Mystery of Joy

Chapter 25: Evaporate

by Lynn Saunders

Round the cape of a sudden came the sea, and the sun looked over the mountain's rim: and straight was a path of gold for him, and the need of a world of men for me. - Robert Browning, Parting at Morning

April 1919

She happens upon him in the hallway, loitering just outside the large closet, and she flashes him a secret smile over the stack of perfectly creased and folded linens in her arms. He chivalrously opens the door, then slips inside behind her, pulling it closed softly as she puts the sheets away. She raises an eyebrow, turning to face him in the low light, and he hugs her fiercely. There's barely enough room for the both of them in the small space between the shelves and the door, but she doesn't care. She smiles up at her husband and kisses him soundly, sighing as his lips blaze a path to the delicate skin behind her ear. He's already working on the buttons at her collar, and he whispers her married name against her neck, teasing.

This is terribly inappropriate. The house is in mourning, and in another few hours, they'll walk somberly together to see young Lavinia laid to rest. Here in this moment, though, the tragedy of the day makes Anna selfish. She's alive and well, and they've wasted so much time already. It's been two long days since she last felt the singe of him against her bare skin, and she is terribly impatient to experience just that again. But this will do, she thinks happily. A hot and breathy fumble in the closet will have to suffice until the next time she can have him properly.

He catches her left hand in his, bringing the back of her ring finger to his lips. "I can't wait to see you wear it every day."

"Who says I don't wear it every day now?"

She gives him a sly grin and brings his hand up to brush her collar aside, revealing a simple gold chain. He traces its path from her collarbones to the place where it dips below the fabric of her dress, and she knows he's imagining her wedding band secured there, the delicate weight of it settling into the furrow between her breasts. "You naughty girl," he whispers. She takes him by his lapels and kisses him again.

Maybe we can visit the greenhouse, she thinks, remembering his breath hot in her ear amidst the sweet smell of hothouse flowers, the jostle of the worn workbench beneath her. Stargazing in the meadow is also an alluring possibility. No one has ever interrupted them there. She smiles against his lips, dreaming of endless summer evenings that will never be.

She watches as he's led away in shackles, the startlingly familiar pain of losing him blooming hot in her chest anew. For long moments, there's nothing but the twisting yaw and pitch of her grief, and then she suddenly becomes aware of the hallway full of servants, staring at her with mouths agape. Only then does she realize she's given the two of them away, that she has reaffirmed her vows and kissed him in front of everyone. She stands rigid and unmoving in the face of their shock, her head held high, rooted to the spot until Mrs. Hughes moves in to gently lead her away.

In the housekeeper's sitting room, Mr. Carson eyes her worriedly, and Mrs. Patmore brings tea and her favorite biscuits, but they go untouched. When Mrs. Hughes suggests they give her some privacy, she shakes her head numbly. It doesn't matter who knows now. She unclasps the chain at her neck, removing her ring and sliding it securely into its rightful place.

Mrs. Hughes exchanges a worried look with Mr. Carson, and Mrs. Patmore closes the door behind them. Anna takes a deep breath.

"We were married on Friday," she says. The others remain silent. She presses the fingers of her right hand to her temple until the tears that threaten are pushed resolutely back.

Mrs. Hughes looks as if she wants to speak but can't quite form the words. Anna meets her eyes and waits patiently for the housekeeper to find her voice.

"Was there… cause for haste?"

"No," Anna assures her, then she pauses, remembering that she can't be completely sure now. No, it's not possible. How often does a child result from one night together? Then again, theirs wasn't simply a single union, was it? She'd woken him deep in the night, and he'd loved her nearly until the sun threatened the horizon. She puts her head in her hands.

There's a tap at the door, and Lord Grantham steps into the room, offering the promise of his help and his solicitor. His eyes flick to her wedding ring, then away again.

Their marriage is not mentioned further. No congratulations are in order. She sighs and wonders if he's alright. He won't be able to use his cane, and the thought makes her head hurt. His limp had been so exaggerated when they'd led him away.

