CHAPTER 106, ANNA

The next morning

Tourist Third Promenade Deck
RMS Olympic

It was a bracing morning on deck, but Anna felt cosy under the rug Bates had secured about her legs. She gazed lazily at the ocean as her husband took up residence in the neighbouring deck chair. Thomas had promised to keep the children occupied that morning, so the unencumbered couple sat with books on their laps – Marriage and Morals for her, its title prudently obscured by a scarf, and Anatomy and Drawing for him. Anna felt like a queen on royal holiday. She had no employer or clients to please and no duties to perform. "Do you think Thomas will survive a morning alone with our little scamps?"

"The Pied Piper of Downton? You can count on it." Bates felt his pockets and produced his reading glasses. "Let the children exhaust him, Anna. He'll sleep better."

Anna watched as Bates cleaned his glasses with the extra handkerchief he carried for that purpose. He checked the point on his pencil and opened his sketchpad, holding it against his chest until he found the place he had marked in his book. The book was a farewell gift from an artist her husband had met during his time in Paris. Anna sometimes found Bates rereading the inscription.


You're no Chagall, thank god. We already have one of him.
Let's see what this Bates fellow is about.

Warmest regards,
Ella


Only a few weeks earlier, Ella had moved back to England, bag and baggage, paints and paintbrushes, claiming that the City of Lights had lost its sparkle and was suitable only for American tourists escaping Prohibition. Bates said that it was a shame she should return just as their little tribe was preparing to leave. In fact, he spent so many hours with the old woman during those last weeks that Anna was dangerously close to jealousy. Wisely, she held her tongue.

Anna smiled as Bates pondered one of the book's peculiar illustrations. She had always thought of her husband as virile, but he was particularly dashing this morning in his new clothes. Perhaps, we'll sail again someday with a cabin all to ourselves. She closed her eyes. She was not yet in the mood to relinquish her thoughts to a book. Her brain was on holiday, too, and deserved a chance to dawdle where it would. She pictured herself and Bates as a soigné couple traveling first class. She giggled at the image of them clinging to their bed at night while being tossed about their cabin on the high seas.

"A penny for your thoughts."

Anna squinted open one eye and closed it again. "Keep your penny, Mr Bates. You haven't the price."

"Perhaps we can strike a bargain, Mrs Bates."

"Not today, Mr Bates. I'm on holiday."

Anna warmed to the sound of her husband's soft chuckle. What a perfect day ... the other passengers failed to recognize her and left her in peace. Anna knew there was nothing striking about her appearance. She was an ordinarily attractive woman among other ordinarily attractive women when she was not wearing her uniform, as Gladys Cooper had christened the outfit she helped to create – the outfit that said, I am Anna, I am an artist, and you will be admired if I honour you with one of my designs.

Anna remembered how ridiculous she had felt the first time she modelled the uniform for Bates and Thomas in the privacy of the cottage. She had never worn trousers in her life, but there she stood in the things – bright blue with a matching waistcoat, a cream-coloured blouse with a wide collar and low-cut v-neckline, low-cut for her at least, from which hung a long, narrow silk scarf knotted to suggest a man's tie. The scarf had a delicate butterfly print, and Anna considered it to be good luck because it was a gift from Cooper.

Thomas circled about inspecting every detail. He stopped briefly to smooth her collar. "Perfect," he decreed.

Clearly Bates was puzzled. "I don't understand, Anna. Do you expect women to come to you for trousers?"

Anna had not thought how to explain her new image, but Thomas was prepared to defend her. "You know better than that, John. Have you ever seen trousers in one of Anna's designs?"

"Then why wear them?"

"She can't wear the clothes she designs for other women. They'd see her as a rival!"

"So she dresses like a man?"

"Not like a man, John. Like a woman who doesn't need a man's approval. Like a woman who knows who she is ... with just enough devil-may-care in her to attract the interest of women who want to be a bit daring themselves."

Anna was relieved. "Thank you, Pooh. I couldn't have said it better myself."

"No jacket?" asked Bates.

"I tried a few, but Gladys says a jacket overwhelms me because I'm so small."

