Warnings: S4; graphic consensual sexual situations; a scene of violence
Spoilers: S4.8 and Christmas Special (S4.9 US)
Summary: A change of scene can make a world of difference.
A/N: I decided to stop tormenting readers (and me) and do the last part as one chapter instead of two. Can't take them being sad anymore!
Below their bedroom window, cows passed on the way to the barn, their bells clanging gently. For Anna, it was a tolling that matched the thud of her heartbeat. She lay on her back in their bed, pleating her nightgown with nervous fingers. It felt odd to be wearing it in the late afternoon, but she still couldn't bear to be unclothed—just one more aggravating effect from her attack. John had always taken such simple delight in her naked body and she couldn't give him that one thing.
He lay beside her on his back as well, stripped down to his vest and pants. His seeking hand found hers and laced their fingers.
"Anna," he said softly.
"Right then," she said, determined. She rolled on her side and tugged him to do the same.
He placed his wide hand on her cheek. "Anna, I just want to make you happy—"
"Giving you pleasure is what makes me happy," she insisted.
He carefully stroked a tear from her eyelashes. "We're in quite a fix," he murmured. "Because all I want to do is please you..."
She had to laugh but then was serious again. "I've been thinking of a way past this—"
He winced at her lack of romance, but she forged on. "To get beyond this freezing up. I think we can work together—"
His thumb tapped her chin for emphasis as he said: "I like that."
She took his hand and led it to the buttons at the neck of her gown. "You can undo these," she whispered.
He complied and when he'd freed all the fasteners, she took his hand again, leading it inside the bodice. Her small hand urged his larger to cup her breast, and she pushed his thumb to circle her nipple. It was already tight, but with tension, not desire.
His gaze never left her face. His breathing quickened. She tried closing her eyes, but it was too much like the darkness of the boot room that night.
Rolling onto her back again, she sought and found his other hand. Together, they pushed up her gown's hem. Despite the warm summer air, her bare skin pimpled and her limbs began to shake.
"Anna—"
"It's all right," she said.
As though he'd dared her, she placed his hand between her legs. She'd kept her knickers off to make things as easy as possible. The last thing she wanted was wrestling with undergarments. Their fingers moved over her dry skin together.
"Anna, you're not—"
"John," she said sharply. "Why do you pull away every time?"
"I don't want to hurt you...I can't stand to see this agony on your lovely face," he rasped.
"You hurt me when you reject me—" she told him haltingly.
"Reject you?" he protested.
"What do you call this?" She kept his hands tight to her, even as she felt him try to tug them free.
"I am taking care of you. Protecting you from pain. Where I failed before." His face showed his utter self-loathing, the expression she hated seeing from him.
"You couldn't have known!" she insisted.
"You said that you felt ill. I should have gone downstairs with you—"
"You were listening to the music. I was perfectly capable of getting a Beecher's powder without your assistance—"
"And he saw you go, and knew you'd be alone, vulnerable—" His eyes glazed and in a terrifying moment, Anna could see that he was in Green's mind, living his vile existence—the hunter seeking the wounded prey.
"It was a stranger. I told you." Green was dead now; what did a lie matter?
The air stilled. The cows' lolling was distant. Birds' nightsong rose from the trees outside their window.
John blinked slowly and gave the slightest of nods. Leaning forward, he kissed her, just a brushing of lips. Yes, she'd forgotten that they should kiss. Leaving his hand nestled to her breast, she cradled his jaw and deepened the kiss. She pressed his other hand to her center, encouraging him to caress her in the achingly familiar patterns. At last his fingers slickened, her arousal causing him to groan against her lips, a sound of such pain that tears returned for her.
"Yes, John. We're going to be all right," she promised.
Looping her leg over his hip, she guided one of his fingers into her body and they both hissed as she painfully tensed.
"It's fine," she said. "Just...slow."
"I can do slow." He kissed the edge of her cheekbone, her brow, her fluttering eyelids.
"You did go on that stroll in the woods," she pointed out and was surprised that they could both laugh. Perhaps things would be fine after all.
She eased his second finger in, knowing just how accommodating that she would have to be. Guiding his head to her breast, she could even giggle as his cold nose stroked the gown aside to find her nipple. He chuckled around it, making her gasp. Yes, he could still give her moments of sudden desire, even if she couldn't maintain it before her thoughts began to scramble again, as if she suddenly slipped on her way up steep stairs.
Fumbling with his pants' buttons, she pushed them open and gasped his bare flank to pull him to her.
"Are you—"
"Don't—"
"I love you with all my heart, Anna," he murmured in her ear as he replaced his fingers in one smooth thrust. When she gasped and clenched her jaw, she silently thanked him for doing it quickly. She gave a rusty laugh when her first thought was that even losing her virginity had not hurt like this.
