His stick was leant up against the wall, just within reach of where he sat comfortably and contented at the end of the settee, but deliberately kept out of sight so he could delude himself for an evening that he was as full of vitality as he wished to be. John often thought back to how he'd been before war had robbed him of his agility. He'd been so strong, athletic, outrunning his schoolmates as they dashed down the back alleys at their end of town, escaping the wrath of those they'd tricked. Knock Knock Ginger has been their favourite game which required a flight of foot to escape punishment and had boasted with pride that he'd never to have been caught.
He'd kissed his son goodnight and waved as Anna had lifted the child up into her arms to carry him to bed. Johnny was more than capable of climbing the stairs himself but she'd sworn to snuggle him to her as long as he was light enough for her to lift. The sleepy smile and wave over her shoulder as they disappeared up the stairs was, he imagined, enough to warm him forever more. He was blessed, that was for certain. Whilst he waited for her return he moved to lay the fire in case it was needed, kindling set over yesterday's crumpled newspaper, a few of the pine cones gathered last winter for good measure, and then the thinner of the logs from the basket. Their cottage was warm enough but he knew Anna felt the cold more keenly than he did and although his preference would always be for a shared blanket over their knees and the ensuing closeness that would require, she'd been known to opt for the searing heat that only a decent fire in the crate could deliver.
He struggled back onto his feet, the mantlepiece a useful support as he shuffled back to where he'd been sitting, but not before the lingering thought of what they could get up under a blanket was further indulged, the tartan rug that was usually tidied away into the sideboard cupboard collected and neatly folded over the back of the chair, ready to be pressed into service should his wife would allow it. At 61 he had to admit that he couldn't keep up with her and the boy in quite the way he would like, but that didn't preclude him from having just a few tricks up his sleeve that he knew would persuade her that there was life in the old dog yet. And a blanket could come in very handy when it came to that kind of thing.
He still had a few moments more to himself before she'd appear, her own smile bearing down on him loaded, no doubt, with an observation she'd be keen to share. He sat quietly, a wry smile on his lips as he contemplated delightful thoughts of the potential of the evening ahead, the sweet notes of her lullaby drifting back to him, the same one she'd sung each and every night since their son arrived into the world.
"What are you looking so pleased about, Mr Bates?" she asked as she entered, closing the door softly behind her but leaving it open enough so they could hear Johnny if he called out.
"Just my beautiful wife," he remarked, beckoning for her to sit, enjoying her tired sigh as she collapsed alongside him, her head finding his chest on which to lean.
He placed a kiss on the crown of her head as he wrapped an arm tightly around her waist, his hand teasingly coming to rest on the curve of her hip, his thumb beginning to move in tiny circles as her warmth seeped through the cotton of her day dress to meet his own. She always changed when she got home, never had she gone directly from Lady's Maid black to nightdress white without a change in between.
"I don't go to bed as a servant anymore," she'd said when he asked her why this was. "When we're alone I'm Mrs Bates, not Anna Smith," her eyes darkening as she'd added, "I want you to know that when you watch me undress."
As her hand drifted up to fiddle with the buttons of his shirt he was reminded that he was quite the opposite. Too tired of an evening to climb the stairs to ditch clothes, preferring to loosen his collar and turn up his sleeves until sleep summoned them to bed.
"I spoke to Mr Carson as you asked," he said, bringing her up to date on the conversation he managed to broker.
She didn't speak, only nodded her understanding as he reassured her that, before too long, the Carson's would be on an even keel once more.
"Just the Moseley's to contend with now," she commented.
"Not everyone can be as happy as we are, my darling," he reflected.
She sat up and with narrowed eyes countered his words. "And why not? Surely we're proof that where there is love, happiness will surely follow."
He leant in, sensing he was being provoked into a compliment, that a trap of some kind was being laid. But if it were then he'd happily walk straight into it and into her arms.
"Then perhaps," he said darkly, his eyes boring deep into hers before they flicked down to her full, rosy lips caught lightly between her teeth, "They are not as in love as we are."
He paused as her mouth transformed into a smile before capturing it with his own, his hand which hadn't left her body drawing her back towards him. The way in which she returned his kiss caused excitement to rip through him, the weight of her focused where they were joined as she deliberately kept a small distance between them. He loved that, how she teased him with one part of herself, the rest of her would only be offered when he could stand it no longer, and on her terms alone. He could be the alpha male, the dominant, demanding husband, but only when that was what she wanted. Her quiet strength was what he adored most about her, and then extended to the bedroom as much as anywhere. And God when she showed that side of herself between the sheets it was heaven itself.
"Come on," she murmured, breaking apart from him. "We'll leave your plan for that blanket for another night."
As she stood and tugged at his hand to help him up, he chuckled at his own transparency. He should have known she'd see through his idea for gentle romance. He let her be his support, his stick left untouched against the wall, doors and lights dealt with as they negotiated the tiny hall and narrow stairs. The airy snores of their son brought the briefest of smiles to their faces as they passed his room, the near silent click of a bedside lamp a signal for them to slip buttons from their holes, hooks from their eyes, and arms from their sleeves, puddles of material then kicked aside as they found the lips of one another once more.
His hands grasped at the satin of her brassiere which garnered the seductive moan that he'd never tire of hearing, that never failed to bring him to attention. Pulling the thin strap from her shoulder, he trailed a path across her cheek and neck before his tongue tickled at the dip of her collarbone enticing that sound from her again.
"Sshhh," he murmured between kisses that weaved now across her decolletage, "We don't want a visit from a certain young man."
She stepped back, the feeling of being left bereft of her skin quickly replaced by something much stronger as he caught the flash of her eyes.
"No?" she teased, her hand against his chest pushing him gently but firmly back towards the bed, his having no choice but to sit down on the edge of the mattress. "Mmm, then you best be very quiet then, Mr Bates."
And, as she loosened the clasps at her back and shimmied free from the clothing that was left, John felt sure it was about to his own cries of passion that were going to be the hardest to contain.
They lay entangled in the darkness, their breath even once more, the warmth of their embrace more than enough under the layers of cotton and featherdown bedspread. The metal band of her wedding ring was cold against his skin, her hand sitting snuggly at his waist as she lay pressed up against his, his own arm behind his head in repose.
"Mrs Hughes said something to me yesterday, that she wondered why we bother with marriage." Anna lifted her head to catch his gaze, "Do you ever think that?"
John frowned, "Never. Only..." he hesitated briefly, the furrows of his brow deepening, "If she meant that marriage brings pain and worry and stress then I'd agree. You married me when the world looked as bleak as it ever could. It gave me endless sleepless nights to know that I'd made you the wife of a condemned man." He hushed her as she went to speak and then continued, "And I questioned my selfishness in letting you do it to yourself. But no, I never thought it all wasn't worth it."
"I did it because I couldn't bear to be separated from you for want of a piece of paper," Anna said, her head lowered back down to rest on her pillow.
"And I suspect that's true of the others that are currently troubled," he offered, stretching to switch off the light. "Besides, if I know our Mrs Hughes, I'd say she has a plan up her sleeve, just you see."
I promise we'll get closer to what is going on for our Mr and Mrs Carson in the next chapter. Oh, and any appetite for a cheeky chapter 6b on how Anna might elicit a certain noisiness from her husband?