Somehow, she stays strong, resolutely refusing to be relieved of her duties for the day, heartsick as she is. It won't do to spend the afternoon crying alone in her room; that won't save him. She needs to keep busy. Deep down, try as she might to deny it, she's known this day would come. They both have, just not that it would be quite so soon.

She irons and folds, washes and sews, and when she's done with the needlework for the ladies, she takes down Lord Grantham's dinner jacket, coaxing a stubborn stain from the sleeve and replacing two of the buttons. All of the shoes in the boot room get a thorough polishing. Thankfully, Thomas and O'Brien keep a wide berth.

Later, she pushes her dinner around on the plate, the table cloaked in uncharacteristic silence, and she's relieved when Lady Mary rings early. She'll have something more to do. Mary's eyes are soft, and she hugs Anna, squeezing the hand where the golden band gleams bright. "How awful," she says. "It was all anyone spoke of at dinner."

Anna gives a polite nod, stepping back to hang up the discarded gown, and Mary's eyes follow her in the vanity mirror as she works.

In the evening, Mrs. Hughes escorts her to the men's corridor. "Keep your head up, my girl. You've a good man, and I'm sure in the end, justice will be served."

The housekeeper then silently stands guard in the hallway while Anna sees to his room. It smells of him, and it's not unlike his cramped living quarters above the pub in Kirkbymoorside. The thought makes her linger in the threshold for a moment. She recognizes the heavy brass candle holder immediately. A thick taper is anchored there, and wax has dripped and set around the rim, a relic of his late-night reading. His beloved books are scattered: Yeats at the bedside, Spenser and Frost tucked neatly onto the shelf above his dresser, and her Christmas gift to him, the little astronomy book, laid open on the modest desk. The shirt he wore to their wedding is hanging unlaundered with his waistcoat and tie in his wardrobe. She presses the collar to her nose, and tears spring to her eyes. In the coming months, she'll sleep with his shirt every night, even after she can no longer detect his scent on the well-loved fabric.

She moves about the room, tidying as she goes. She pauses as she strips the bed, finding yet another book hidden away under his pillow. It's Browning's Men and Women, and she lifts the cover as if she's unearthing something precious. Love Among the Ruins is tabbed, his favorite passages marked.

That a girl with eager eyes and yellow hair waits me there, in the turret whence the charioteers caught soul for the goal…

She manages a small smile and thumbs through the book. It falls open at the last poem, and she stops and stares at the words, her vision blurring as her eyes well over. Her tears will permanently mark the end of the fourth stanza, running the ink and mottling the page. She dries her eyes with his handkerchief and tucks the book into his drawer. It won't be brought out again until he's home and free, but the words will stay with her, even so.

And suddenly, as rare things will, it vanished.

* Anna and Bates marry on a Friday afternoon. Bates is arrested three days later, on Monday. For a full Mystery of Joy timeline, please visit lynnsaundersfanfic dot tumblr dot com backslash banna.

* Robert Browning's Men and Women, published in 1885, is the source for both of the poems referenced at the end. Love Among the Ruins is the first poem in the book, and One Word More is the last. Browning's poems Meeting at Night and Parting at Morning are used in the introduction of the past three chapters. These poems are from Bates' other Browning, Bells and Pomegranates. For a masterlist of literary works referenced in Mystery of Joy, please visit lynnsaundersfanfic dot tumblr dot com backslash banna.

* Beta for this series has been provided by terriejane, giginutshell, gelana78, and downtonluvr.

* My original plan for this series was that this would be the last chapter, and we'd have a post-prison epilogue, following Homecoming. I'm currently undecided. I don't want to muddy the waters with 18 months of prison angst, though. So, I suppose what I'm saying is that I'm open to suggestions/requests, within reason.

* I've been working to finish this series because of a handful of very dedicated readers. I don't want to try to list you all, but you know who you are. You give me feedback every time. If you're reading this and you love it, please let me know. Honestly, it will be instrumental in how I decide to handle the remaining chapters.