Chapter 24
It had been raining for a week. The damp didn't bother John as much in the spring. He still had achy days, but the hint of warmth and the smell of new growth seemed to chase the pain of the cold winter rain. John liked spring. There was a spot in the woods at Downton where daffodils grew in abundance. Just a field of bright yellow strewn amidst the dark browns and greens of the trees. John dearly wanted to go there with Anna and see it with her eyes, but it had been raining since they returned from London.
The transition back into normal life had not been easy. Their week of togetherness was a hint of what life could be like, should be like, and would never be like. John wondered if the problem was that they both knew it would never be their normal life, and adjusting back to what was their fate was made more difficult by that knowledge. After spending nearly all day everyday with Anna, John found it difficult to simply pass her in the halls while they worked, to simply sneak into a room she was cleaning and help her arrange the bedcovers, to simply sit next to her at meals with fifteen others watching. He had had her all to himself, and that's how he wanted it to stay.
Not being able to get outside had not helped. It was at night, outside, that he was able to be alone with Anna, and the incessant rain was thwarting them. In the snows of winter it had been similar, and they had stayed in the servants hall until everyone else was in bed, but now that they had had their week, it was more difficult. The others were staying up later than usual, and so they really had not had any quality time together. Anna was looking cross and had even been short with Lily. John was surprised. He had counted on Anna's resolve to be happy with whatever they could manage to help them adjust back to normal.
One especially foul evening soon after Easter, John and Anna found themselves in the servants hall with Mr. Branson. Everyone else had long since retired. Anna was sewing, John was trying to read, but really he was waiting for Mr. Branson to go home. He just wanted to sit with Anna, see what was on her mind, see what if anything he could do about it. Mr. Branson, however, was in a mood to talk.
Mr. Branson didn't so much disagree with the war or the causes behind it as he did the idea of one country forcing its beliefs on another. Much like England and Ireland. Didn't Mr. Bates agree? Irishmen had to stick together. John's response was vague. As a general rule, he didn't believe in forcing beliefs on anyone, but in some cases there was such a thing as a just war. Some would argue that some evils could only be stopped with violence. John wasn't entirely sure this war was a just war, and he was appalled at the idea of young men like Mr. Branson being sent off to die in other men's fights. John added that he was only half Irish, smiled, and went back to his book. Anna didn't look up from her sewing.
Mr. Branson was disturbed by the events in Van. The Armenian people were just being round up and to be slaughtered, for no reason. John asked if there was ever a reason for mass slaughter. Mr. Branson thought for a minute. There might be. Sometimes the end did justify the means. Sometimes a sacrifice had to be made for the greater good.
John put down his book. This was far more engaging than Howards End.
Anna beat him to commenting. Her tone was sharper than John had expected. What did that mean, the greater good? What was the greater good, anyways? Did he actually mean to justify senseless killing because it might, in some world, promote a perceived greater state of affairs? And who was defining this good, anyways? Her eyes were flashing. John loved it when the fire in Anna shone through. Such passion.
Mr. Branson tried to speak. Anna wasn't finished. Would he say it was for the greater good if the English came in and rounded up the Irish, for no reason other than they were Irish, and they were there. Mr. Branson pointed out that the history of Ireland and Scotland were full of such incidents and the English obviously thought the loss of the Gaelic peoples was for the greater good. Anna noted that if his position was that such actions promoted the greater good, he was hypocrite for denouncing the Turks for killing the Armenians. It was promoting the greater good, as defined by them, and by his standard, an acceptable loss. Why didn't he just get a group of Irishmen together and kill the English oppressors? John raised an eyebrow at him. Anna saw it. Anna turned on him. So the Irishmen were sticking together after all, or he was going to pull that half-Irish business and not take a position? Mr. Branson raised both eyebrows at John. All the while Anna kept sewing.
John decided trying to respond was a bad idea. Anna thought if these were Mr. Branson's beliefs, and he was the sort of man who liked to think he acted upon his beliefs, then working for an earl was hypocritical. How could he accept money, accept lodging and board from one his oppressors whom he'd admittedly like to kill, let alone make eyes at his daughter? John wished he hadn't heard that. He didn't need to know these things about the young ladies. His life would be simpler if he didn't know. Anna continued that surely by Mr. Branson's deft reasoning, overthrowing all these trappings and burning Downton to the ground, Lady Sybil and all, would be for the greater good. It was a small sacrifice. Mr. Branson opened his mouth, tried to say something. Anna cut him off. Needs of the many, needs of the few. He wasn't the only one who had read Marx.
