She was dozing off. In front of her, the words on the page seemed to slowly balance, in rhythm with her breathing, lulling her into much needed sleep.

"Are you going to blow that candle out?" Gwen's drowsy voice almost made her jump.

"In a minute," she said, rubbing her eyes and catching the heavy tome from falling just in time.

Gwen grunted something unintelligible and a moment later Anna could hear her breathing deeply and steadily. A voice in her head, the reasonable one that always seemed to sound exactly like her mother's, was telling her that she should do the same. She had no idea what time it was, but she knew it was late, and there was never enough time to sleep.

Maybe she could finish the chapter.

With a sigh and a stubborn gesture she centered the book back on her knees and looked for the last paragraph she remembered. She had to go back a page, having to admit she had not retained any of it. Of course, she was tired, but it was not it but the fact that the book was not exactly entertaining.

She had had to clear it with Mrs Hughes first. There was an unspoken rule, all maids had to ask the housekeeper whenever they wanted to do something they had not ever done before. For better or worse.

And now she stood in the middle of a library that had never seemed so big. She knew it by heart, she opened the curtains and tidied it every morning, and gave it a proper going over every two weeks, and yet it had never looked so foreboding as now that she was standing in front of Lord Grantham.

"What do you need, Anna?" He said, and she could tell he was making an effort to look at her over a letter on his desk that was probably much more interesting that whatever a maid had to say.

"I am very sorry to bother you, my Lord, but I was wondering if I could… borrow a book. From your library."

Lord Grantham rose his eyebrows. Whatever he had imagined this was about, it had certainly been far from borrowing books.

"Why would- I'm sorry, never you mind. Of course you can."

"Thank you, my Lord," she almost sighed in relief. She could tell she was blushing furiously.

"Not a problem. I would ask you to write down in the register which book are you taking. It's something I ask everybody to do."

"Certainly, my Lord." She gave a tiny bow and turned around to go.

"Anna," she heard Lord Grantham call, and she looked back at him. "Just out of curiosity… what sort of book are you looking for?"

And that was precisely the question she had wished he would not ask. "History, my Lord." She said, as matter-of-factly as possible.

"History?" Now Lord Grantham's eyebrows were properly raised.

"I… I didn't get much of an education," she voiced the explanation she had rehearsed just in case somebody would ask. "And I realise there is plenty I don't know. So I think I'd like to start there."

"Right you are, yes," he said looking thoughtfully around. "Would you need any help finding what you want?"

This time Anna did smile, genuinely. She was touched by his interest. "I don't think so, my Lord. After having to clean this room many times, I daresay I know where every book is by heart."

Now, after 159 pages, she strongly suspected she had not picked the right volume. Or maybe the right strategy.

There was no point on trying to tick herself any further into thinking she just wanted to expand her knowledge. Because she knew that was not the only reason. Not even the most important one.

She remembered growing up, listening to people in the village repeat the news read on the paper. "Boers" had been an ominous word, associated with danger the same way the monsters in the stories of her childhood had been. Now she wanted to know more. About what exactly had it been like to travel to South Africa, about who the Boers were and why had it been so important to fight them, about what could have happened to Mr Bates' leg, and of course, about what sort of bond could be formed between men in the military. Because the fact remained that another fortnight had passed and despite O'Brien's and Thomas' venomous attempts, Mr Bates was still there, working as His Lordship's valet.

Anna sighed loudly. She would finish the page, only that, and she would continue tomorrow.

"Fortunately the lack of initiative on the part of the Boers which has stood our friend so often came in to save us from disaster and humiliation. It is due to the brave unshaken face which the Guards presented to the enemy that our repulse did not deepen into something still more serious."*

With a sudden sigh she closed the volume and glared at the author's name. No, this was not going to be helpful at all. Conan Doyle's valiant attempts at describing each and every move of the war gave her nothing that could answer her questions, besides terrible, colourful images of destruction that were certainly going to haunt her dreams. It was worse now, that she could picture Mr Bates, and even Lord Grantham, wearing those old fashioned uniforms and navigating their way through the terrible conditions in South Africa. And yet, that was not exactly the knowledge she had wanted.

There was more to Mr Bates, all right, but no book would tell her exactly what.

Carefully leaving the book on the table next to her bed, she blew the candle and snuggled under her covers. At least, if the subject of the war was broached again in the servant's hall, she would not look like an utter ignoramus.


* Quote from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's "The Great Boer War" (1900). Yes, I did my homework! Isn't it remarkable how the author of Sherlock Holmes had non-fictional books and one of them is actually the play-by-play account of that particular war? Now let's pretend Lord Grantham had that volume, shall we?

Thanks a lot, all of you, and special thanks to Isis the Dog for such generous, insightful reviews.