson walked over to Elsie in the servants' hall. The staff was beginning to scatter for evening duties. She had given the maids their assignments and the footmen were readying for dinner. It was a time when they both usually gathered by the board together to oversee and be ready for any inquiries that the staff had. He stood slightly closer to her than he used to, but he didn't think anyone noticed.
She looked troubled. He frowned at her but she did not meet his eye. Too many people still bustling around the servants' hall. He would ask her later. He smiled to himself, but did not show it. After they had kissed in the wine cellar… well, more than kissed, really. It had turned into a bit of a young person's groping session, to be honest. He remembered with a smile. Things had progressed rather quickly. Elsie confessed to loving him back and, well, they were both older so pregnancy was not an issue. It gave them a certain freedom. Which he was very much pleased to learn that Elsie was as enthusiastic about as he was.
Bending down slightly, he whispered to her. "Will I see you tonight?"
"Yes." She murmured just loud enough for him to hear.
That was all he needed for the time being. He strode off to attend to dinner.
After all the staff had gone to bed, Charles absentmindedly looked at is book and waited for her. It didn't take long. She opened his door quietly, sliding in and closing it softly behind her. She was wearing her nightgown and robe. He admired her for a moment, a small smile playing at his lips. He looked at her eyes, the trouble was still there.
Before this night, every time she had come to him they had been hurried. Always worried about being discovered by other staff, their lovemaking was rushed, quiet. It was extraordinarily passionate between them, but they had to be discreet. Still, he was ecstatic. He felt happy and fortunate. Sometimes it physically took all of his self-control not to wrap his arms around her when they stood near each other at work.
Tonight, something else seemed more important. Her pained expression concerned him. He sat up. "What is it?" He asked her, gently. He sensed that this was not about him.
Elsie gave him a tender look, but it was laced with sadness. "I promised not to tell."
He watched her face. She was obviously puzzling over something, something she was unsure about, and was debating whether to tell him. Her eyebrows were knitted together and she was gently biting on her lip.
He thought about his words carefully. "I'm not your husband, but some day I hope to be." He paused, still looking at her. "In which case, I wish that you would know that you can tell me whatever is on your mind, always."
God, she loved him. She smiled at him, with a hint of sadness that had nothing to do with him and everything to do with Anna. She took off her robe and laid down on the bed, folding herself into his arms. She told him about Timothy's letters.