Mr. Branson turned to John as if for help. John just shook his head. He was staying out of it, coward that he was. No, he wasn't. Apparently it was his turn. Anna, still sewing, had turned to him. He was being awfully quiet. Surely he had an opinion. John's opinion was that Anna was tired and Mr. Branson would improve with age. He could not say this. This must be good, he was taking his time. John finally said that yes, sometimes a sacrifice had to be made for the greater good, most of the time the needs of the many outweighed the needs of the few, but this never justified killing. Killing was always wrong. Anna noted he'd said there was such a thing as a just war; how did he reconcile that with killing always being wrong?
John closed his eyes. That was the problem. There was no such thing as a just war. Killing was always wrong. The dead learn nothing, and what of the men who kill them? What of that boy he shot on command, that poor boy who had had enough and just lost it and John was ordered with his comrades to stand in a line and shoot at him so he would what, learn? John felt his hands starting to shake. He gripped the table. He heard gunfire. The smell of blood and sweat. Screaming. The stink of death. The heat of Africa. Screaming. Gunfire. Smoke. He swallowed. He felt so cold and so sweaty. He opened his eyes. Anna had stopped sewing and was looking at him. Mr. Branson looked uncomfortable and was standing to leave. Finally.
The crease was back in Anna's forehead. She had taken John's hand in hers. John put his head down and blinked. He thought he might be sick.
"Mr. Bates, are you alright?" At least Mr. Branson had left quickly.
"I'm fine." John tried to smile. If only this rain would stop and he could go outside and smell the springtime.
Anna didn't believe him. She opened her mouth to speak.
"No, I'm not alright, but I don't want to talk about it." He shut his eyes. "How about some tea?" He tried to breath deeply. He tried to stroke her hand. He needed to reassure her.
Anna stood. John didn't want to release her hand. He didn't want to his open his eyes and see pity or fear in hers. Anna was solid and real and smelled like furniture polish and lavender. He opened his eyes as she trailed her hand down the side of his face. He saw love and concern. He swallowed as he looked up at her.
"Anna…I…I hate that black dress."
"I could take it off." She grinned wickedly, eyebrows up, eyes sparkling. She leaned slightly over him as she laughed, her chest just brushing his head.
John's entire body shook with his laugh. Anna was real and solid and he was lost in her eyes. He felt his face melt into a smile.
"How about that tea?" He ran his arm across his face, his hands through his hair.
John followed her to the kitchen, leaning in the door as she bustled about with cups and milk. She placed some biscuits on the tray and yawned. He should send her to bed.
"Anna, back there with Mr. Branson….I have a feeling that was more than a disagreement with his political philosophy."
She sighed as she took the kettle from the heat. "I'm sorry about that, but every night before I went to London was like that, and half the time what he says doesn't make any sense and I just had enough. But I like Mr. Branson."
"I like him too. I think he'll improve with age. Most men do."
Anna smiled as she carried the tea tray back into the hall. "I've heard that's true."
They sat, and Anna poured. She looked pensive. John wondered what the real problem was.
"Our time in London was so wonderful, I've had a little bit of trouble re-adjusting to life here. There's this grove of daffodils I've wanted to take you to all week, and this blasted rain…."
Anna smiled. "I've wanted to go there too. It is so beautiful there, and I wanted to see it with you."
John felt lighter to know that they had shared this idea.
"No, I knew the time in London was just a holiday, and I knew there would be a lot to do when I got back, but Mrs. Hughes has decided the whole trip was my idea and everyday now she's said something else about how behind we are and how I shouldn't expect such special treatment and I mustn't think I'm any different from the other girls just because Lady Mary wanted me to go with her."
John wondered why women couldn't just get along and do their work.
"Well, it seems to me that's rather short-sighted of Mrs. Hughes. You're the head housemaid, which does make you different, and you're Lady Mary's maid. She can't be expected to meet suitable young men with no one to help her do up her dress and arrange her hair."
