A/N: This chapter is a little more melancholic than I expected it to be, but I suppose that's what happens sometimes when you're writing - you never know quite which direction you're going to go in. Fret not - the fluff is still there!


Chapter 3

April 1926

It had been a beautiful morning, the sun shining high in a pastel-blue sky, patterned with trails of clouds that looked like wisps of fine lace. The picture had been a lovely one, at least in the few brief moments she had been able to stand still to look at it.

She had fretted about the timing for a good while, and hadn't stopped even today amidst the last bits of preparation. After all, it was customary for a child to be christened within six weeks of their birth. But John had gone back to work and she followed soon after, and she had somehow forgotten how easy it was to get caught up in marking out time depending on the lives of the Crawley family. The most important thing had been to get William settled into the normality of his parents' world, and even though he was such a good baby, they couldn't have been certain that there wouldn't be hiccups along the way.

People must have wondered if – never mind when – the poor child would be christened at all.

She had been rather amused when, after she had blathered on about the delay in proceedings and her feelings of guilt and even a slight degree of neglect, John had soothed her with one of his smiles which were much less rare nowadays, his hands gentle yet solid against her shoulders as he reminded her that they never were ones to do everything by the book. As his gaze warmed her as much as his touch did, memories flooded her mind – not all of them ones she wished to keep hold of, but thankfully over time the good had held far greater weight than the bad.

And at the end of them all they had been given their reward, whose loud and happy squeals brought her firmly back to the present.

Such occasions were also characterised by the presence of family, uniting through the joy of welcoming another member to the fold. She had hardly been as happy in her whole life as in the past few months – except for when hers and John's married life had properly begun in earnest – but the thought of having the christening had caused a melancholic kind of sadness to rise within her. It had only got more prominent when they had been able to confirm the date with the village vicar.

Mrs Patmore was the one to first mention the tradition of the shawl, letting her nostalgia flow as she held a mixing bowl as if it was her own precious bundle tight in her grasp. The one in her family had been as old as her great great grandmother, passed down to every babe for the day of their christening and some years given an especially good airing with the number of children born within the space of twelve months. As other members of staff shared fragments of their own histories, Anna remained quiet. Just happy to listen, it seemed.

It was Lady Mary who offered the use of the shawl belonging to the family, most recently used by Master George. Holding it as if it were some rare piece of treasure, its fine appearance rather deceptive – it could have been made of wool from the sheep she was used to chasing as a little one herself rather than any superior material, so soft and utterly comforting did it feel to her fingertips – she almost refused. She had asked far too much of her mistress already, and it should have been kept preserved for the new arrival that would be along before they all knew it. But as usual, Lady Mary would hear of no argument from her maid, threatening to have the item chauffeured along by special delivery to the Bateses' cottage if Anna would not take it home with her that same evening.

As she folded the shawl with care, placing it into a free drawer in their bedroom, her wistful thoughts settled firmly in one place. She had not seen her mother in some twenty-odd years. There had been a couple of clandestine visits in tea-shops shortly after she had been put into post at Downton Abbey, her mother hurrying on account of needing to be back home urgently, she always said. Of course, Anna knew it was down to that devil. How had her own mother – the flesh she was made from and whom she shared so many of her own traits with – become so blind? The letters which were fleeting at best came to a stop a year or so later. She had often thought about starting a correspondence again, especially in the hours of her most desperate need, but fear put up a barrier. How could she be certain that her mother was even still alive? The part of her that was content to cling to the past thought it better that she didn't know for sure. That she wasn't aware of her marriage, her promotion, the fact that she now had a family of her own – all the things she so dearly wanted to be able to share with her mother, to see her smiles and tears of joy at how her eldest daughter had thrived.

Perhaps it wouldn't have been that way at all, and so living with uncertainty was the greatest consolation.

She had been in closer contact with her sister since they were separated by her leaving home – Anna had wished she could pack Jenny into a bag with her, so frightened was she by the prospect of leaving her alone. It wasn't too long before she moved away too, finding work in a village shop. They had drifted since the end of the war, Jenny's grief at losing her husband consuming her. The last time she had seen her younger sister she had been pregnant with her second child, though her happiness at the prospect had been diminished by her husband's needless death. Anna remembered playing with the eldest in the front room of the tiny house, keeping him amused whilst Jenny went to distract herself for a few moments, the laughter coming from her nephew as she tickled him drowning out her sister's wails of sorrow.

She wouldn't have been entirely surprised if Jenny was no longer living either. There was something that told her that the silence had gone on too long, even if she could have done more from her own side to shorten it.

She kept the sunshine in mind as she went down the stairs, her hat in one hand and the shawl folded against the crook of her arm. The morning had gone by far too fast, but it had been nice to take advantage of it, both His Lordship and Lady Mary agreeing that the occasion called for a whole day of freedom rather than just the customary half-day. Anna was quite sure that none of the Crawley family would make an appearance at the church – she certainly wouldn't expect that to be the case – but there was to be a small gathering at the village hall afterwards. Even now she thought that using the hall was rather too presumptuous.

While she was sure she looked quite frazzled with all her to-ing and fro-ing – certainly, she would need to fix her hair before they headed to the church – John was the picture of leisure, legs stretched out in front of him where he sat on the settee. Although at the present moment he was occupied in the activity of hoisting William above his head, making their son appear like a rather big bird or alternatively a very small aeroplane.

"He'll be tired out before the service," she observed, leaning against the back of the settee once she had set the immaculate shawl down upon the table.

John angled his head somewhat awkwardly for a few seconds, not quite able to look at her but offering her a smile all the same. "That's the idea, my love. We might as well have our fun now while we can, eh Will?"

William offered an eager squeal in response, kicking one of his legs out into the air from his lofty position.