Thomas nodded. "Glads has a good eye. You're right to trust her." He nudged Bates with his elbow. "What do you say, John?"

"Yes, Mr Bates. What do you say?"

Bates tapped his chin. "So this is what you're going to wear to Paris?"

"That's the plan."

"Are you comfortable in these clothes, Mrs Bates?"

"Yes. No. But I will be."

"I thought as much. At least the scarf is feminine. And the whole thing is modest enough. It is modest, isn't it, Pooh?"

"Certainly. Is that all you have to say, you old goat?"

"No." Bates took Anna's hand. "Everyone will know you wear the breeches in the family, Mrs Bates."

"Do you object, Mr Bates?"

"No ... not as long as I don't have to wear a dress."

"Not this season," quipped Thomas.

"Please, Thomas, don't help me," joked Anna, and the three had a good laugh.

Anna could count on Thomas to understand. Her husband wanted her to be content, hoped she would be content, but it was Thomas who championed her dreams. It was Thomas who had arranged for her to meet Cooper, and the two hard-working women quickly became friends. Anna knew she could count on Cooper to provide insightful critiques of her designs, and Cooper knew she could count on Anna to unravel the mysteries of upper-class etiquette when she was courted by, and eventually wedded to, Sir Neville Pearson.

Cooper, in turn, introduced Anna to a young designer, Norman Hartnell, who rented a studio in the same building where Cooper was leasing space for her beauty business. Hartnell did not consider Anna's day dresses and suits to be in competition with his gowns, but he was not dismissive. Rather the soft-spoken man seemed flattered by Anna's questions and impressed by her designs that boasted higher waists and curvier silhouettes than were currently in fashion. Hartnell permitted his fitter, Germaine Davide, whom everyone called Mam'selle, to instruct Anna in the finer points of measurement. Encouraged by Cooper and Hartnell, Anna completed a series of dressmaking courses from the Woman's Institute of Domestic Arts & Sciences, an American school in Scranton, Pennsylvania, that offered correspondence courses. The pattern drafting course, in particular, was a godsend.

Anna stretched her legs under the rug and turned to watch Bates as he tried to copy one of the book's illustrations from memory. A breeze dropped his hair over his eyes, and he absently batted it away. She smiled as she recalled another breezy morning when she first wore the trousers in public – the morning she was waiting for the train to London to meet Hartnell. The two were travelling together to Paris where Anna would show her small day collection as a prelude to Hartnell's gowns. Bates and Thomas waited with her on the platform clutching their hats against the breeze. Suddenly Thomas fixed a critical eye on her. "Something's not quite right, Anna."

"What? What is it?" Anna demanded in a panic.

"It's your hat."

"My hat? What's wrong with it?" Anna touched the miniature hunter's fedora to see if the wind had pushed it askew.

"It needs a brooch to hold the feather."

"Is that all? There's nothing I can do about that now."

"But there's something I can do about it." Thomas pulled a glittering brooch from his pocket. It was a blue strawberry.

Anna was stunned. "It's glorious, Pooh, but please tell me it's an imitation."

"I'll tell you no such thing. It's a gift from me to you. I've been waiting a long time for the right moment to give it to you." Thomas carefully pinned the brooch to Anna's hat and kissed her cheek. "Strawberries, Anna. I'm proud of you."

"Strawberries, Pooh. No, wait ... Pooh, it's too much."

"No it isn't. It's exactly the right amount. Tell her John."

"You heard him, Anna." Bates leaned close to Anna's ear as the train approached. "Thomas says that if I let you go, you'll be happy to come home to me. Not that I could keep you from going ..."

"Thomas is a wise man," Anna assured her husband. And two days later, she was happy to return – happy and even a bit hopeful. A buyer from Harrods had attended the Paris show and expressed interest in the pastel tweed that Anna named Lady Lion. Even so, Anna was astounded a few days later when Lady Grantham summoned her to the library where she was sitting with the Dowager, Lady Mary, and her copy of The Tattler. She opened the pages to a photo of Anna in her trousers standing next to one of the models Hartnell had hired, Gallia. Gallia was an arrogant shrew of a woman who smoked too much and pretended not to understand English, but she knew her business and wore the tweed with an easy sophistication. Lady Grantham insisted that Anna read the photo's caption aloud.