Anna giggled into her teacup. John felt his mouth twitch.
"And doesn't Mrs. Hughes realize how important a lady's maid is? A valet is totally unnecessary. His Lordship could dispense with my services tomorrow and look just as respectable, but all those buttons and hooks on dresses…without ladies' maids, ladies would just be in their dressing gowns all the time, and then the men wouldn't get anything done! It would be hopeless. The world would go to pieces."
Anna choked on her tea. John smiled. He felt better.
"Apparently Miss O'Brien never let up about having to see to Lady Edith and Lady Sybil, and Lily and Jenny didn't get everything Mrs. Hughes wanted done on her schedule. We haven't been on schedule though since Gwen left. No one else has been able to work like her."
John had noticed Mrs. Hughes had been uncharacteristically peevish recently. It seemed none of the girls who applied for Gwen's position were up to standard, and quickly disappeared from the house.
"So Miss O'Brien took it out on Mrs. Hughes, and Mrs. Hughes took it out on you? And you took it out on me and Mr. Branson?"
Anna looked into her cup. "Well, yes. I'm sorry about that."
"Mr. Branson needs to learn to think first and react later, though I do admire his spirit. He's a true believer."
"He is." Anna looked towards the window. "It's just…Mrs. Hughes reminded me that one day I would have to decide if I wanted to go with Lady Mary when she marries or stay here and eventually be promoted." Anna fidgeted on her chair. "And I think she's nettled about us."
John thought perhaps they were getting to the real problem. He leaned back in his chair. Mrs. Hughes reminding her of a potentially difficult decision.
"Well, is Lady Mary likely to be married soon? And has she offered you a position?"
Anna smiled ruefully. "No, there's nothing like that in the air just now."
"Well then, wouldn't you say that the time to worry about a decision like that is best left for when you're faced with it? There's no need to lose sleep over it just yet, and it may never come."
Anna poured more tea. "You're right. There's no need to think about that yet. I think maybe I am having a hard time re-adjusting. I do wish we could get out of the house."
John sighed. "Me too. One of the things I learned to appreciate in prison is fresh air. I hate the feeling of being trapped indoors, no matter how cozy."
"Then let's go out to the grove as soon as we can. We should be able to catch some crocuses still. I love purple and yellow together."
John noticed that the fire was dying. "I thought everything was settled with Mrs. Hughes after New Years. I should have known. You can never please a Scot."
They laughed. Anna nearly fell off her chair. "Now that was spoken like a true Irishman!
"I think her problem is that she thinks we've undermined her authority. She doesn't like that, and she doesn't like that we have His Lordship's approval. She hasn't said a thing about it since that day in January, but I know she thinks she won't be able to control the other girls. And she must have control."
John sighed. Why couldn't women just do their work and get along and mind their own business?
"I'd have a word with her if I thought it would help."
"No, please don't. It wouldn't help."
"No, I didn't think it would. Anna, she means well. She wants what's best for you."
Anna looked into her teacup. "I know she does. And I respect her very much. But it is like she wants to me lie and sneak."
"She's used to it. She's doesn't know what to do when she has someone who won't. And I respect Mrs. Hughes too much to lie to her. She deserves better. She's used to silly girls running after stupid boys, and doesn't know what to do when she has something different on her hands. Maybe if we continue to set a good example for the younger staff she'll relax her rules. Or at least let up on you."
Anna looked towards the fire. Her voice was so quiet, so tired. "I don't usually mind when she's like this after I've been to London, but then she's never been quite this bad."
John tilted his head. He remembered that farmer Mrs. Hughes met at the fair when Anna was sick. Maybe Mrs. Hughes had a regret.
"Be patient with her. Show her this is good. Mrs. Hughes may be harboring some regret or even some jealousy that we don't know about. All we can do is prove her wrong. She's exercising her latent maternal streak."
Anna smiled. "You're right. I'm sorry; I'm just so tired and so frustrated."
"Me too. I understand."
She looked pensive again. "And I'm sorry I upset you."
John answered quickly. "Don't be. You didn't. And I'm much better now." The fire had burned out. The teapot was empty. He held his hand out to her as he stood. "Come on. We should go to bed."
Anna wrapped her arms around his neck. "Look, the rain has stopped."