Chapter 18

Discipline had been a stable, comforting force in John's life as long as he could remember. As a boy, he had quickly learned the importance of discipline in school and at home. Usually, John had been very good about finishing his schoolwork and chores before reading away the evening. He remembered when he was twelve, and just starting to enjoy King Arthur. He had acquired Malory's Morte d'Arthur, and it was far more engaging than the algebra his teacher had assigned. One day when he got home from school, he thought he would just read a chapter to fortify himself before tackling his assignment. One chapter turned into three, three into six. He was called for supper. He didn't appear. He didn't do his evening chores. He stayed up until he had finished the book. His mother said nothing. She didn't need to. The next day at school, he fell asleep in the first lesson and failed an exam in history. He was told off for not having finished his algebra. When John returned home, he went straight to work. His mother hadn't had to say anything. Lack of discipline had consequences.

John kept that same copy of Morte d'Arthur with him in the military and at Downton. When he was old enough to reflect on the themes beyond knighthood, he saw it was rife with stories on paying consequences for an undisciplined life. Launcelot and Guinevere. Tristan and Isolde. Merlin and Vivian. As a boy, John had loved Sir Launcelot for his fearlessness, his nobility, his loyalty. As a man, John saw the deep hypocrisy of Sir Launcelot, and his helplessness in the face of an all-consuming passion.

Discipline drew John to a career in the military. He knew he was smarter than most of his commanders, he knew what they were usually doing was pointless, senseless, but he knew it was imperative to maintain order and discipline at all times. Consequences in the Army were usually physical, as John learned when he was newly enlisted and tended to stay out too late drinking and get up too late from reading. It took discipline to not tell his commanders how asinine their plans were. It took discipline to not hurt Vera in the bad days of their marriage. Without discipline, John would not have survived this long without alcohol. Without discipline, John would not have managed to not kiss Anna every chance he had.

John had been undisciplined at the ball. He must accept the consequences. He hadn't meant to kiss Anna. Dancing, to the extent he could, had been a way he could hold her in his arms publically without censure. Kissing her had been a natural consequence.

The consequences would fall on Anna. John didn't think he would be spoken to about controlling himself, about his intentions, his indiscretion. He was old enough to be beyond that sort of conversation, and his relationship with the Earl really put him above that sort of thing. John didn't like special treatment, he didn't like to use his connections or relationship with the Earl to his benefit, but that was simply how it was.

John was acutely aware that Anna's situation was different. Maids were maids. Machines. No matter what age, what position, maids would be scolded like children, or worse. Maidens were to be kept in state of blissful and perpetual ignorance of men. Maids were maidens. Maids were neither ladies nor women.

The first morning of the new year, both John and Anna were nervous at breakfast. John wanted to reach under the table and take Anna's hand, or maybe run his fingers along her thigh as he sometimes did, but it didn't seem like a good idea. The conversation was about how lovely the party had been. John had nothing to add. Anna had been lovely. Mr. Branson grinned at winked at them. Miss O'Brien, an eyebrow cocked, was eyeing them over her teacup. John expected something from her, but since Thomas had left she had been rather subdued. Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes kept looking at them.

The day passed, and nothing happened. John kept his distance from Anna as best he could. He tried not to run into her during the day or find her after dinner. He did see her disappear into Mrs. Hughes's sitting room for a time, but when she emerged, she did not seem to have been taken to task for encouraging a lover.

A week passed. Nothing happened. Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes seemed to be spending more time looking at them thoughtfully during meals. Miss O'Brien perhaps smirked more. Nothing was said, or done. Had they not noticed? Could John be so lucky? That wasn't possible. This could only mean the consequences for his action would be in proportion to his transgression. Harsh and severe. He began to avoid Anna as much as possible, just until this blew over. He would not taint her anymore than he already had. She would understand. It would be forgotten soon.

One morning in the second week of January, while John and the Earl were discussing the potential roles the Earl might take in the war, it happened. The Earl was actually going to speak to him about controlling himself with the maids. This was intolerable.

When John and the Earl served together in Africa, they shared every horrific experience. Hand to hand combat. Illness. Tainted water. Slaughtered children. Pointless fighting. Friends dying. Friends deserting. Death camps. Decisions that would lead to the certain death of men they knew. Knowing the men on the other side weren't that different from them. John dealt with the pain and nightmares with alcohol. The Earl found comfort in the arms of women.

John did not judge him for this. John would never reveal it. War brought out the dark side in almost everyone, and if it helped the Earl to block the horrors of his days, what could John possibly say. It was, in its way, no different from John drinking himself senseless every night. He would not, however, be subjected to a lecture from this man on appropriateness and discretion with women. John had no tolerance for hypocrisy: He would certainly never subject anyone to a temperance lecture. John was not a randy boy just discovering girls or a lost, simple man seeking solace and oblivion. He was in love, and he would not hide it. He would not be forced into a situation which required him to sneak around with Anna and would almost certainly lead to their destruction.

The Earl stood up, and moved to the window. He fiddled nervously with the sash. Silence. He tried to start. More silence. Something had come to his attention….Mr. Carson had asked that he….If it were up to him….Horribly awkward….Heaven knows he didn't care….Told Carson he was the most decent and honorable man he knew…Both such steady and responsible people….After all they'd been through….

John saved him. He asked if His Lordship meant something regarding himself and Anna. The Earl looked wary and relieved. John said he needn't worry; no further improprieties would take place. His intentions were entirely suitable to their respective situations, and he hoped that that was an end of it. He was trying to find and resolve matters with his wife, and Anna was aware of that. The Earl called him "old chap" and said Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes had approached him, cautioning him that Anna's honor was at stake. The Earl had strongly suggested they stand down, as Bates was his old friend and was incapable of anything other than strict discipline and high standards of discretion and honor at all times. He had agreed to mention the matter if they agreed to look past it. He owed Bates more than he could ever tell them. John assured the Earl of his discretion, and appreciation. As John excused himself to leave, the Earl smiled and suggested a few places in the grounds John might find suitably discreet and reminded him that happiness wasn't a crime.

John wasn't sure about this. No apparent consequences. Suggested trysting locations on the grounds. That might not be the best idea.

John didn't see Anna until tea. She was pale and had little to say. John noticed Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes looking at them and then at each other. Eventually everyone left the table, leaving Anna and John alone. John was just reaching for her hand when she got up and left the room, without a word.

John knew he was expected to follow her. He found her in the laundry room, ironing a dress for Lady Sybil. Luckily he needed to collect some of the Earl's socks. Anna's jaw was clenched, and that infernal crease in her forehead was hard set. How could he possibly explain that he'd neglected her because her loved her? Would she understand that he was trying to save her from any unpleasantness?

"Anna, I…"

She didn't look up.

"Are you sure you should be in here? Shouldn't you open the door?"

"What? Why?"

"If you're in here with me with the door shut, the others will talk."

Anna's voice was flat, icy, sharp and fast.

"Damn the others. That's why I'm in here. I was afraid of talk after the ball."

She raised her head, but didn't look at him.

"What did I tell you about being afraid?"

John smiled.

"I'm sorry. I knew there would be consequences, and I wanted them all to fall on me. His Lordship told me he doesn't care though, so long as we're discreet."

Anna put down the iron and looked at him. John felt cold and hot all at once.

"So that makes it alright? How do you know consequences didn't fall on me?"

"No, I don't need his approval for anything, but you never said…."

"You made it awfully bloody hard for me to tell you anything, didn't you?"

Anna's words hissed and cut the humid air in the little room.

John reflected that he should have learned by now that women were never as easy to figure out as he hoped.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize…what happened?"

John saw a tear. Anna inhaled deeply. John hated her in that black dress.

"Every time I see Miss O'Brien she smirks and mentions my fancyman. In the hall, in the stairs, in the bathroom. She tells me nothing will last. Lady Mary raised her eyebrow at me in the mirror yesterday. Lady Edith mentioned lameness! Mrs. Hughes…Mrs. Hughes summoned me to her parlor to caution me about my virtue and to make sure I knew where babies come from! And there was nothing I could say! How could I tell her how much we love each other and that nothing like that has happened when you when you were…when you were….And why should I even have to explain myself to her? I am not a child! I know exactly what I'm doing and what might happen. Some groom I've never met leered at me in the yard last week and tried to touch me. And you left me to face that alone! You made me look like a common slut!"

John shut his eyes. She was right. He had made it worse by distancing himself.

"Every time I tried to find you, to talk to you, you weren't there. With everything being said, I couldn't very well go asking for you or following you. And I'm not going to sneak around! We weren't before and I don't see why we should have to now! If we're going to be together, whatever that might mean, we have to make decisions together."

At least now there was some color on her cheeks and light in her eyes. She had such fire, such passion. John didn't mind in the least having it unleashed on him. He deserved so much worse, her anger was in a way a delight. He thrilled a little to wonder what it might be like if any other of her passions were unleashed on him.

"Anna, I'm so sorry. I thought only of you. If I had known when I kissed you that night that it would turn out this way, I wouldn't have. I was trying to protect you, and I failed. I was so afraid that situations or reputations were at stake, and I thought if we kept apart for a while, it might blow over. I thought you would understand. Can you forgive me?"

"What did I tell you about being afraid?"

John smiled.

"Sometimes love makes fools of men."

"And don't I get a say in this? What gives you the right to make decisions about my reputation without asking me, without telling me what's going on? And are you saying you regret kissing me?"

She was crying in earnest now. It scared him, mixed with rage as it was. He wanted to take her in his arms and let her have it out against his chest, but they weren't to that point yet. More was coming.

"No. My only regret is my poorly-considered behavior since. I maintain that you deserve better than me, but if you'll let me make up for this mistake I promise to do better. I only thought of protecting you. I'm ashamed at how badly I've failed."

"I can look after myself quite well."

John smiled and sighed.

"I never said you couldn't. But it is something I desperately want to do. Keep you safe from evil and harm. I'm so sorry for not considering you."

John reached for his handkerchief and offered it to her. Anna ignored the handkerchief and buried her face in his shirt. John sighed, kissed her head, smoothed her back, rocked a little as her tears finally stilled against his chest. It struck him that more might be behind this. Anna really wasn't the hysterical type.

"Anna, is anything else bothering you?"

She turned her face so she could talk.

"Well, I guessed you were trying to protect me, but it made me so mad that you didn't tell me what was happening, and I don't have anyone here to talk to, it just festered and grew."

Anna needed a confidant, especially if he was going to be part of her life.

"Have you heard from Gwen lately? Maybe you could go see her on your next half-day, or meet for tea on Sunday."

Anna sniffed.

"No, Gwen hasn't answered my last letter. Her response to the one before that was short. I knew we couldn't continue as friends for long after she left. Other girls who have left and I have tried writing, and it never lasts."

"Is there anyone else you could visit? A change of scenery, a friend you can tell all about me? Someone who will help you tear apart my many faults?"

John grinned into her hair. She smelled like roses and Lady Mary's perfume and iron steam.

"No. I like some of the girls in the village, but I wouldn't tell them about you, and I certainly wouldn't share you with my sister in law."

No, Anna was too proud to tell anyone other than the dearest of friends she was involved with an older married man who made glaring mistakes.

John heard footsteps approaching. They sounded like Miss O'Brien's. Anna moved as if to pull away, but John held her close. He would never let her go. Let Miss O'Brien see them like this. This was not an impropriety. This was love, and there was nothing to hide.