Last Friday, pixie designer, Anna Bates, presented to the international press in Paris a tweedy confection (yes, those words can be used together) dubbed Lady Lion, conceived for the woman who wants to be taken seriously without forfeiting her femininity.


Lady Grantham congratulated her, and the Dowager asked who was the little man in the photo. Lady Mary was silent. Anna excused herself, and Lady Mary followed her into the corridor. "It won't be long now, will it?"

"Milady?"

"You'll be moving on soon."

"We've never kept it a secret from you, Milady," Anna replied quietly.

"I know, but it never seemed real until now. It won't be easy."

"I promise I won't leave until you have a proper replacement for me."

"You know that's not what I mean, Anna."

"I know, but ... I'm afraid I'll ..."

"Quite right. I'll see you when the dressing gong sounds."

"Yes, Milady."

The next morning at breakfast, a telegram arrived from Cooper.


HEAR THE LADY LION ROAR


Anna was brought back to the present by her son shouting in her ear, "Mum! Mummy! I have American friends!"

Thomas appeared at the foot of Anna's deck chair. He was panting and holding a giggling Emilia under his arm. "Sorry, Anna. They took off in separate directions."

Anna laughed. "You don't have to tell me."

"Mum, they have different names in America!"

"Different from what?"

"Timothy is a stuck up name! I have to be Tim or Timmy."

Bates set down his sketchpad. "Tim is a man's name, son, but we'll call you Timmy if you like."

"And I'm too old to call you Daddy!"

Anna straightened Timothy's shirt. "Good heavens! What do American boys call their daddies?"

"Pop!" Timothy began to hop about Anna's deck chair. "Pop, Pop, Pop, Pop, Pop! And it's not Mum. It's Mahhhhhhhm!"

"I don't know if I can remember all that, young man," teased Bates. "Perhaps I'm not cut out for America."

"Sure you are, Pop. I'll help you. Let's go, Uncle Pooh! Joey's going to show us his yo-yo!"

"Timothy! Timmy! Wait!" Thomas dashed off with Emilia still tucked under his arm.

Anna heard Emilia demand, "What's my American name?" as they turned and disappeared.

Bates stood up and stretched his legs. "Perhaps Thomas could use some help."

Anna waggled her finger. "You can't fool me, John Bates. You want to see the yo-yo."

Bates' eyes crinkled as he took hold of Old Ram. "Do you need anything, macushla?"

"Not a thing. Go and enjoy your holiday, Mr Bates."

Anna watched Bates trail after Thomas and the children until he turned out-of-sight. Three years of swimming every summer and applying himself to the tenets of physical culture had improved his posture, narrowed his waist, and lengthened his stride. He still needed Old Ram but leaned on the stick a bit less. Anna chuckled when she remembered how she, Lady Mary, and Dr Clarkson had conspired to improve the health of her husband and Lord Grantham. They convinced the two aging men that the health of the other was in decline. Out of concern for Bates, Lord Grantham converted the old, abandoned gardener's cottage on the estate into a simple gymnasium, equipped with India clubs, a rowing machine, and other modern apparatus. The two men exercised together most days, each thinking he was there for the other's benefit.

Anna's thoughts continued to drift here and there and eventually fell on the book in her lap. She had first learned of Bertrand Russell's latest manifesto at the farewell party Novello threw for them only two days before. That cheeky friend of Novello's, Noël Coward, was there and tried to shock partygoers by quoting Russell's text. Alas for him, it was not an easily-offended crowd. When Anna happened upon the same volume in the ship's library, she thought that someone must have left it as a jest. Surely the White Star Line would not promote a book about sex on its ships. Still, her curiosity got the better of her, and after a quick glance about to be certain no one was watching, she plucked the book from its shelf, covered it with the scarf she was wearing about her neck, and strolled away.

