Chapter 30
John knew he had no reason to be nervous, but he was. His mother and Anna had met, had discussed some of the more painful and regretful aspects of his life, had written. They liked each other. They always sent greetings to one another through him. His mother had made Anna a piece of lace, and she didn't do that for just anyone. There was no reason to be nervous, yet he was.
The last woman John had introduced to his mother had been Vera. She had also been the first. It had not gone well. John remembered sitting in his mother's parlor in silence as the women eyed each other like angry dogs waiting for a fight. His mother, if not warm, had been correct. Vera had been icy. Condescending. John had been quiet. He knew from the way his mother said goodbye to him that day she was, in essence, saying goodbye forever. Vera had said very little, other than she knew she wasn't, in Mrs. Bates's estimate, good enough for him, but then no woman would be. Vera added that it was a shame, considering her own father was a shopkeeper in Galway and her family descended from the old bards, whereas Mrs. Bates's people were peasants. John had realized he would be forced to chose wife or mother. Wife was really the only choice, but he didn't want to have to make it. To her credit, his mother never spoke a word against Vera until their marriage disintegrated. She hadn't had to.
John had been to visit his mother once a week during this stay in London. They did not mention their conversation from March, but John could tell from the way she looked at him, smiling to herself, that she knew he had taken her advice and relaxed. She never failed to ask after Anna. She was too direct to hint that she'd like to see her, and Anna was too polite to invite herself a second time. Mrs. Bates had finally said she knew John would never bring her, and obviously if she wanted to see that nice girl again she'd have to invite her herself. An invitation was extended to Anna, and now John found himself, for the second time in his life, escorting a young woman to formally meet his mother. He felt as skittish as he had the time he had taken Vera to meet her.
John stopped so suddenly on the sidewalk Anna bumped into him. What if they didn't have anything to say to one another? What if his mother thought Anna's accent common? What if Anna didn't approve of his mother living alone and working when and if she wanted? What if his mother didn't like Anna's dress? What if….his mother called him Johnny in front of Anna?
"I wish you weren't so nervous." Anna took his arm, briefly.
John smiled at the sky. He wished that too.
"It will be fine. We've met. You told me yourself she liked me. I liked her."
John looked at a passing cab. "Yes, but…"
"I'd like her even if I didn't love you."
John smiled. They kept walking.
He stopped again at the corner of his mother's street. It was an old neighborhood, with smaller houses, but very respectable. Boys were playing in the small park across the street. They had a dog. That fat man with the umbrella seemed to belong with one of the small boys. There was no sign of rain. That meant the dog John had seen in March with the fat man with the umbrella also belonged to one of the boys.
"Mr. Bates?" John thought it would make a better impression on his mother than John. He wanted to make certain all the proper formalities were observed. Vera had called him Johnny in an insinuating tone, and had sat too near him, once daring to look his mother in the eye as she coiled her hand over his groin.
"Anna…mother is…well…"
Anna smiled indulgently. "Your mother is kind, she's forgiving, and she's understanding." Anna leaned forward. "It will be fine."
John felt sweaty. London was so humid, so stagnant in the summer. He was worried about his mother. The shortness of breath, the slight stammer he had noticed in the spring had grown more pronounced. He was sure he should be worried, but he wasn't sure what he should do.
"I think mother's health is slipping." The dog was proving the most clever of the lot in the park.
"And you're worried." Anna smiled as one of the boys waved at her.
John blinked. "Yes."
"Well, there seem to be a few options. There's only so much we can do when our loved ones reach a certain point. Your mother adores you; that was plain to me from the moment we met. She lit up when I said I was a friend of yours. Spend more time with her."
Another cab passed.
"This seems a nice a neighborhood, and I'm sure your mother is well-liked. What if you asked a neighbor to check in on her, discretely, now and then?"
John shook his head. His mother would hurt him. "Mother is so proud, I could never…she'd know….and then…"
Anna smiled and rolled her eyes. "So pride is a family trait, is it? I wondered. Hard to deal with when you care about someone in the family, isn't it?"
John laughed. "I suppose so." They started walking again. "What do you suggest?"
"After tea have a reason to go outside. Your mother and I will be fine. Ask one of the neighbors to look in on your mother now and then." Anna grinned at him. "Discretely."
They were on the steps. John raised his hand to the knocker.
"Or there's always worrying yourself sick over something you can't change."
As the afternoon passed, John felt relieved. It was going so well. Anna liked his mother. His mother liked Anna. Sincerely. He felt foolish for having been so nervous. John found himself laughing and smiling with the two women he loved. His mother patted his cheek and called him her Johnny. John found he didn't mind. He felt his presence was unnecessary. His mother and Anna might have been old friends
John thought it might be a good time to sneak away. They would hardly notice. Maybe they'd like to be alone, though that thought concerned John a little. He cleared his throat. His mother looked at him. There was something out back she'd like him to take a look at. She thought that wall he'd looked at last week was in need of repair. Would he be a good boy and check it again so she could send for the stonemason? John stood. Of course he would. He smiled at Anna. Her eyes twinkled in response. John knew his mother knew there was nothing wrong with that wall. He'd ask Mrs. McGuinness, next door, about checking in. As John headed for the door, his mother told him Mrs. McGuinness had been asking after him; why didn't he stop in and speak to her for a minute? She and Anna would be quite alright.
