Warnings:Season 4 Anna/Bates canon fic, thus occasional disturbing references. Also graphic consensual sexual situations.
Spoilers: S4.8
Summary: Freedom is this way, through the brambles.
Anna peered between the lace sheers of the first floor window of Lady Rosamund's home. Usually when they came to London and she was not needed, she would go the Bond Street shops to stock up on the best flosses, thread, and ribbons for her sewing box, or to window shop and report back to Lady Mary on any garments that may interest her ladyship. And she'd visit a museum gallery for an hour or to pop into a bookshop for a volume for Mr. Bates and herself to enjoy. But she did not feel comfortable to do that now. It lived here, after all.
A dark figure across the square caught her eye. It seemed to have Mr. Bates's set of the shoulders, but before she could be sure, the man was gone, disappearing behind a high hedge. Surely it could not be the beast; the man had been too tall and broad.
She dropped the curtain and shrank back. She hated being this way but could not stop the endless fear and anxiety from coiling through her veins. She went to sit by the parlor's fire, seeking the warmth and picked up her book, but she couldn't move past the first line as she listened for Lady Mary's return.
Although she'd just dined and had tea with Tony Foyle, Mary asked the footman to have tea sent in for her and Anna, then she went up to the sitting room. When she entered, her maid looked up, her face caught in its now familiar lines of strain. She hated the physical toll this whole terrible thing had wrought on Anna; Mary had sensed that something was wrong long before she knew the details just from the cast to Anna's usually bright eyes and skin.
"It's done," she announced, waving off Anna's assistance with her gloves and hat.
"Done?" Anna gasped.
"Lord Gillingham will dismiss Mr. Green. The bastard will never come to the Abbey again, or be in our London houses."
Anna sank to a chair, too overcome to maintain her proper stance before her mistress.
Mary scooted a chair closer and sat across from her. "Now it's over," she reassured Anna.
Anna stared at her fingers twisting together in her lap. "It'll never be truly over," she said, low. "We shall never have back what we had." She quickly added: "Not that I'm not grateful, your ladyship-"
Mary fixed Anna with her knowing gaze. "Things will never be perfect again?"
Anna shook her head.
"I remember when you first met Bates. It was quite a romantic affair, at least to me, stuck in a parade of dull and damn dull for a choice in husband."
Her eyes still downcast, Anna did manage a wavering smile.
"I was jealous of you, I must say," Mary admitted wryly.
Anna's gaze shot up, shocked. "Jealous of me?"
"You had so much freedom, it seemed to me." Even Mary had to laugh at the irony. "To fall madly in love but remain forever unattached if you could not have him. I can remember how passionate you were about him...about your love. I saw how he looked at you, and I wanted that for me. It really did give me a glimmer of hope at a time in my life when it seemed there was no hope for Matthew and me."
"I'm glad I could help, your ladyship," Anna said, unsure and uncomfortable.
Mary raised her chin. "But that was then. What am I to do now, Anna? Matthew is gone. He was my perfect love. Shall I remain alone the rest of my days?"
"Of course not," protested Anna.
"Yes, you have been-" Mary put up her hand to stop any further protests. "Very nicely, but persistently, have been encouraging me to get out and get some fresh air, to hold my son, and to look over the goods, as it were."
Anna quirked another smile but remained silence.
"But I am wondering, if you are not willing to live with less than perfect now, why am I to do so?"
"It's not the same," grumbled Anna.
"Explain to me how." Mary tipped her head like a dark bird, eyes bright.
"It was just Mr. Bates and myself. We were complete. Now there will always be this...Man...Between us."
"I cannot forget Matthew. But if I am to marry again, I will have to find a way to focus on my new love and yet have him there."
"But you loved Mr. Crawley! This horrible man-" Anna had to jump up from her chair and began to pace.
Mary did not answer her directly. Instead, she mused: "Must be difficult to be perfect for your husband all the time. One of the things I loved most about Matthew was that he knew my faults. I didn't have to waste energy trying to be wonderful and pure all the time. If anything, it made me try to be a better person."