Anna scouted a private spot to examine her plunder, but Bates found her, and she tucked the book away in her bag. After tea with the family, Anna made her excuses and stole away to the cabin where she began reading in her bunk. Immediately, she found herself offended by what she took to be the author's superior tone. But his story of Trobriand Islanders intrigued her. According to Russell, the islanders made no biological connection between sex and fatherhood but believed that children were inserted into their mothers by spirits. Could it be true that these island men loved their wives' children with no concern as to their paternity? In England, paternity was everything. Anna continued to read, page after page, chapter after chapter, accepting the challenge of each new provocation and holding a private dialogue with Bertie within the confines of her mind.

Now Anna picked up the book anew. She flipped the pages to the tea menu that marked her place: Chapter 7, The Taboo on Sex Knowledge. The text unsettled her. It never occurred to Anna that she and Bates would be obliged to educate their children on the subject of sex. Her mother certainly had never educated her! It was only because of the illuminating stories of one well-informed childhood acquaintance that Anna knew to fend off her stepfather that dreadful night he threatened her budding virtue. She could still picture the man's drunken leer. But that won't happen to our children, Bertie, she insisted. We're going to protect them!

She set down the book and pondered the problem. Perhaps Bertie was right. Perhaps if she had not been raised to believe that sex was an unladylike topic ...

She recalled one peculiar evening when she was still pregnant with Emilia and confined to the cottage. It must have been before Thomas' breakdown. Those were tiresome days. On top of everything else, she and Bates had been abstaining because of her difficult condition. He never complained, of course, but she could guess how he must have felt. On that particular evening, Bates arrived home earlier than usual.

"Where's Thomas? I thought he was joining us."

"He'll come later with the hamper."

Anna continued her mending as she watched Bates wander aimlessly about the parlour, picking up this or that and setting it down again. "Is something wrong?"

"No. Well, yes. I mean nothing's wrong, but I'd like to talk."

Anna remembered laughing. "John Bates, what have you done?"

Bates smiled. "Me? I'm as innocent as a lamb." He sat on the sofa and patted his lap. "I miss you when you're home all day."

Anna left her sewing and sat on her husband's lap. She liked nothing better than to feel his arms about her after a long, lonesome day.

Bates sighed deeply before speaking in his habitually mild tone. "Anna, you know that you make me happy, don't you?"

"Then all's well with the world."

"Not quite, macushla."

"No?"

"I'm afraid you've been a better wife than I've been a husband."

An uncomfortable foreboding crept up Anna's spine, but she kept her manner light. "You sound as though you're about to confess."

"Confess?"

"Mr Bates, are you in love with another woman?"

"God forbid."

Anna dropped her head to Bates' chest. "What then?"

Bates stroked Anna's hair. She had been in the habit of wearing it loose during her confinement. "I'm talking about that which makes us husband and wife."

"What?"

"In the bedroom, Anna. I know it's something we don't discuss ..."

"No, we don't."

"Anna, I've failed you, and I want to make it right."

"John, I don't have the vaguest notion of what you're saying!"

"Don't be upset, my darling." Bates lifted Anna's chin and pressed his cheek lightly to hers. "I love you, Anna. In our bed, you bring me fulfilment. And what do I do for you?"

Anna was shocked. "You do what you're supposed to do! Aren't I about to have our second child?"

"That's not what I mean, Anna. I mean ... I want you to feel pleasure when we're together," Bates declared firmly.

"John! You and I don't talk about such things."

"But we should, Anna. I'm you're husband. There's nothing you can't say to me."

"John, I am not a wanton woman."

Bates leaned back against the sofa and lightly touched Anna's nose. "Am I so hopeless a case? Am I that caveman you speak of?"

"One time, John. I made that joke one time, and I wasn't speaking of that."

"Anna, a husband and wife are meant to be one person. How can we unite if I'm not a proper husband to you?"

"John, whatever gave you such an idea?"

"Thomas wants to be a good husband to Minnie."

"Good for him. What does that have to do with us?"

"He showed me a book."

"A book?"

"A Stopes book."

"Oh dear!"

"It's 1927, Anna. Haven't you heard? Women are entitled to pleasure, the same as men."

"No, I hadn't heard." The two laughed together now. Anna thought how difficult it must have been for her husband to raise the subject. "John ..."

"Yes, my darling?"

"It means a great deal to me that you want to please me."