He was enjoying himself, and Anna couldn't help but grin, feeling that their son was going to be quite the little adventurer when he got older. She had more than glimpsed a new, carefree side to her husband as well, and felt rather unfair in interrupting their play.

"Here, let me have him while you go and get ready," she stretched her arms into the air, delighting in the familiar feel of William's warm and pudgy body held warm against her palms once more.

"I don't see what's wrong with this," he gestured with his open hands to his attire as he made to stand.

"John Bates!" she exclaimed. "You're in one of your house shirts, and I don't know if you've noticed, but that waistcoat has a stain on the left side. Hardly your Sunday best, fit for the church."

He ambled out from the settee, giving William a kiss on a chubby cheek whilst rubbing one palm against the small of her back.

"It's the honest picture of bringing up a baby," he said, the pride evident in his voice, "and I can't think of a better image to show to the world."

Her husband was never short of ways to melt her heart, and it was the sincerity of his tone coupled with the expression on his face as he gazed lovingly at the two of them that had her utterly hopeless for him once more. He wasn't a vain man but he was always meticulously turned-out, the model valet from the crown of his head to the shining tips of his shoes. Shirts and collars crisp, jackets brushed, not a hair out of place – which was sometimes to her disappointment, as she favoured him with looser locks. And clad in his undershirt and braces, come to think of it.

And yet with what he had just said, she could easily picture him walking off with the buttons on his jacket askew, shirt creased and rumpled from where William had clutched at it with his little fists, his hair meeting a similar fate.

His smile was wonderfully soft when his eyes met hers again, letting out a chuckle at William's wriggling in her arms, a curious hand reaching up closer towards her neatly-pinned bun.

"I'll go and spruce myself up," he leaned to kiss her cheek, gently lowering their son's hand away from being mere seconds away from tugging at his mother's hair. "Ah now, Will, be careful. Mummy has spent time making herself even prettier than usual."

"Later, sweet pea," she murmured against his baby hair, squeezing a foot into her palm and earning another delighted gurgle.

She shared a smile with John; they were trying hard themselves not to be fascinated and overjoyed with every little sound and action their darling boy made, but it was proving to be a hard task.

"He's fascinated with my hair at the moment. Even more than he is with Billy Bear; the poor thing's been quite forgotten about."

John's lips curved into a smirk, the kind that made her stomach flip over in the most pleasant of manners.

"Like father, like son," he rumbled, tapping a large finger against William's button nose, his amber-tinged irises fixed to her faintly blushing smile.

For the smallest of moments she had forgotten that they were due at the church within the hour, forgotten about everything except their son smiling and moving in her arms or that there was any need to do anything other than remain exactly where they were, just the three of them. These were her favourite kind of moments.

"It'll be a good day." His voice pulled her back to the current second, the present that came just after the present she was held within. "He'll have a lovely time."

She shook her head with a small waver. "He won't even remember it." She broke gaze with her husband to watch William, who was now taken with tracing his fingertips upon the pattern on her dress. "You won't, will you, baby? Like you won't remember your first birthday, or anything much for a little while."

He made a series of gurgles as if to question her statement, which made her smile despite herself.

"But we will," John stated, his hand touching just above her elbow. She remembered his gentle smile from years before, soothing her worries and bringing her back from the brink. "I know how important this is for you."

She gathered her thoughts while his hand settled, cupped over her shoulder. "I don't want it to be about showing off. Or even doing things properly, really."

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him bobbing his head in acknowledgement.

"I want him to have everything." If she were able, she would give the world on a plate to her sweetest boy. He seemed to be perfectly content in playing with a stray bit of cotton at this very moment in time, quite in opposition.

"Good memories."

John's voice went straight to her chest, causing an ache that resonated. She found herself holding onto William tighter as he rested his head in the crook of her neck, smoothing her hand over his still fine but silky hair.

Being certain that she was grounded in the present after all, swaying their baby gently in her arms, a smile broke onto her face.

"We've made a lot of those since you've come along, haven't we?" she spoke to William, hoisting him up higher.

His joyful squeals were an affirmation that every single minute that went by wrote over something from the past, made them victorious in living the life they had always dreamt of.

Warmth teemed from John's eyes, making her feel safe and loved and sure that everything in the world belonged to her.

"And I think we can stand to make many more yet," he concluded, saying what she felt before she could utter it herself.

The afternoon was more than good. After all the fun he had during the morning, William slept through the service and the all-important moment, but he perked up in time for the little party afterward. The hall was not half-full, and Anna thought again that the servants' hall probably would have been better. But it was nice to be in different surroundings, to see everyone in their own clothes and to feel a little bit freer. There were smiles and laughter, a toast to their family from Mr Carson – which made John look most humbled – and as was usual, William was the centre of attention, disrobed of the precious shawl which was well out of harm's reach.

As their son was passed from one pair of arms to another, as good as gold, Anna thought of them. Jenny, her eyes bright and brilliant-blue once more and not made grey with sorrow, laughing as she cuddled her nephew. Her mother looking on, holding her arms out to William too as happier tears filled her eyes.

The image faded almost as quickly as she had imagined it, and with a wistful sigh she let it go. Perhaps not forever, but she had the family she had made with her to enjoy their day. All she would ever need.

John's arms were around her waist, the show of public affection permitted whilst everyone else was absorbed with the apple of their eyes. She leant back into his frame, smiled as he placed a kiss by her ear.

"Did you know, Mrs Bates," he whispered, with enough sweetness to make her drift, "that there's something about you right now?"

She grinned, a memory almost completely replicated from its origins forming in her mind.

"Well, there's definitely something about you, Mr Bates." The smile wouldn't leave her face as she noted how both Mr Molesley and Miss Baxter were holding William upright between them, watching their boy keenly. "And I think everyone here can see it."