While Anna remained with her back to Mary, staring at the fire, her ladyship kept up with her observations. "I know Bates loves you dearly but perhaps his love can be a bit of a burden at times. To need to give that intense of love in return-"
Anna whirled to face her, fists tight at her sides. "I love him more than life itself!"
"But what you two had is gone," Mary pointed out ruthlessly. "Am I right? That's what you're saying?" When her maid did not reply, Mary pushed on: "What is it, Anna?"
The smaller woman's eyes, dead for so long, were flashing bright now.
"Sometimes you can be a real bitch," Anna said with the strength to show she meant every word. But then she clapped her hands over her mouth and her eyes went wide with fear.
All Mary did was break out in a full grin and both women began to laugh. Then Anna dissolved into sobs and Mary found herself fighting the urge to join her.
Getting control of her wobbling voice, she said, "Will your love be the same again? No. It'll be different. And become its own sort of happiness. Or at least I hope so. For my sake. For George's. For yours." Now the tears came.
Reaching out her hand, she waited. Anna finally grasped her fingertips and gave them a brief squeeze. Both fumbled for their handkerchiefs.
As she blew her nose, Anna decided that Lady Mary was truly moving out of her mourning if she was ready to be a bossy boots again.
A light rap at the door announced the tea's arrival, giving both women time to collect themselves.
Once Anna handed Lady Mary her cup, she asked: "You have straightened things out for Lady Rose as well?"
Lady Mary put away her handkerchief and accepted the cup. "It would seem. Mr. Ross was more agreeable than I expected."
Anna had to have the last word. "I think you should share with Lady Rose your own experiences, my lady. The dangers of developing an attachment to the wrong sort of man."
Mary fixed her with a piercing gaze. "I'll consider that, Anna," she said coolly.
Keeping her smile to herself this time, Anna bobbed a curtsy. "I best check that the baggage is loaded, my lady. Our train is off in an hour." But as she passed the window, she had to look out again. The dark figure was still gone.
The tall black shadow went through the Abbey's back door. It had been following Anna for months, but tonight she trailed it, watching its swinging gait, two legs and a cane swirling through the dark overcoat's sweep. Yet she lingered at the end of the lane, waiting for him to enter their cottage and the lamplight to brighten the window. She came to the glass and peered in. It was ajar in the summer evening and she could hear John's cheerful whistle. The sound of a man without a care in the world.
As he lit another lamp, the light cast up onto his fair features, giving them a glow. He was her husband again, not the formless shadow she's been tracking home.
She entered and hung her coat on the hook by the door.
"You're home sooner than I expected," John said from the stove where he was putting the kettle on. "Why didn't you ask me to wait? I would have." His smile was broad, his gaze warm.
Yet she felt chilled. Slowly, she removed her hat. "Could you stoke up the fire more? I'm frightfully cold."
"Of course." He quickly tossed coal through the stove's door and closed the window.
Drawing his armchair around to face the stove, he beckoned her to join him. "Here, with me."
After a moment of hesitation, she came to stand before him. He gazed up at her, his arms open. She wanted to question him again, but-
Falling as though from a great height, she collapsed into his embrace. He swept her onto his lap, his lips at her temple.
"You've had another long day," he chided. "First to London, then the charity bazaar-"
She went to speak but her throat closed. Instead, she tucked her head under his chin. "But now I'm here. You're here. That's all that matters."
His big hand cupped her head, holding her to him. She could feel the rush of his pulse under her lips.
"Yes, my love. All that matters," he said quietly.
Even knowing that Mr. Green was dead, Anna didn't like when men approached her from behind now, and Thomas, with his sneaky, light-footed ways, always seemed to appear out of her blind spot.
She jumped as he was suddenly there in the boot room while she cleaned Lady Mary's dance slippers. He had no shoes with him. She was aware that he was no threat to her, but she was still uncomfortable to be alone with any man but Mr. Bates.
"What do you want?" she said, unfriendly.
He smirked. "I thought I'd pop in and see if you need some assistance."
"Isn't polishing boots beneath an under butler?" She returned to her task.