"Does it?" Bates brushed Anna's hair aside and nibbled her neck in that way of his, sending delightful waves of electricity through her body.

"Yes."

Bates embraced Anna more firmly and rested his cheek against her hair. "I won't push you, my darling."

"Thank you."

"Perhaps it's natural that women know how to please men, while men are clumsy ... giraffes."

"Giraffes, Mr Bates?"

"There, you see! Something only a clumsy giraffe would say."

Anna nuzzled closer. "That's silly."

"No, Anna, it's true. How is it that you always know what I want, but I never have the slightest clue what would please you?"

"Are we still talking about the bedroom?"

"I'm afraid so."

Anna could not help but laugh. "Do you truly not know?"

"Know what?"

"Your noises!" Anna blurted out. "Your moans and your little grunts! That's how I know."

"Oh!"

"I'm sorry, John. I didn't mean to ... men make noises, and women don't."

Bates wound Anna's hair about his finger as he liked to do. "Not this woman, anyway."

"It's not ladylike, Mr Bates."

"Perhaps it's not ladylike, but perhaps it's wife-like."

"That's an interesting distinction."

"I'm not asking you to make noises, Anna. I'm only asking ... never mind. I promised not to push."

"You're only asking me to tell you what I want."

"Tell me ... or show me."

"John!"

"Tell me, then ... when the time comes."

"That's weeks away."

"Think about it, Anna. That's all I ask. I won't mention it again."

Anna could not love her husband more for how he felt but knew she could not oblige. She had been raised at a time when a decent woman did not have thoughts about carnal pleasure, let alone voice them to a man, even if that man was her husband.

Bates was in Paris when the prescribed waiting period after Emilia's birth expired. When he returned to London, he was too exhausted to do more that first night than listen to Anna's career plans and fall into a deep sleep. The next night, Anna was already in bed when Bates returned to their cramped room. He chuckled as he perched at the edge of her narrow iron bed wearing only his underclothes. "A sorry night to find ourselves at Grantham House."

"We can manage."

Bates chuckled again. "That's right. We're English. We'll make the best of it." He gave Anna a tender kiss that first turned passionate and then ceased altogether. "What is it, Anna?" he asked as he ran his fingers lightly along the side of her neck.

"What do you mean?"

"You're tense." Bates sat up. "I can wait if you're not fully recovered. Do you need to see the doctor first?"

"I'm recovered, John, but ... I can't do what you asked."

"What?"

"I can't talk about the bedroom."

"You're certain?"

Anna nodded.

"I promised not to push, didn't I?"

Anna nodded again.

"Right."

Anna smiled sheepishly. "Aren't we a pair?"

Bates draped his chest over Anna and kissed her cheek, her neck, her ear. He sat up and ran his fingers over hers. "Am I forgiven?"

"For what? For wanting to please me?"

"For pushing."

"You didn't push."

Bates lifted Anna's hand to his lips and kissed her palm. "Goodnight, my darling."

"I didn't mean for you to go, Mr Bates."

Bates remained in Anna's bed and made love to her much as he always did, and Anna was content. Yet, when he repeated the ritual a couple of nights later, Anna impulsively took his hand and move it slightly. "There, John." Bates lifted his head for a moment and then understood. He said nothing but proved himself a good student when he remembered the correction a few nights later. As the weeks and months passed, Anna continued to offer her husband discreet guidance every now and then. Eventually the night came when she was the one to nudge the other after the two had settled down for the night.

"Emilia has her American name."

Anna looked up to see Bates settling back into his chair. "That didn't take long."

"She asked the opinion of every passenger who would listen."

Anna could imagine her tireless little girl tugging on every sleeve within reach. "What was the outcome?"

"Millie."

"Millie?" Anna smiled. "I like it."

"It's short and sweet, just like her ... just like her mother."

"Mr Bates, are you flirting with me?"

"I never flirt with pretty, young women. I'm a married man."

"An excellent answer."

"I thought so." Bates opened his sketchpad and book.

Anna watched as her husband pored over a new illustration on the next page and unconsciously pressed his pencil against his lips. That pencil is having more of him than I will on this ship!

Bates looked up. "Why Mrs Bates, the look you're giving me. You make me blush."