Chapter 39
John's mind was reeling. In the time between tea and dinner, he pondered every possible cause for Anna's discomfort. Pondered was not the right word. To ponder implied to think, carefully and profoundly. There was none of that happening in his head. Ideas, visions, stories, possible conversations and outcomes hopped through his mind in rapid succession. When he still drank, he could turn off the endless parade of sounds and visions and possibilities. He knew he didn't want a drink, and wasn't going to drink, but it occurred to him, as he laid out Lord Grantham's fresh pajamas and slippers, that obsessing was an annoying side effect of sobriety.
Lord Grantham had given John a few strange looks while he was helping him dress for dinner. Lord Grantham had received a letter from Matthew Crawley. There were things in it he didn't want to share with the ladies. John tried to listen, but all he could think about was Anna and what it might be. Why had a conversation about censorship affected her so? John was pleased she agreed that the book shouldn't be banned; Anna was certainly a woman who knew her own mind and her own body and didn't require protection from ideas. As he tried to listen to Lord Grantham talk about what went wrong with Matthew and Mary, John realized he couldn't think of any woman, aside from Daisy who was really still just a girl, who required protection from shocking ideas. Anna certainly didn't. Lord Grantham's daughters didn't.
John wished he had paid more attention to Anna to see what it was that had affected her. Female lovers. Lord Grantham was looking at the letter again. Might Anna have had a female lover? Could she be interested in having one? John dropped a brush. Lord Grantham looked at him. John bent to pick it up as quickly as he could. Lord Grantham was saying something about Mary, how tiresome the whole business was. Usually John was more sympathetic to Lady Mary's plight, but the vision of Anna with another woman, Lady Mary perhaps, was burning into his mind. He swallowed hard. Pale bare breast against pale bare breast. He shook his head. The possibility was distracting. Apparently Lord Grantham had asked him a question. John had no idea what the answer should be.
Maybe Anna had a copy of the book hidden in her room and she was afraid the authorities would come and search the house and burn it in the courtyard and she'd be known as the one who read dirty books. She knew he had an interest in it. His birthday was coming up; perhaps she had been planning a surprise. Lord Grantham was looking at him. It was time for cufflinks. John apologized. He had something on his mind and he was sorry it was affecting his work. He and Anna could read it together in the temple and see just how scandalous it was. The bookseller probably didn't keep detailed records, and Anna could claim she'd already given it as a gift if inquiries were made. Lawrence had such a knack for turning the mundane into something special, for making the landscape alive. John would love to share that with Anna.
Time for the jacket. Lord Grantham was making some sort of comparison between modern trench warfare and what they had known in Africa. Surprise attacks in all directions. Mud and something called trench foot. John closed his eyes as Lord Grantham slid his arms into the sleeves. Mr. Carson had been fairly vocal in his disapproval of unwed mothers. John knew Mr. Carson had rigidly conservative views, but he had also thought he had compassion. He was a good man, but John wondered if he had let his focus on perfection and image override his basic humanity. Anna's reaction was almost nervous, almost angry. John wasn't sure what to make of it. Perhaps she had a friend who had been in trouble, as they said. Anna was the most loyal, most sympathetic, least judgmental person in the world. It was part of her beauty. A woman in trouble needed a friend like Anna. Mrs. Hughes was correct; the situations were always different, but blame was heaped upon the woman, the temptress. Perhaps at the house where she worked before coming to Downton Anna had a friend in trouble who encountered attitudes like Mr. Carson's and was sent packing and wound up dead or in the poor house, disowned by her family and friends because no one bothered to ask or care or listen. Perhaps their discussion had brought back the story to Anna, and awakened her natural compassion and goodness in the face of Mr. Carson's callousness.
As Lord Grantham turned to him, fully dressed for dinner, John realized he had been starring at the picture over the dressing table. John excused himself again, glad that he and Lord Grantham had a long enough history together to overlook these occasional off nights. Lord Grantham patted him on the back and suggested he get some rest. John thanked him, and began laying out fresh pajamas. A good valet knew how to anticipate his employer's needs. John knew exactly when fresh pajamas were in order and exactly how soft they should be.