Mrs. McGuinness was a childless widow who spent most of her time looking out from between her curtains. John hadn't actually spoken to her much, but from what contact he had had with her he thought her kind, caring, considerate. He suspected she was lonely, and so long as she didn't force herself on his mother this arrangement could work. She was glad to help. Mrs. Bates was a dear woman. Yes, she'd noticed little things to. Of course she'd send word immediately if anything was amiss. He could trust her completely. Glad to help. No, she knew how proud Mrs. Bates was and would never mention it. Leave it to her; it would work. How was his wife?
John blinked. His wife. He wondered that too. Vera. He blinked again. He had to answer. Vera was well. They had been obliged to take positions in different households, but that happened in service. He felt his face grow warm. The position with the Earl of Grantham was not something he felt, all things considered, he could pass up, and Vera had agreed. He was babbling. He'd tell Vera she'd asked about her. Mrs. McGuinness smiled and reassured him that she'd look in on his mother. He had nothing to worry about. John left.
He took his time walking back to his mother's house. The house, while small, was in good condition. His mother had managed to purchase it when they moved back to London after their time in Ireland after his father's death. John had lived there with his mother and his sister Margaret. Margaret had died six months after returning to London. Before her knees had grown stiff, John's mother had taken great pride in her garden. Now she contented herself with flower boxes on the porch. John looked at the sky. The afternoon was bright, and humid. He wondered why Mrs. McGuinness had asked about Vera. He wasn't aware they had met. He doubted his mother had ever mentioned her.
John paused in the door of the sitting room. Anna and his mother were seated next to each other on the settee, bent over needles. His mother was teaching Anna to make lace. Their backs were to him. Anna had discarded her hat. He never understood why ladies could wear hats indoors when men could not. Their voices were low, and fast. There was frequent laughter. Their heads bent, showing Anna's swan-like neck with a few tuffs of hair at the base, his mother's dress collar almost reaching her hairline. He heard his name. His mother hummed a little while she showed Anna an intricate step of the process. John couldn't place the tune. His wife and his mother. No. His mother and Anna. Vera was his wife. He needed to follow up with Mr. Ford about responses to his letter. Maybe he could change that. Maybe this scene before him could become permanent. His mother and his wife engaged in activity, talking, laughing, enjoying one another. His wife Anna.
The women looked up from their work as John approached. Both smiled. Anna's smile was wide and reached her eyes. Her eyes glittered. John liked her white blouse. His mother's eyes crinkled around the edges when she smiled. Knowing how to make lace would help Anna when she was a full-time lady's maid. John smiled, and agreed. Anna was a natural. Her fingers were so small and quick. Mrs. Bates sighed. Her own had been that thin once. John hated to end the afternoon, but it was time for them to return to Grantham House to make sure everyone was ready for their evening engagements.
Suddenly there was bluster. Standing up, thanks, offers to help clear away the tea things, refusals of both. Promises to return, frequently. Promises of another lesson, and to practice. Promises to, if nothing else, write. John almost asked his mother why Mrs. McGuinness would ask about Vera, but decided against it. He would try to dismiss it from him his mind. That's what Anna would suggest. Anna was always right. John's mother squeezed Anna's hand. She was welcome anytime, with or without John. She patted John's cheek. They'd better be going.
Outside John looked at Anna and broke into a smile.
"All that worry for nothing." Her eyes were twinkling again.
John laughed. "You were right, as usual. My mother loves you."
"I'm fond of your mother. She reminds me of what I never had."
John brushed against her. "I'll happily share her with you."
Anna smiled. "I think I saw what you meant. Her breathing was a little labored, and she seemed to tire fast. What did Mrs. McGuinness say?"
John looked at the house where the boy and dog and fat man lived. The curtains were pulled. Maybe Mrs. McGuinness had just been polite in asking about Vera. Women were like that.
"You did ask her to check in on your mother?"
"Yes, I did." John heard thunder in the distance. "She said she'd be happy to, and she agreed to leave me out of it."
Anna smiled, and nodded. John wished there was some pretence for taking her arm. Banish thoughts of Vera.
"So what did you and mother find to talk about while I was gone?" They had not gotten far from his mother's house.
Anna smiled. "Oh, this and that." They had talked about him.
"She doesn't teach tatting to just anyone. Usually there's more of a trial period." So far as John knew, she had never taught it to anyone. His sisters had never been interested.
Anna looked up at him. Her lips twitched. "After I told her about being lady's maid to the young ladies, she asked me if I knew how to make lace. I said I didn't, but hoped to learn. She fetched her things." Anna looked down the street. "It will be very useful when I'm working on Lady Mary's trousseau." Her voice fell.
"Miss O'Brien will be jealous. This isn't a skill a she has." The thunder grew nearer.
Anna giggled. "Maybe I can teach her."
John felt his lips twitch. He looked into the sky. It had gone grey. "Her fingers are nowhere near so nimble as yours."
The sky opened. They had not brought an umbrella. Anna stopped. John fell lightly against her. She gasped. He wrapped his free arm around her waist. She turned in his arms. John was lost. Her eyes were so deep and so blue, her skin so milky and so white, her soul so light and so pure. He kissed her. In the rain in the street near his mother's house. Anna stepped closer and kissed him. John thought he saw a shape at a curtained window, peering into the street. Anna placed her hand on his neck, pushing him towards her. John dismissed that parted curtain from his mind.