Bates had to stifle an involuntary groan that escaped him the moment he let himself sit heavily on the bed. He even stood up again to open the door of his room and check that nobody had heard him. He had felt grateful when Thomas had showed him the room and he had noted there was only one bed made. Now, it felt like a blessing that he did not need to keep on hiding most of his limp, pretending he was in less pain or none at all.
He sat on his bed again, gingerly this time, and stretched his injured leg. It had been a long day indeed, as he had anticipated. From the early walk to the house after getting off the train, to Thomas showing him around and - he very much suspected - making every possible attempts to walk as fast as he could, to finally starting his functions as a valet and dressing Lord Grantham for dinner and undressing him afterwards, he felt like it had been a lifetime since he had entered the servants' quarters in the morning.
Slowly, Bates stood up again and began to change into his pajamas. He stopped only for a moment to check on his knee. It seemed to be a little swollen, but nothing out of the ordinary. As so many things in life, he would just have to get used to this new arrangement and to all those ninety seven stone steps that separated the kitchen, the rooms above and the attic. The alternative was something he would not even consider. Not now.
It was not only a matter of finally having found a paid position, despite of his limp. Working for Lord Grantham was a nice thing, too. Of course their roles had changed, and he had to remind himself to address him as my Lord, and not as Sir, as he had done during their time in South Africa. But other than that, and despite the distances that had to be kept, he felt at ease.
Lord Grantham had told him briefly about the deaths of his relatives, which was something he had already gathered from the gossip downstairs, and he could tell that there was not only sorrow, but worry as well. He had mentioned Thomas in passing how strange their jobs were, having so many treasures around that did not belong to them. Perhaps, the most valuable things a valet had to deal with were not objects, but secrets, moods and confidences.
With a new grunt, Bates reached into his small suitcase for a bottle of ointment. He doubted of his effectiveness, but he applied it on his knee nonetheless. The old habit seemed to ease a bit of his tiredness.
Would he be able to manage? He had said he could so many times during that day it felt like the words had lost all meaning. To that lady's maid, to the cook, to Mrs Hughes and Mr Carson, to Thomas and even to his Lordship. And he had tried his best to sound reassuring each and every time. It was all empty words, really. As empty as the assurance that housemaid, Anna, had made in the middle of what had felt like an attack from all fronts. He had appreciated the gesture then, but now, faced with the reality of his own throbbing pain, he was starting to doubt it all.
He had to manage. That was it. He had to prove Lord Grantham was right, and everybody else, wrong.
He had no other place to go if he could not make this work.
AN: Thank you very much for reading, and special thanks to the guest reviewers Guest, Eva and Isis the Dog. You're very generous!