"Not helping a mate out."
"You're no mate of mine," she muttered.
"I thought that we'd come to an understanding over the years. Why, did I ever thank you and Mr. Bates for helping me to retain my position?"
"No."
"I am now then." There wasn't an ounce of sincerity in his voice.
She dabbed white polish on the slipper and began to buff it carefully.
"You haven't been yourself lately—"
"None of your business."
"I'm worried about you." Thomas put his good hand on the table, his long white fingers spreading wide to brace his weight as he leaned closer to her.
She shifted on her chair. "There's no need."
"If Mr. Bates is giving you trouble, I imagine that Mr. Carson wouldn't help you out. And certainly not his Lordship. But I would help you any way that I could—"
"What would be in it for you?"
"That's not it at all," he protested.
She slammed down the shoe, panic in her throat. Thomas had a way of finding out everyone's secrets and spreading the news wide and far. If he were to tell all the other staff—her shame would know no bounds...If his lordship were to know! She'd thought Mr. Green's death was the end of it, but it seemed that it would never end if Thomas were to get a hold of the information-
She couldn't stop her jaw from quivering. "Leave me," she ground out through clenched teeth.
He stepped closer instead, putting out a hand. He sounded truly concerned. "Anna—"
"Don't touch me!" she screamed, having no idea where this came from, but once she started, she couldn't stop. "Leave me alone!"
Bates burst through the door, his cane swinging with his stumbling gates. "Get away from her!" he bellowed.
Thomas looked wildly from one to the other. "What the hell is wrong with you two?" he gasped, his Cockney accent strong in his fear.
Grabbing the smaller man by the scruff of his neck, Bates wrenched him away from Anna and tossed him out the doorway. "I said get!" he roared.
Mr. Carson appeared in the corridor, with Mrs. Hughes peering around his shoulder. At the sight of them, Bates yanked Thomas back into the room and slammed the door in the two startled faces. Hurling the younger man against the wall, he wrapped his big hand around Thomas's throat.
"Jesus!" Thomas gasped. "What the hell—"
"Listen very carefully, you slimy bastard," Bates growled, his face close to Thomas's. "You're going to stop harassing my wife and if we ever hear that you're spreading rumors about her—"
Anna whimpered in fear. John must have just realized what a threat that Thomas's snooping and gossip was as well.
"I haven't said a word!" Thomas swore.
"And you'll keep it that way." Bates threatened: "Or I'll beat you within an inch of your life, and don't think that this old cripple can't do it—"
Thomas just shook his head frantically. Anna watched as if in a dream, the former footman's face becoming another man's. She enjoyed his terror.
"That won't be the last," promised Bates. "I'll have you sent away without a reference for sure this time. His lordship will do it for me, without needing a reason. You're only still here because of the generosity of Lord Grantham," he sneered, looking at Thomas as though he was a piece of trash.
With that, he pushed the younger man toward the door. "Now get away from us."
Scrambling with the knob, Thomas fled.
"John," moaned Anna, coming out of her trance.
He hurried over and wrapped her in his arms. "I'm sorry you had to see that."
She clung to him, her heart racing.
He mumbled into her hair, "If only I could have been here—"
Pulling his face down to hers, she kissed him deeply for the first time since it had happened, putting all her fear and adrenaline into the kiss. He held her face in his hands, his own pent-up passion rising.
Pulling free, Anna clutched his shaking hands. "You are here now. That's what matters." She lay her head on his chest. "We should go home," she offered, pressing against him.
His chuckle was ragged and he tucked up a lock of her hair that had come loose. "Don't tempt me."
She tugged at his hand, giving him a shaky smile.
He touched her lips as though to capture that uncertainty. He brought her back into his embrace, rocking them gently. "I waited for years, Anna. I can wait for a year, for a decade, for our lifetimes—"
"You held me off for years," she corrected, some of her old fire finally coursing through her bloodstream.
He laughed again, a freer note. "Just proves my point. I'm strong as an ox. I will carry your burden."
