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May 1920

He waited impatiently, his heart pounding in his chest. She had forgiven him, her letters told him that; she still loved him, she hadn't given up on him. But would she be angry? He didn't want to tell her what had happened, didn't want to worry her with the details or give her another burden by telling her what an enemy he had made … but would he be able to avoid it?

At last, there she was, her little face beaming under her hat, lace and embroidery and bright colors under her coat. Anna to a T, and even more beautiful than he had remembered.

"My God, you're lovely," he said huskily, not at all ashamed to have tears in his eyes, because there were tears in hers, too.

"So are you. The finest sight I've seen in far too long."

It was ridiculous, of course—he was no treat to look at in the best of times. But in her eyes, he would be whatever she wished. How he wanted to hold her, to take her in his arms and kiss her and hold her hand. Standing here devouring her with his eyes was a poor substitute for touching her, very poor indeed.

Anna sank into a seat first. "Tell me. Everything."

He took his seat as well. "Nothing to tell. I was afraid—I thought …" He didn't want to tell her how quickly he had doubted her.

But Anna's cheeks were pink, and she ducked her head. "I did, too. Forgive me, John. I thought—I thought you were being gallant, and …"

"No," he said firmly. "That's done. For good. You're stuck with me, Mrs. Bates." He smiled at her, glad that if they were going to have had doubts about each other, at least they had had them together.

She returned his smile. "And you with me, Mr. Bates." Leaning across the table as far as she dared, she said, "Did you get my letter?"

"About Mrs. Bartlett? Yes. Does she know anything more?"

"I don't know. I was afraid to ask too much and make her suspicious. John … what happened here? With the letters, and the visits?"

"Oh, I don't know. Something ridiculous," he said dismissively.

"But I don't understand," Anna persisted. "Why was I kept away from you until now?"

"It doesn't matter; whatever the reason, it's over. The point is that someone has to question Mrs. Bartlett," he added, hoping to distract her from the missing letters and denied visits without having to go into more detail than she needed to know. "You wrote and said she saw Vera on the evening of the day of her death."

Anna looked at him, and he thought she had seen through him, but slowly she nodded. "That's right," she said. "She went for a walk … the door was open, and she went in."

"And she saw Vera scrubbing pastry from under her nails." Pastry. The arsenic had been in the pastry, they said. If Vera had pastry under her nails …

"I wrote that because it was such a strange detail for her to remember."

He wondered that Anna hadn't seen the connection sooner. Usually she was miles ahead of him. "She was making the pie that she ate that night when I was on the train back to Downton."

Anna looked at him, the understanding dawning in her eyes. "So Vera planned this? She meant for you to be imprisoned. She meant for you to be hanged for your suicide." Her voice was thinning and cracking as she worked her way through the implications to the realization Bates had come to long ago. "It was her revenge."

"And what a revenge. For both of us." He had to hand it to Vera, it had all worked out just like she planned. He imagined she had even predicted he wouldn't hang, that he would live his life out in prison unable to touch the woman he loved. Had Vera really loved him that much? Why had it been worth it to her to lose her life just to ruin his? He would never know.

"But … but they'll say you … you poisoned the milk, or … the-the flour or something, to catch her after you'd gone."

"They tested everything in the kitchen. They said it was in the pastry, where I couldn't have put it." Why they had imagined he would have been making a pie in his estranged wife's kitchen in the first place, he had no idea.

Anna sat back, practically growling with anger. "Oh, I hope she's burning in hell."

"Don't go down that road. Once you do, there's no way off it." He watched her, watched his strong, beautiful Anna pull herself back from the brink of the rage, and he smiled, so proud of her.

She smiled back. "I can't believe we finally have proof. Real proof."

"Maybe. There's no guarantee she'll tell what she knows to anyone who can do anything about it." He was cautioning himself as much as he was her; for the first time, he saw a break in the gloom, a chance to be outside these bars and be a real man again. And all because of Anna. "God, I love you."

"I love you, too, John. So much. I promise, I won't rest until I see this through."

"I know you won't. I don't know what I would do without you."

"You will never have to find out."