Chapter 6
John closed Mrs. Hughes's door. He was going to cry. He needed to find a place to cry. Not in the house. It was too late. He needed to get out. He needed get out before Thomas saw him.
He found his hat, and his coat. It made such sense. He was outside. The cool wind hit his face. So obvious. He wasn't sure where to go. Not home. Away from the house. It was such a lovely day. He wondered, as he walked, if he could have prevented it. Anna had been, for all purposes, in her own home. It hadn't occurred to him that she could ever be in danger at Downton. He had to stop, and take out his handkerchief.
Anna was blaming herself. That much was clear. John walked in the direction of the lake. If anyone was to blame, it was Lord Grantham, or Mr. Carson, for not securing all the entrances. No one was to blame. John wished the birds would be quiet. But it hadn't been an intruder.
John sat on the stairs of the temple, where he and Anna had used to meet of an evening. He hadn't been there since just before his mother died, and he left with Vera. When he returned from Kirbymoorside, he had been determined to do things properly, and that meant no midnight assignations in the grounds. He hadn't missed the temple, but it remained their place. It looked as if no one else had been there since they had walked back to the house, much too late, one night in 1916.
John looked up. The roof was in need of repair. Birds had taken over most of the roof to the porch. He hadn't looked before sitting, and now regretted how his coat and trousers would look when he stood. Anna had been beaten and raped by Green. John could see the sky. He had no doubt that it had been Green.
John had taken an immediate dislike to Green. By this phase of his life, and the large proportion of unsavoury individuals he had encountered, he believed he was a good judge of character. A bird was chirping just over his head. Now that he had a reason to dislike Green, all John's niggling suspicions made sense. He hadn't been jealous of him; he didn't trust him, and that was why he hadn't wanted him near Anna. John wished the bird would drop dead. He wished he had warned Anna, had told Anna why he didn't like him. John shook his head. There was no way to tell anyone, even Anna, that this man they didn't know reminded John of every manipulative, predatory, piece of shit he had met in the army, in prison. The ones who were confident and useless and usually in for rape. He leaned his head against the column, and the tears flowed.
Mrs. Hughes's story about an intruder. John could have laughed he hadn't been working to not cry, to not throw himself onto the floor of her sitting room and sob. The truth had been so much worse than what he had expected. John flexed his legs. It was going to rain. An intinerrant rapist, a robbery gone wrong? John smiled at the sky as he dabbed his eyes. Mrs. Hughes was a terrible liar. He had forced her, and he had meant to force her. He knew that she wouldn't have let him leave, and he had had a moment's concern that that ploy hadn't worked. John hadn't thought beyond the threat. At least it hadn't sounded hollow. A lone swan was swimming on the pond. He wondered if his old rusty brace was still on the bottom. Mrs. Hughes had done the right thing for him then, perhaps she believed she was doing so now. If Anna had been attacked by an intruder, she would have told him. There would have been no reason to hide. At least there was no baby. John felt tears again.
Perhaps Mrs. Hughes was doing the right thing this time. He would kill Green. Anna would be alone, again. He would leave Anna alone again, ostracized as a murderer's widow. Perhaps they had a point in not telling him. John wanted to hear it from Anna. At least there was no baby. He would have faced it if there had been. John wished Anna had been able to tell him. He wished she hadn't felt she had to face it alone. John leaned his head against the pillar. Anna was suffering, in her self-imposed exile. She was having nightmares and screaming and being sick and not eating. She was the strongest woman he'd ever known, but even so, she shouldn't always face the darkness of life alone. She shouldn't have to face anything but beauty. This would break her. It was breaking her. John was a daily witness to that. It was breaking him. She would be back from Ripon soon.
She could not continue to face this alone. John felt like a fool. He had had all the pieces, all along, and he hadn't quite connected. The sudden change, the bruises, the blood, the coldness. The light that was missing from her eyes. The chunk missing from her soul. John reached into his pocket, and found the button. Mrs. Hughes hadn't said it had happened in the boot room, but it had. It was the button from the dress had worn that day, which he hadn't seen since. The button had come off when Green ripped her dress open to get at her, to show her who was in charge. Anna, who was small and delicate and beautiful and perfect, had been beaten and raped or raped and beaten. A bird was singing. John hadn't been able to keep her safe. The button glittered at him in the sunlight. Anna would have stood up to Green, and she wouldn't have stood a chance. It would have only enraged him. John had seen it too many times. Anna had gone to the kitchen. John rubbed his fingers over the button. Green must have seen her slip away from the concert and followed her. He would have snuck up behind her as she got her water, and made seemingly pleasant small talk, until suddenly it wasn't. John felt his lunch lurch into his throat. He swallowed, quickly and hard. Green would have subdued Anna, but not too much. He would have wanted to hear her screaming. The bitch screaming was the best part. John had heard a prisoner—he wouldn't say man—say that once. The black eye. John suspected that was the least of the damage. The blood in the bathtub. The button left on the boot room floor for anyone to find. Anna was very delicate. He would have dragged her to the boot room. Her screams would have been so loud, so desperate, and no one came. The button was so smooth and shiny. Green would have known no one would come. John saw Dame Nellie, and heard that piercing note, muddied with Anna's screams. He pitched the button into the pond. It was almost time for the gong.