Lord Grantham's favorite pajamas were old striped cotton, washed many times, not quite as old as Lady Sybil, but definitely older than Isis. John knew Lady Grantham loathed them, but Lord Grantham had told him many times how much he loved them. He had newer sets, silky sets, flannel sets, but tonight John thought Lord Grantham needed the old soft and familiar comfort. Anna's nightgown had a similar feel to it. Old cotton, washed hundreds of times, and softer than silk. John wondered if she had just the one. Her underthings were quite simple too, pure white, cotton so soft it was softer than her skin. Left to his own devices, John would buy her silk things, but he realized how unsuitable they would be. Silk was always a bit cold, though it had delightful ways of clinging to the body. Cotton was cool and warm, and never called attention to itself like silk. It enhanced unobtrusively. John sighed. He did so enjoy their new intimacy. He was sure Anna did too.
Perhaps Anna wasn't happy with their new intimacy. Perhaps she was worried he wouldn't stop before it got dangerous. It was a curious issue, that the sole responsibility rested with him. John had wondered, when the subject first arose, what had happened to make Anna lose faith in herself. Surely something had happened, unless she was so unaccustomed to her responses that she was frightened. John didn't think that was the case. He hadn't thought much about whether or not Anna was inexperienced, but he was inclined to think she was. Then again, she was so keen for certain activities, and so gifted, and so very, very responsive. John had wondered idly if she might have had some practice, but it didn't matter to him. He placed the dressing gown across the bed. For some men, it was important that women be totally inexperienced. John had never understood that perspective. It seemed hypocritical, disrespectful, cowardly. He would never ask Anna if there had been anyone before him. He smoothed the sleeves of the gown and stood up. The sunset was orange and purple.
John felt something tighten around his heart. Could Anna be afraid because she had once had a lover and he had gone too far? John let his cane fall to the floor. That smelly farmhand had forced her! Anna hadn't wanted to tell him earlier, but now she did. John would find him, and hurt him. How dare that boy violate Anna? John clenched his fist. And now Anna didn't fully trust him to contain things, and wanted to end their intimacy. He started to sweat. John wanted to find Mr. Carson and yell that more innocents had been corrupted by people in power than ever would be through literature. Mr. Carson had upset Anna, and that was unforgiveable. John suspected if a young woman working at Downton was molested by a guest, Mr. Carson would blame and dismiss her. The man lacked compassion. Something had happened to Anna, and she had never told anyone, and now she needed to, and Mr. Carson's attitude had distressed her. The man was so obtuse. Apparently he thought seeing Sodom would make one a Sodomite. He should avoid literature. He should probably avoid the newspapers.
Something didn't quite fit. John's sister Nora had had a friend, Bessy. John sat on the edge of the bed that was never slept in. A boy had forced himself upon Bessy, and she had been afraid to tell her mother and so told Mrs. Bates, who had accompanied her home. Bessy had been a nice girl. John was just a boy when all this happened, but he remembered hearing his sisters and his mother talking later. She had changed. Her trusting nature was gone, her sparkle had vanished. Nora had died soon after this, and John hadn't thought about Bessy much since, but he felt her experience was somehow typical of girls who had been violated. If some boy had gone too far with Anna, she wouldn't be so eager or so trusting. Perhaps she didn't trust him. But she so obviously did. He rolled his neck and groaned. It was going to be such a long evening.
John was late to dinner, but not as late as Anna. Conversation was limited. Mr. Carson was still flustered from the talk at tea and was trying to regain his sense of moral authority. John wondered if the discussion had led to impure thoughts and inclinations. How the man had ever survived life on the stage, John would never know. Perhaps he had led a life of carefree debauchery and was making up for it now. William still looked confused; Mr. Branson was going to be in for a long evening as well. Anna was distant. She barely smiled at him. She didn't touch him. Usually at meals she'd let a leg brush his, or her foot stroke his under the table. Sometimes a hand on his knee. Tonight nothing. She was going to break it off. Mr. Carson's commentary had awakened some sense of propriety, that what they were doing was wrong. It wasn't wrong; what was wrong was that it couldn't go any farther. Damn Vera. He needed to write her again. He'd been putting it off, but Anna deserved more. He needed to show her he could make more possible. A little cottage. Nearby perhaps, or possibly Ireland. John stirred his stew. He'd like to see Ireland again. Children were an intriguing possibility. Small blond children with wide smiles. All girls. If Anna agreed. But she wouldn't. She didn't want children, and she was going to end their entanglement. The stew was tasteless. He wondered if Daisy had made it. Anna lightly brushed against him as she pushed back from the table. He glanced up at her. She smiled. It was going to be a long evening.