Before John could question her again, she kissed him, frantic. Holding one of his hands to her lower back to keep her from retreating, she turned her nails into his hip, urging him on.
Was It here? Was the beast watching? Did she hear that laugh? Even if death, It was a part of her now.
She glanced over her shoulder, but only saw the bedroom door that she'd insisted John close and lock. But she still felt as vulnerable. Rolling onto her back, she drew John over her like a thick, impenetrable shell. Releasing a deep breath, she relaxed more, able to welcome him deeper.
Propped on his elbows, his face creased with the pain in his knee and the agony of holding off his release, John gazed down at her, questioning. She knew what she had to do. Slipping her hand over his thigh, she found his tight sac. He quaked at her touch.
"No, Anna, I can—"
Determined, she stroked him, knowing his body as well as her own and with a deep sob, his thrusts quickened until one great shudder wracked his body. He repeated: "I love you...Anna," and collapsed beside her. She felt nothing but deep relief. Her limbs thrummed and her skin tingled, but she knew it would not happen for her.
"I'm sorry—damn pig," he mumbled into her ear.
She combed his hair back, loving how soft it was, just like a child's. "It was wonderful," she assured him, and she meant it. She was his wife again.
Once she'd had a man. He had been hers alone, like a secret locked in a box at the top of her wardrobe next to Gwen's typewriter. In time, she'd made him a better man from the rough parts that he gave her. Now the fragments lay at her feet, and she must determine how to put him back together.
He'd made a woman out of a girl's dreams, her strong will and the untapped chambers of her heart. There'd been nothing but truth between them after she learned about his first wife and his dark past. It was as though some dam was breached and he never held anything back again.
But now there were lies between them. She couldn't know if he'd played a role in Green's death but in order to confront him, she'd have to admit that the valet had attacked her. A tangled web was holding them out of reach from each other. Lady Mary had made it sound so simple—accept this new man and he would want her—but she felt so very lost.
And now the anniversary of her attack approached. She was not afraid for herself since she lived with it every day, but was fretful for him. She expected one of his dark moods. Like the coward that she had become, she was relieved when Lady Mary asked that Anna stay late on the evening of her father's birthday celebration. The younger set would have a dance party after the older family members retired.
John took the news surprisingly well. "I'll make an early evening of it then," was all he'd said. As the day went on, his manner became downright euphoric and more than once, she heard his deep chuckle coming from the servant's hall. Mrs. Hughes met her worried gaze, her own face perplexed. She knew what day it was too.
But with the busy planning for the party that evening, neither woman had time to confer.
Anna was rushing along the gallery, a thousand things on her mind, feeling jumpy despite her best internal talking to, when a hallboy backed hurriedly out of a guest's room, and the two collided. He was a healthy-sized boy and her wrist twisted under their combined weight as she caught herself on the wall.
"Sorry, Mrs. Bates!" gasped the boy.
Gritting her teeth in pain, Anna gripped her wrist. "It's all right, Georgie. Just be more careful in the future. If I'd been one of the family or guests—"
In the end, the injury was too painful for Anna to be any use undressing Lady Mary. Madge offered to take over, her eyes glowing at the challenge with Lady Edith not in England. Anna couldn't argue.
"Get yourself home," Mrs. Hughes ordered, helping Anna on with her coat. "It's all for the best I think. Check on your husband."
"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes," she said. Both women had an unspoken sense of dread. She hurried home along the dim lanes, the bright and raucous house dropping away behind her.
The cottage appeared dark and telling herself that she'd been worried for nothing, Anna opened the door as quietly as possible so not to disturb her sleeping husband.
He wasn't in bed.
John sat at the table, his back to the entry. A single candle burned beside the open whiskey bottle before him. His large hand was turning an empty glass. In the silent room, she could smell the sharp odor of liquor.
"John."
He only gave a nod. "You're home early."'
"It appears that it's a good thing." She removed her hat and coat quickly, hanging them up, then came to sit with him. When he didn't reply, she asked, "What's happening, John? You seemed so happy today—"
He quirked a smile. "I was happy because I'd made up my mind. Was going to get rip-roaring drunk tonight."
"But why?" Of course there were a thousand reasons why, but only one reason for him not to; she needed him. She pushed away her anger and grasped his wide wrist.
"It told me that everything would feel better." He stroked the bottle's label as he touched her breast, with reverence and desire.
"It?"
"It talks to me," he whispered and she knew just what he meant. So many voices had been in her head this past year, speaking the darkest, cruelest words.
"Have you drank yet?"
"No."
"You were waiting for me."
"I didn't expect you so soon," he protested.
"You were waiting for me," she repeated, hanging onto his hand with all her strength.
"You told me a story about a dog," he said, his voice slow and slurred as though he were drunk now. "I have a story about a dog."
"Yes?"
"In the war. We lived in these squalid camps, no better than natives. Stray dogs would come around, feed off our refuse. One, he bit a couple of soldiers. We couldn't know if he had rabies, or was just that hungry.
It came to the Major…Colonel Crawley was a major then."
He gave her a quavering smile. "And you know his lordship. There was no way he could kill a dog. So it came to me."
She lay her head on his now balled fist, suddenly too weak for her neck to support its weight.
"Bullets were too precious and the camp too crowded to be taking pot shots. I had to walk up to it, keep its trust until the last moment. I can still see its eyes now, glance up at me, looking for a handout. I beat him to death with a stick."
She pressed her fist to her mouth to keep back the sobs.
He stroked her hair, his touch so infinitely gentle.
"I did what I had to do. Just washed off the blood and went back to my duties. But that's when I started to drink, and didn't stop until they put me in jail. All the death I'd seen, all the times I'd pulled a trigger, that damn skinny dog is what made me drink."
She found the strength to move, just far enough to crawl into his lap. His long arms came around her, holding her tight to him. She'd been terrified of losing him to prison for killing Green, but now she saw that he'd willingly walked into the cell to save her. Once again, she'd have to find a way to free him, and for the first in a very long time, she felt the fire of a purpose. She must keep her husband safe.
"You're a different man now," she promised him. "That man is gone."
His laugh shook them both. His embrace tightened.
She couldn't stop herself from saying, "I'm a different woman too. Just not—"
"No," he said firmly.
With a grumpy noise, she settled deeper on his lap.
"Have you thought that perhaps you're a better person now?" he said.
Struggling, she tried to get free. "How could you—"
His grip remained secure but not tight. Short of fighting him, she couldn't get loose.
"Take it from someone who's had to start over several times, it's terrifying. As though being stripped bare, weak as a naked babe. Down to being nothing," he said and she heard the long ago echo of his words.
"It's been a year," she grumbled.
"I'm older than you, my love. Trust me, it takes more time than you want."
Grumbling again, unable to find any words that didn't sound impatient or bitter, she lay her head on his shoulder. He rocked her gently. "Let me help, please."
"You are helping," she insisted, muttering into his lapel.
His chuckle sounded hopeless to her.
"Here's an idea," he said, forcing cheer in his tone. "Let's start over, the new John and Anna."
Just as he'd predicted, she was afraid and stiffened in his arms. "What...What do you mean?"
She felt his understanding smile against her temple. "Well...I did an awfully terrible job of courting you, I must say. All brooding and mysterious. Still can't believe you kept waiting patiently for me to stop being such a noble ass."
She laughed through her tears.
"Let me court you, Miss Smith. Let's walk out together, and reach an understanding, and then perhaps, if you'll have me, I'll write to your mother."
"So I must be a new person as well?"
"If you wish," he said, guarded.
"We'll be going to London for the Season. Perhaps we can go out on more dates," she suggested. She'd made a bad show of their dinner out at the hotel; hopefully she could do better with another chance.
"If we have the time," he said with a sigh. "Always seems to be such a whirl in the city."
"Yes," she agreed, dejected.
"We'll just have to make our own special evenings," he said, determined.
She stroked his cheek. He made it sound so easy. But it hadn't been for a year now, and she couldn't imagine how it ever would be, no matter how sweet her husband's words. She just couldn't let it go.
Mrs. Hughes and Anna spent a busy afternoon reviewing the packing lists for the upcoming London season. Nothing must be forgotten or misplaced and they were a well-oiled machine over the years of planning. Finally, they were both satisfied and could put their notepads aside.
"London will be a nice change for you," Mrs. Hughes said as she poured two glasses of sherry.
"I suppose. I don't look forward to sharing a room with maids in the women's corridor," Anna replied, tense.
Mrs. Hughes scooted her chair closer to Anna's and checked that her door was closed before asking: "So things are back to as they should be with you and Mr. Bates?"
"Yes—No."
Mrs. Hughes sipped her sherry and waited for Anna to find her thoughts.
She finally spoke, low. "I was able to lie with him again; to be a proper wife for him. But something's missing."
Mrs. Hughes cleared her throat.
Anna shifted her gaze around the room, unable to look Mrs. Hughes in the eye. She doubted the older woman knew of what she spoke but at the same time, she had to unburden her mind. She was about to crumble from the pain she carried every waking moment.
"There's a feeling that one has—a completion. Sometimes it hurts for the want of it and it's a great relief, sometimes it's a wonderous bliss that you never want to end and then it does, but with such a satisfying explosion of feeling," she said quickly. "And I can't seem to get there. I can forget for enough time to feel the utter joy of being joined with my husband, but then it's so tantalizingly close and I can't—" She shook her head in frustration. "I simply can't let go."
She darted her gaze to Mrs. Hughes. She expected the other woman to be writhing with discomfort or her face to be aflame but instead, Mrs. Hughes was sitting very still and her cheeks were pale.
Finally, the housekeeper found words. "You're a strong girl, Anna. Surely you can just will yourself—"
Anna interrupted impatiently. "It doesn't work like that." She waved a clenched fist around, making Mrs. Hughes sit back in her chair. "It's like when you hit your funny bone and your arm must twitch and tingle. It's a bodily response, not something that I simply decide to do." She slumped in her seat. "And yet I am somehow stopping it."
Mrs. Hughes took another sip from her glass, deep in thought. "But Mr. Bates is...fine?" Now her cheeks were pink.
"Yes...No," Anna found herself mumbling. She didn't want to share her husband's embarrassment as well as her own. "As I said, it's not really something that can be stopped when it's happening. But he feels that it's he who's failing somehow when I don't respond as I did in the past. But it's me!"
Her fear for her marriage was nearly overwhelming. It was her duty to please her husband and with many other men, lying there so he could have his way would be enough. Not so with John Bates. He desperately needed to take her to ecstasy; she could see that in his tormented gaze as he loomed above her, his touch everywhere that worked in the past but without the same results.
She had cupped his cheek. "John, just let go."
Exactly the wrong thing to say. He had slipped from her, his flesh loose. "It's nothing," he had murmured against her neck, leaving a trail of his tears on her skin. "I'm fine."
The two women sat in discontented silence. Faint footfall outside the housekeeper's sitting room door signaled that life in the great house was going on all around them, no matter how long they tarried.
Anna spoke slowly. "I suppose...When there's the release, you're so vulnerable. The entire cottage could fall on me at that moment and I wouldn't have a care in the world. Maybe..." Her voice trailed off.
Mrs. Hughes picked up her thread. "You're afraid to be that unguarded ever again?"
"It can't be," protested Anna. "John is there; right there. No one can hurt me." It didn't help matters that she only wanted him to be on top of her now, a position that was painful for him and she had always taken the longest to respond. But she needed the security of his bulk covering her; his weight was her shelter from remembered blows.
She lapsed into silence again and the housekeeper took her glass from her slack grasp, putting it on the desk.
"My dear," Mrs. Hughes said, feeling helpless.
"And now we are to go to London for the season and will be bedded apart in the servants' corridors and be on duty night and day—" Anna said a bit hysterically. "I need him so much, even though I can't give him what he needs—"
Before Mrs. Hughes could respond, there was a tap at the door. "Yes?" she called out, giving Anna's shoulder a comforting pat before she moved to the door.
Bates peeped around it. "I was wondering if you knew—" He spotted his wife. "Where Anna is," he finished unnecessarily.
Anna's spine tensed. "I was just having a chat with Mrs. Hughes," she ground out. "There's no need to worry that I've gotten carried off—"
The housekeeper furrowed her brow in confusion. The poor lass was terribly conflicted for sure. Desperate to be close to her husband and yet resentful in the same impulse within him.
"I wasn't worried," Mr. Bates said carefully, but Mrs. Hughes could see his pain. Anna had not looked at him yet.
"I think we're finished here," she said. "Why don't you get on home."
As Anna passed, she gave the younger woman's arm a squeeze. "And don't worry," she murmured. "It will sort itself out yet."
John stayed true to his word. Whenever they could spare an hour or so, he and Anna would stroll through busy London streets, admiring the lights and bright shops, or wander through the parks and museums. When they had less time, they'd steal kisses and caresses in the shadows under the outside stairs, reminding Anna of those forbidden times in the Abbey's courtyard. Perhaps that's why she began to feel that same flickering passion and need at his touch from those years. Just as then, there was nothing they could do with these feelings, at least not until they returned to Downton.
John's lips found a sensitive spot between her high collar and the wing of her hair. "Anna, I need you so much—"
"I know," she groaned. "But—"
"But," he agreed, even as he pulled her hips tighter to his.
The sound of scuffling shoes on the steps above them made them jump apart.
"Damn," John ground out. When the footman passed by, not seeing them, he drew her close again. "We have to find some time together. Let's go to a hotel on our half day—"
"A hotel?" Anna flushed at the idea of checking into one for only a few hours; surely the desk clerk would know—But then his palm found his breast and it sounded like a simply wonderful idea.
But there no half-days with the endless whirl of parties, visits and events. Anna tried not to notice the irony of finally feeling painful, burning desire, there wasn't a thing that she could do about it.
Once she'd removed her hat, Mrs. Hughes waved off the London house's chattering staff. "Let me get my feet under me," she warned them. Anna gave her an understanding smile.
As she stepped into the common office for she and Mr. Carson, Mrs. Hughes did take a moment to ask, "And how are you and Mr. Bates?"
Anna's expression became a carefully held mask. "Don't think we've sat down even since we got here."
"Of course," Mrs. Hughes said, frustrated. Taking the chair before the desk, she started flipping through the journals from Mrs. Butte until she found the room assignments. With she and Daisy added, and the Levison's arrival with Mr. Levinson's valet, the beds would need to be shuffled again.
"Mrs. Bates, I wonder if you could help me," said a voice from behind Anna.
"Of course, what is it?" she said, turning to give young Ethan Slade a smile. He'd quickly learned that she was the person with the most answers to many inquires.
"Once I've emptied Mr. Levinson's cases, where should they be stored? I understand space is at a premium."
"The footmen will carry them to the upper attics. Just tell Mr. Bates, and he'll find enough boys."
Relieved, Ethan asked: "And Mr. Bates is?"
"The tall man...With the cane."
She hated identifying her husband that way but Ethan only smiled. "I'd wondered who he was. Figured that shows what nice folks the Crawleys are."
Finding herself smiling back, she nodded. "Yes, they are very kind. You'll enjoy your stay here."
"I am already." His smile became a grin. "Thank you much. I better get going. Those trunks won't unpack themselves."
"Good on, Mr. Levinson," she said.
"I don't know why everyone keeps calling me that," he muttered as he hurried off, but Anna found herself rooted to the spot.
She'd talked openly and freely with a strange man. She'd not tensed at his warm manner. It was as though she'd forgotten...She had.
Mrs. Hughes called her back to the office. "Could you help me with something?" the housekeeper asked, echoing the valet.
Anna joined her. But rather than sitting, Mrs. Hughes bustled off, pulling Anna along in her wake. The housekeeper showed her a small room off a narrow stairwell. From the outside of the mansion, it appeared to be a decorative turret capped with a cone-shaped roof. Diamond-paned windows overlooked the London roofscape. The room was packed with dusty old furniture, but under it all, there was a bed, bureau and narrow wardrobe.
"We need a bed in the women's corridor for Daisy, and another in the men's for Mr. Levinson," Mrs. Hughes explained. "I thought it would be best to move you and Mr. Bates to this room—once it's cleaned out."
Without a word, Anna fell into Mrs. Hughes' arms, releasing a sob.
"It's not much," Mrs. Hughes said, fighting her own tears.
"We'll make it perfect. Just like we did the cottage."
In the end, Ethan helped as well, his cheerful American manner blinding him to the Bates' urgency. However, once empty, the room appeared even more dismal.
"No paint to fix this up," John said, leaning on his cane. Doubtful, he looked at the narrow, short bed.
"I'll get a bright cover for it," suggested Anna. "And some curtains for the windows."
"Don't do that," he said. "I love this view. A posh view it is," he added, his dialect sneaking east of Whitechapel, reminding her that he was a Londoner under it all.
"I won't then." She leaned under his arm and wrapped hers around his bulk. "Whatever makes you happy."
His limited enthusiasm was even more tempered on the night. They snuggled together, as there was no other way to be in the narrow bed, Anna tucked under his arm. She looked at his feet sticking out from the blanket and propped on the brass footboard.
Frowning, she said, "We must ask Mrs. Hughes for another room for you. We cannot have you like this," even as she wanted nothing of the kind. Rather than discomfort, she found great reassurance to be pressed head to foot along his long form under the sloped low ceiling.
"I'm not going anywhere," he said without hesitation, peering at her from under his forelock with his sleepy eyes.
She kissed him soundly and his drooping mouth turned into a smile.
"It's the most comfortable bed in the world," he rumbled, "we just have to turn in unison."
Giggling, she buried her face in his shoulder. "This is wonderful," she gasped, once she could speak again. "It's like we're far above it all, just the two of us."
"Yes indeed," he said, his voice going even deeper and his lips sought hers. She slipped her leg over his thighs, half-crawling onto him to reach his mouth. With a happy growl, he pulled her on top of him—
"Mr. Bates!" came from the landing below their door. "You're wanted!"
He dropped his head back, striking it smartly on the headboard. "Son of a—"
"John!" she hissed.
"Just a minute!" he called out, crawling from the bed reluctantly. Then he stood and loudly rapped his skull into the ceiling. Collapsing back, Anna was overcome with giggles.
He leaned over to kiss her once more. "I love to hear your laugh," he murmured.
Smoothing her hand down his cheek, she scolded, "Get to work, Mr. Bates."
Grumbling, he tugged his clothes on. Remorseless, Anna snuggled down, pulling over John's pillow and shoving it under her head to join hers. All was fair in love and limited sleep time.
"You," he fumed, but with laughter in his own voice. Rooting under the blanket, he snagged her ankle and pulled up her foot to tickle it with his tongue.
Gasping for air, half between laughter and desire, she protested, "No, John, no—"
His lips were on the back of her knee. Her nightgown fell forward, exposing her to his gaze.
"Yes…" he murmured.
"Mr. Bates!" came the call again. "You must hurry!"
He snapped to attention, and knocked his head into the ceiling once more. Anna stuffed her fist into her mouth to keep from howling with laughter.
"Coming!" he bellowed, truly frustrated now.
She couldn't stop her sassy mouth. "No, you aren't."
He shook a finger at her. "Later, my wife. You will pay for that later."
Her eyes sparkled up at him, then her smile faded.
He was pulling on his boots but still noticed. "What is it, Anna?"
"I just…I just felt something—" She stopped. She wasn't going to say anymore for fear of killing these fledgling emotions by bringing them out into the light.
He rubbed the back of his head. "I think I'm going to be feeling this for a long time." He pouted and she loved him with a force that brought tears to her eyes.
Seeing this, he scooped her up, making her feel like a white dove in his palms, fragile and ethereal. "I'll make you feel something…Later." His confident words sounded uncertain, however. She'd hurt him too many times before. Not wanting to make any promises, she lifted her mouth to receive his kiss, silencing both of them.
"We'll go out to supper. To some nice café, just the two of us," he said. "Get away from the servants' table. It's like being on a telegraph line with a flock of crows sometimes."
"Yes, that sounds lovely," she said, laying her forehead to his. He lowered her back to the bed.
"Get some more sleep, my dear. Tomorrow's another long day," he said with a sigh.
"Ah, to have the glamour and excitement of London," she chanted, curling back into the pillows and twisted bedding.
"Anna!" came Mrs. Hughes' cry from below. "Lady Mary needs you!"
She turned her face into the pillow as John chuckled mercilessly.
Despite the threat of rain, the family had accepted an invention from the Breakwells to ride to Kew Gardens on a specially outfitted barge. They would be gone the entire afternoon, leaving their own personal servants behind because of the limited space aboard the vessel. Bates offered to help Mr. Carson catch up polishing the silver, but he told Anna to go lie down for a few hours.
"They'll be back at tea time, and will need to be dressed for the dinner party after that, then another At Home. It'll be another late evening. Rest when you can," he urged her.
But when Anna entered their room, she found herself on edge, sleep the furthest from her mind. Dark storm clouds were gathering over the city, hanging low as Wren's spires. Thunder rumbled in the distance, making her skin prickle with excitement. This high in the house, the heat was oppressive, causing her gown to stick to her skin. She stripped to put on her dressing gown, but only draped it loosely over her shoulders and went to the window to view the rooftops. Far to the south, lightning was flickering. She took down her hair, shaking it down her back.
Once, she and John had been caught in a rainstorm returning from church. They'd sought shelter in a hay shed, huddled together until their laughter turned to passion. The thunder had shaken the very bones in her body as the storm passed directly overhead. His arms wrapped tightly around her as she moved above him, John had begged her to scream. They never dared be too vocal, whether on their wedding night in the Abbey, or in their row cottage with the shared walls, but here, far from anyone and anything, the world erupting around them, she could finally give voice to the breadth of her pleasure. She'd nearly lost consciousness as the blood had pounded in her head, her vision blinded by the lightning forking outside their shelter. Her throat had been raw, but no one but John could hear, his ear by her mouth as he surged into her.
Her screams had been unheard that night too, drowned out by the rapturous notes of the singer. Green's mocking words echoed in her head and a clap of thunder made her jump.
She'd loved storms as a child. She'd run out across the fens, her hair streaming behind, until she gasped for breath. Her mother would call for her, worried that she'd be struck by lightning but she didn't care. Even before John had awakened all the possibilities of the human response, a part of her had known this was existed; the sense of her body uniting with the earth's very movements.
Pushing open her gown so the breeze stroked her skin, she moved closer to the open window. No one could see her and it was as though she was one of the nude statues crowning a great temple. Her nipples tightened and her heartbeat quickened. Once, John had urged her to give herself pleasure while he was in prison—weren't they in separate cells now, with her unable to complete her response to their lovemaking?
Her hand crept down her stomach—
The door swung open and she gave a little cry. John filled the doorway, his brows raised in surprise. She blushed violent red, mortified. Clutching her gown around her, she garbled something.
A slow grin crossed his face. He closed the door, locking it. "Sometimes we need to try and fix things on our own," he said knowingly.
"Cheeky begger," she said with relief, letting her gown fall open again. "But since you're here, you can lend a hand."
He chuckled, a joyful sound. "Are you sure? I can go out again. The hallboys are under a pile of boots to polish." His hand went to the doorknob.
"Don't you dare," she scolded. "Get those clothes off and join me. It's a lovely storm coming."
His eyes darkened to mahogany; he remembered that day too. Perhaps she should have asked him to remember those good times with her all along.
He removed his clothes with more haste than care and this made her very happy. There was none of the hesitancy, even dread, that had come to tinge their last few months. Sitting on a stool, he opened his arms to her. He was always so creative when it came to their height difference. In the past, she loved such moments when she could loom over him, fooling herself that she had the power to control this large man.
"Please," he begged, gently tugging at her dressing gown.
With a deep breath, she let it slip from her shoulders and waited for the fear. Only the warm breeze wafted over her skin and then his wide palms squeezed her waist, holding her down. He lapped at her breasts, heating her even more. Winding her arms around his neck, she rocked against him, feeling his tears on her collarbone.
Lightning crackled and they clung to each other. She glanced at the bed and giggled. "I don't think we'll fit."
"I am a determined man with a very definite mission," he said, peering over her shoulder as he stroked his fingers through her hair.
Standing but taking care not to bang his head, he tipped it and watched her face as he suggested, "But I should be on the bottom so I can hang my feet off the end of the bed."
She giggled again. "I suppose," she said slowly.
As fast as he could move, John darted to the bed and lay out flat. He held out his hand. "Come along then," he said as though she was a great distance away.
Another great clap of thunder and flash of light. She scurried quickly to him, her skin twitching with the electricity in the air. But when she straddled his sturdy body, he puts his hands on her hips and urged her up towards his head.
"John?" she said uncertainly.
"Please," he said again. "I've missed you so much."
Finding courage, she eased forward, sliding along his body, hearing his breathing quicken as she drew closer. She pressed her hands on the sloped ceiling, feeling the thunder shaking the rafters under her palms. The very house was alive around them.
His lips, his tongue, his fingers centered the heat and the sparks and the thumping concussions of the air into her body. She pounded on the ceiling, not in fear, but triumph. She could feel again, at last.
"I want to hear you," John called up to her, just like their day in another storm. But the scream was trapped in her throat, as though held there by a vise grip around her neck. Then one more great clap of thunder that shook the room and another bolt of lightning lit the room bright as a summer day and it happened. Her anger and fear and anguish rose and filled her body, but then blossomed to pure pleasure. The echo of a cry of terror became joy, changed to a call of utter relief and release, wave after wave until she lost her grip on the ceiling and slid down, her fingertips tracing sweat along the plaster.
"That's my girl," John gasped, the pleasure in his voice mirroring her exact feelings.
Shifting, she draped herself along his long body, trying to find her breath again, her limbs liquid. Her thigh nudged his hard length. "Oh dear," she moaned. "Something must be done."
"Don't give it a thought," he said, chuckling in her ear, combing her tangled hair.
The thunder was in the distance now. Suddenly, rain started to pepper the roof right over their heads.
"Just need to get my wind back," she promised, pushing herself up on his chest and reaching down to align their bodies. John's hands skipped over her like a boy in a candy shop trying to grab all the treats. Her breasts, her hips, tracing down her stomach to caress where their hips joined.
Looming over him, she kissed him again and again, matching the rhythm of their undulation. Instincts took over, and all the voices that wanted to tell them otherwise were drowned out by the rain.
It was not too loud to cover John's rejoicing—promises and gratitude, all babbled out in a flood as the water running through the drainpipe under the window. Ripples passed through Anna's body too, not as strong as earlier, but enough to give her more satisfaction that she'd not just been imagining it before.
This time his body was equally loose, but he wouldn't let her roll off him. "You're right where you need to be," he told her, his thick arms wrapped snugly around her, his wide palm cradling the back of her head as she aimlessly kissed his neck and throat.
"But I am worried about something," he added, making her instantly tense.
"Yes?"
"What if it's the bed?"
"What?" she asked with a snort.
"The bed. You don't think we'll have to take it back to Downton with us, do you?"
They started to laugh, and she clung to him to keep from bouncing off.
"This feels good," he rasped.
"I should hope so," she said, a bit indignant that he wasn't expressing more rapture.
"Feels good," he repeated, his voice slow with exhaustion.
She understood now. Two words held a lot of meaning.
"Yes, I'm glad the storm broke," she said, speaking at cross purposes intentionally. She felt his smile against her hair.
Mrs. Hughes had rented a beach chair, damn the expense. Her hat tipped low on her head to block the sinking sun, she was very comfortable indeed. A shadow fell over her, blocking the light.
She peered up and saw it was Anna. She struggled to stand. "Take the chair."
Pressing her back to the seat, Anna shook her head. "No, no. You've been much more vigorous than me. You went wading with Mr. Carson and kept him from drowning!" Her eyes twinkled.
Ignoring the younger woman's sass, Mrs. Hughes scooted sideways on the chair. "Join me then."
Anna sat and smoothed her skirt. "What a lovely day."
"Where's Mr. Bates gotten to?" Mrs. Hughes asked, looking around.
"He and Mr. Moseley went up the arcade to see if they could beat the lads at some game—Or at least that's their story. I think they may want to view some naughty flickers."
Mrs. Hughes pressed her lips together. She didn't find this humorous as Anna evidently did. She apparently had different standards for a married man and for Mr. Moseley... But this topic did make her wonder...
Carefully, she said, "Things seem better for you and Mr. Bates. You two have been much more comfortable with each other since I've been here." She stumbled a bit over this. She'd come across the couple embracing in the downstairs shadows more than once. Finding a room for them had been a good deed.
Anna quickly squeezed her hand and as though reading her mind, said, "We so appreciate our room. It's very private."
Mrs. Hughes flushed.
Her gaze on the lazy waves, Anna's face was radiant.
Remembering the old train ticket that she'd given to Lady Mary, Mrs. Hughes said, "You seem very happy. I'm so glad, after the past year—"
"Yes, and I think that I'm going to be happier still."
"Oh?" Mrs. Hughes asked.
Pleating her skirt with quick fingers, Anna murmured: "I still need to see a doctor, but I'm fairly sure. I've always been so regular—"
Mrs. Hughes leaned against her. "My dear," she gasped with delight.
Anna began to speak very rapidly. "I think, perhaps...God was testing us. So many years, our hopes denied. And now, after all the time apart, to finally have it happen—"
"Don't say that! God wouldn't hurt you like that!" Mrs. Hughes protested passionately. "He wouldn't ask such a high price!"
"We cannot say, I suppose," Anna said, her voice drifting like the seabreeze. "All I know is, I may have everything I want in the world by this time next year."
"Have you told Mr. Bates?"
"I'll tell him tonight."
"We're on the six o'clock train after tea," Mrs. Hughes pointed out. "You won't want to tell him back at the London house. It'll be such a rabble."
"We'll be staying."
"He didn't say anything," said Mrs. Hughes.
Anna laughed. "John hasn't said anything to me either. He thinks that he's surprising me. But I saw that he'd tucked a change of smalls into our basket when I was looking for hand cream earlier. We'll spend the night, take a stroll on the esplanade under the lights after supper...I think that I'll tell him then."
"That will be lovely," Mrs. Hughes agreed.
They noted Mr. Bates making his way across the beach, his gait slower than usual due to the deep sand. Anna's face lit up, her eyes glowing.
"Or he may guess before then," Mrs. Hughes said, her throat tightening.
When the Granthams returned to Downton Abbey, Anna asked the Countess if she may purchase the glass globe with the dancing figures. She'd been thinking a great deal about it again and had asked John if they could spare the money. He'd agreed easily.
"Globe?" Her ladyship furrowed her brow, having to think of what Anna spoke. When she remembered, she said huffily: "Of course not!"
Anna's gaze dropped to her shoe tips, embarrassed to put her employer in this position.
Lady Grantham waved her hand. "I wouldn't dream of taking your money for it. It's of no use to me. But whatever will you do with it?"
"We think that we may be able to get the figures out without breaking them. Would you want want them then?" Anna asked uncertainly.
"I think not." The Countess glanced around the library. "There are so many pretty things, why have a broken one?"
"If you're sure, m'lady," Anna said, allowing herself to be excited.
"Of course," her ladyship said with a warm smile. "Enjoy it."
John had spoken to a builder in Ripon and borrowed his window glazing tools. Carefully, swaddled in thick leather gloves as Anna stood off to the side wringing her hands, he cut around the gilded base with a blade. There was a horrible cracking sound, but it was just the fissure breaking all the way open. Gently, he lay the broken pieces aside and they looked at the dancers, freed at last from the fogged glass.
Next, he used a pumice stone to smooth and polish the sharp edge all the way around so that it could not cut Anna as she cleaned it. Finally, he placed it on the high shelf that she'd had him hang just for this purpose.
Anna tucked under his arm and gazed up at it. "Lovely," she said with great satisfaction. "It's not even noticeable that the globe is gone."
"We'll just have to be careful with it, but the figures will be fine," John said in agreement. His grip tightened on her arm and he place his other hand low on her belly. "Now our home will be complete."
She smiled up at him. "Yes. You were right. We just needed some time."
He kissed her temple.
"My mother used to say that time heals all wounds," she said slowly. "But I think she was wrong this one time. Some wounds don't heal, but they can become something beautiful."
The sunlight struck the glass figures, rendering them luminant, and they danced once more.
~The end