Her fear-filled gaze was that of a spooked horse and he gave her a sad smile. "I'll wait," he said again.
The summer heated the Yorkshire countryside, turning it golden and deep green. Flowers blushed their blooms, bright and strong with scent. On Anna's daily walk to and from the Abbey, everything seemed to be bursting, ready to set their pollen and seeds out across the land. While she felt slight and dried, ready for the winter's darkness and cold. She thought often of Lady Mary's admonishment and her husband's gentle touch. Each day, she brought the two closer and closer together in her resolve.
This day, Mr. Bates had been away with Lord Grantham to Manchester on business. When they returned, and he'd settled his lordship in, the Earl told him to go home for the rest of the afternoon. John found Anna clipping roses from the heavy vine growing by their front door. Hearing his familiar step, she immediately smiled at the sight of him coming along the lane.
"You must be hot as a newly cooked pie," she noted. "Take off that overcoat and your suit jacket. I'll bring out a cool drink."
First he pressed a quick kiss to her lips. "That sounds delightful."
She gave him an affectionate little shove. "Get out to the back garden, under the shade of the chestnut. Your chair's set up."
He was well ensconced in his low canvas chair when she arrived with a pitcher of fresh well water, his collar off too, and his long legs stretched out with ankles crossed. He'd brought the London Times from Manchester and was beginning to read the headlines.
After pouring him a glass, she looked at the overgrown garden, hands on hips. "Everything's nearly done blooming," she noted. Another summer gone, she also thought but did not say. So different than the previous year's. "I should clean up a bit."
"It's your half day," John pointed out. "Relax."
She was already finding the garden shears in a lean-to by the backdoor. "This is relaxing," she said as she began to deadhead the daisies and carnations, giving the chrysanthemums room to branch out and bloom. His only reply was a grumble in the back of his throat as he became engrossed in his paper.
From the tilt of the sun, Anna realized that an hour had passed before she was at his side again, having worked her way around the small garden. Her basket was brimming over with spent flowers and browned stems.
John was still reading, now at the back of the newspaper, his head bent over it. She could see that his fair skin was turning hot pink. Tsking under her breath, she lay her hand on it, feeling the heat rising already. He flinched away, the paper crackling abruptly in his hands.
"I'm sorry," she said, low.
"You just startled me," he said, but didn't look at her. He still gripped the paper tightly, but not reading anymore.
Putting her shears in her apron pocket, she stood behind him and put her hands on his shoulders first, then ran them down over his dark waistcoat. His chest began to rise and fall as if he was running. She pressed her lips to the top of his head. His sleek hair was hot as his skin had been.
Just last summer, they'd been like this. She'd been caressing his chest, and instead of remaining frozen, pressing the newspaper to his lap as he was now, John had tugged her down to his lap, causing the folding chair to collapse in a clatter, echoing their laughter.
He rose abruptly. "Sorry," he said as he stepped away from her. He gazed off to the distance. "Right. Well, I think I'm take a turn around the lane before dinner." He left her mute by his chair, his paper lying forgotten on the grass.
She looked down at the upright chair, seeing them as they'd been before, bodies tangled in the chair's canvas, her apron and skirt, kissing and laughing, his hands finding her hips and breasts. She'd finally pulled free to check the Tripps' windows that overlooked their garden.
"John," she'd scolded, even as she'd slid a leg between his thighs, teasing him. "We should go inside."
"You're right, my dear," he said solemnly. " It's much too hot out here." He gave her neck one last nip before rolling off her and struggling to stand. Offering his hand for her to rise, he spent too much time brushing grass from her dress, giving her breasts one more caress before stepping back.
"Naughty man," she scolded, taking him in hand to hurry to the cottage.
He slammed the door and plunged them into darkness. Their eyes were not accustomed to the dimness, and day became night, the chatter of the birds and carts down the lane became the silence of midnight.
"I'm naughty, but you're a dirty girl," he said, grasping her wrists to hold her seeking hands, stained with dirt and leaves, away from his pristine white shirt. "This is my last good shirt before laundry day."
"We'll have to get it off you then," she laughed, trying to move toward the stairs. He held her to the wall instead, pressing her arms above her head and leaning his bulk into her. Her breath caught. He stared down at her, the humor leaving his gaze, replaced by desire. His kiss had none of the gentleness of foreplay, but the thirst of a hot afternoon. She returned his passion, straining up on her tiptoes. Her leg went back between his, rocking against his arousal as though pushing forward for a higher speed. Suddenly, the languid mood of the summer day was gone, replaced by an overwhelming need. They could not wait to go upstairs—it was as though some spell would have been broken to even step away from each other.
His large hand shackled her wrists, their clothing pushed and pulled aside with his one free hand, her strong thighs clinging to his hips, his strong leg pinning her to the wall, their mouths sealed by their rasping breathing, her hair falling down, down, down.
Breaking her lips free, needing to gasp for air, riding a crest so high as to scream at the speed and pressure to her body, not from fear, but the child's thrill of the highest point of the swing or looking down from the tallest branch in the tree. Again—and again.
"Anna!" called her husband, his body crashing with the waves, and her reply was a triumphant cry, still locked in his grasp and yet miles above him, shattering and falling to the ground as a thousand fluttering bright leaves.
She'd turned her face away from his intense gaze as they slid back to the solid floor; back into their bodies. Shame at her wanton manner; confusion at overwhelming release even while being held down by his strong grip.
And yet she found herself yearning for that again on occasion. Rising above him in the dark of their bedroom, tickling his ribs until he snared her hands and pinned them behind her back, to hear herself whisper, "Yes, John." Even as he bound her, she controlled the speed and intensity of their ride; two prisoners living free. He came to know the need in her gaze, that she wished to be overwhelmed by his size and strength, to be the delicate bloom in his strong fingers, as close to crushed as possible without leaving a bruise on the pale petals.
This was their deepest held secret. No one could know. No one. Or had there truly been a crack in their world after all? Had that man seen this somehow? Heard it in the scorn of her reply to his unwanted approach. "Mr. Bates keeps me very satisfied." Did he somehow know, and think she wanted even more; to be dragged through the corridor and slapped and held down?
This was not the memory that she wanted to dwell on. Retreating to the house, she washed her hands until they were red from scrubbing, then started tea.
John returned as she was laying it out on the table, his face still flushed.
"Where did you go?" she asked, hating the stricken tone in her voice.
"For a stroll in the woods," he replied, and the shame on his features told her everything.
Anger surged in her. She slammed down a plate of biscuits on the table. "Why couldn't he have just gone for a stroll in the woods?"
John sat heavily. "Because he didn't just want a woman. He wanted to hurt one and see her shame."
Anna remained standing, gripping her chair. "I wish you hadn't done that. I wanted—"
He dropped his gaze and poured out tea with shaking hands.
"It's time," she announced.
"You can't just say it and have it be true."
She took her seat but did not drink her tea or take food. There was another need to be filled. "When I was a girl, my sister and I walked to school by this one old bachelor farmer's cottage. He had a big, mean dog that would bark viciously at us every day." Her throat closed suddenly, surprising her.
Taking a deep breath, she continued. "One day, the dog broke its rope and got me."
John took her hand across the table. With her free hand, she touched the scar on her skin by her eye. "He knocked me down on the stones, tore my dress, bit my leg before the farmer came out and pulled him off me. It felt like forever—"
"My love," John moaned.
"My father was a tenant of this farmer. He could do nothing. And it was the shortest route to school. My sister had had scarlet fever and was weak, smaller than even me." She gave John a little smile. "Once I recovered from my injuries, we had to take that path again.
"It was very hard. I shook and cried for the first week, but I made it past. The dog barked still and lunged on his rope. The next week was a bit better, and so forth, until I didn't even hear the dog's barking anymore."
Squeezing his wide fingers, she made John meet her gaze. "It won't be as it was before. Not at first. But it can't be what we had before unless we start again."
Standing, she tugged at his hand, and after a moment, he rose too. They left their tea to go cold and climbed the stairs to their bedroom.
~ end, Part Four