After work was finished for the evening, John waited for Anna in the hall, with a pot of tea and The Sorrows of Young Werther. Rather sentimental, melodramatic stuff, but it suited his mood. He felt a little queasy. He was steeling himself for the worst. John hoped it would happen fast. He didn't want to let her go, but if that's what she wanted he had to let her. He'd have to resign. He hadn't turned a page in five minutes. He closed his eyes. Resign and return to London. Fade from her life as she would never fade from his. He looked up. Anna was in the door. She was leaning with her arms crossed over her shawl. She had released her hair from the bun, but she was still wearing that ugly black dress.
John tried to find something to say other than her name as she crossed the room to her chair. She gave him a small smile as she sat.
"Is this any good?" She took the book from him.
"I'm not sure I've taken much of it in." He was trying to read her face. He saw tiredness, stress, worry. That crease was back between her eyebrows. He wanted to take her in his arms, press her body to his chest, and bury his face in her hair while she nuzzled into his neck. He wouldn't, unless that was what she wanted.
John watched as Anna laid the book on the table. "You're worried."
John looked down. Worried. He looked into her eyes. "I am."
Anna sighed and smiled. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you. I knew you'd jump to some sort of awful conclusion as soon as I said it, especially since I had to leave right then."
John let out his breath. It came out as shaking laughter. It felt so good. "Am I that transparent?"
Anna smiled and shook her head. "Perhaps." She put her hand on his cheek. "Or perhaps I just know you very well, Mr. Bates." John closed his eyes. It would be alright.
"Would you like some tea?" He had plenty. "Or would you like to go for a walk?" John was still worried, but at least she wasn't going to end things.
Anna stood. "Let's go outside. It's so clear and cool; I'd like to see the moon in the pond."
They paused at the door. "Do I need my coat?"
"Only you can answer that." She smiled. John felt hopeful.
"Do you need my coat?" Her lips twitched. He took it.
The night was beautiful. Clear and crisp, with the clean smell of autumn. They walked slowly, close but not touching, quiet.
"Mr. Carson and I have many differences, but I respect him, and I had thought him a caring man. He surprised me today."
Anna was looking more at the ground that the sky. She smiled distantly, without looking at John. "Oh? He didn't surprise me." She drew her shawl tighter. John would wrap them in his coat when they got to the temple.
"He's an obtuse and insensitive fellow. He deserves to live in the type of world he believes in." Anna just shook her head. "And banning books for the common good? What kind of sense could there ever be in that? There's nothing there but fear and hypocrisy."
"I don't think you're being fair to Mr. Carson. He is a kind man, and a good man. He's just trying to maintain the ideals he was raised to believe in. He loves tradition and order." She stretched her neck to look at the sky. "I think you'll find most people think as he does, at least about what you were discussing this afternoon." She smiled at him. "Which had nothing to do with the literary merits of your Mr. D. H. Lawrence at all."
John kicked at a rock. "The ideals and traditions he was raised to believe in are barbaric, if what he said is indeed what he believes."
Anna was quiet. John wasn't sure she was going to say anything. She pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. When she did speak, she was looking in the opposite direction of John, towards the walled garden. "Aren't you the one who says that while society can be a cruel place, we have to live in it, and to do that, we have to accept and lives by its rules?"
"Yes, but we don't have to like them, or support them, or lose our compassion just to maintain a sense of order." It was never simple. John wished Anna would come out with it. He was no longer dreading whatever it was she wanted to say, but she was being cryptic. He wondered if this was what it was like to deal with him.
They reached the temple. Anna was right; the moon was reflected in the pond and it was beautiful. The sky and water were dark, almost black, and the moon a full silver. They sat on the steps, John resting his back on a pillar, Anna resting her back against John, John's coat tucked around them. A pair of swans drifted by. John didn't want to rush her, but he wished she'd tell him whatever it was. He would not ask. He could feel her tension. She had not relaxed against him. John wanted her to come out with it. He ran his hands over the base of her neck, her shoulders. