Chapter 7 – A Little More Time

He felt ashamed.

How had he missed her discomfort, her distress, this entire time? What about him, about them, had prevented her from revealing such a fundamental truth of her life? She was proud, to be sure, sometimes to a fault, he mused, thinking of her behavior during her cancer scare a few years ago. He supposed he could understand that feeling himself, appreciate her desire to cloak, if not entirely conceal, any weaknesses, perceived or otherwise.

He poured himself a glass of Margaux, sipped it slowly. She'd not joined him for their oft-frequent evening glasses of wine since that afternoon of revelations, a week ago. He'd even left his study door open, once the junior staff had retired, thinking vaguely it might be easier for her to join him with one less literal barrier between them. But, though their interactions during the day seemed nearly as they'd always been, as the evening spooled out, each night, as the hours grew quieter and more intimate, he seemed less and less likely to see her, speak with her.

And, to complicate matters, John Bates had confessed, disappeared – and Anna had reappeared, slighter, quieter and paler; haunted, almost. Sometimes, he wondered if Mrs. Hughes had been right in her assessment during their walk back from the war memorial dedication. The Bateses did seem unable to hang on to any semblance of luck for any amount of time. Nearly as if his thoughts had conjured her, Anna appeared in the hallway, walking quickly. He called out to her:

"Anna! What are you still doing here, so late?" He didn't like the idea of the lady's maid walking to her cottage on her own, at this late hour.

"Oh, Mr. Carson! You gave me a start," she stood, framed in the doorway, her hand on her chest. "Mrs. Hughes kindly suggested this afternoon that I stay here, at Downton, for the time being." She paused, and her sweet face looked pinched and tired. "The cottage doesn't feel like home anymore, not without Mr. Bates."

His brow furrowed, and he reached for an appropriate way to comfort this young woman, who he'd known since she was little more than a girl. His wished briefly, fervently, that Elsie Hughes was here, to say, to help him do, the right thing.

"I am certain that things will get sorted, Anna," he began. "No one truly believes Mr. Bates is guilty of anything, not even the authorities, not really. They simply cannot ignore a written confession, which I am sure Mr. Bates understood." He stood, gestured to the chair in front of his desk. Similarly to Elsie Hughes, he'd always felt Anna conveyed a certain stalwart strength, despite her small frame. Presently, she seemed ready to collapse. "Did you want to sit, for a moment?"

"I thank you, Mr. Carson, but no," she shook her head. "I was just returning some supplies to the storeroom, then heading upstairs. And thank you, too, for your practical and kind words. Everyone knows that Mr. Bates only confessed for me, to get me out of prison, plain as the nose on my face. Because he loves me, wants me to be safe. But now I'm here, without him, and what good is that to either of us? He didn't think it out, completely, did he, now, Mr. Carson?" She shook her head, her face frustrated and sad.

"Sometimes, choices made out of love aren't always…the most practical," he replied, and even as he said the words, a thought occurred to him, made his heart soar in his chest, begin to pound furiously. "Mr. Bates, he mayn't have thought several steps ahead, Anna, as you say. His concern was your safe return to Downton," he paused, feeling a little embarrassed, in this moment, he hadn't felt more charitably towards Anna's…troubles…before now. He'd been far too worried about how it all reflected on Downton, rather than this very good, kind, hard-working woman in front of him. And his mind was working furiously, thinking on what people would do, did, for love…

"But what Mr. Bates did do, Anna, is something that could prove valuable, to you both: he gave the wheels of the English justice system more time to turn fairly," he declared, then continued, "No one believes Mr. Bates committed this heinous crime, no more, now, than they think you did. There is more time, now, because of Mr. Bates' actions, for the truth to be revealed."

"Mr. Carson, I appreciate what you are saying," Anna's face looked calmer, somehow. "But there's no way any of us can know his confession will be proven false. There is a good chance I'll not see my husband, ever again." Her eyes were far away now, searching for John Bates, wherever he was.

"No, Anna, we cannot know, you are correct," he agreed. "But, whether he knew it or not, Mr. Bates gave the situation hope, because he gave it more time. It certainly wasn't satisfactory to anyone before he acted, even if it was a bit…"

"Rashly?" Anna supplied, and now her mouth was tugging up in a tight grin, despite the circumstances. "Yes, Mr. Bates did what he felt he needed to do, and that's what helps me sleep at night, at least a little." She paused, then looked up at him, her brow creasing thoughtfully. "But, I must admit, Mr. Carson, I'd not thought of it the way you've just done. Perhaps, perhaps there is a chance things will turn out well, despite how it seems at the moment."

"I certainly hope so, Anna. Good night."

"Good night, Mr. Carson. And…thank you," she turned and left the frame of his doorway, and he returned to his seat, to his Margaux. He sipped it for a moment, thinking on the Bateses and their unenviable situation, thinking on John Bates, reacting drastically to the fear of losing his wife, permanently. There was no way to ensure that his actions would result in happy conclusion; however, he acted, nonetheless, knowing his falsehoods would buy him, his wife, their future, some time.

And while it certainly wasn't as critical, as literally life-and-death as the Bateses' circumstances, he was now mulling over the realization he'd come to whilst talking to Anna. Something had been bothering him, tugging at the back of his mind and heart, ever since Elsie Hughes' double confession of a dependent sister and her status as a pauper.

Why had she gone along with the scheme, with the investment property idea? When she knew the truth would come out, eventually?

He'd not judged her for it, no. He had blamed himself entirely for pushing the idea on her, in fact. For not being the sort of person she wanted to confide in, felt like she could confide in. He had spoken the truth: though she seem mortified, it was he who deserved to be ashamed. And he did, and he had been, for a week at least.

But…

Now, maybe he understood. He poured himself another glass of wine, pushed his own feelings of guilt, disappointment and confusion aside, concentrating on this new thought that he'd had, about hope, and time, and love. Thought back to weeks ago, when he'd first been inspired to take…steps…towards securing a future that included her. What had been on her face, when he'd nervously (and yes, he had been quite nervous) approached her about his plan?

She'd looked…hopeful. Nervous. Afraid? Afraid of what, exactly?

He thought he knew now. Elsie Hughes had agreed to look at investment properties with him because the whole thing had been as much of a fabrication as John Bates' murder confession. She knew she couldn't possibly afford to partner with him as an equal in the investment. And still, she'd agreed to it. What had she called it? Our little dream. Charles' heart felt heavy in his chest as he recalled her melancholy words.

And now it was clear to him, what he wished he had known, all along: she had played along, knowing the entire time she would have to reveal the truth (he knew she'd not lie to him, not directly, not like this) of her sister and her poverty. She had forced her own hand.

She was admitting to something as surely as if she had said it out loud: she loved him. The partnership she was interested in wasn't a business one. It was something that would impact their joint future far more than any property could.

She had done as much as she had been capable of, had bought herself, him, them, just a bit more time to work towards what was always the true conclusion of his original proposal. And now, he realized, he didn't want to waste any more time.

He had a few appointments to schedule tomorrow, a few documents to sign, a few details to arrange.

And most importantly, a question to ask Downton's housekeeper.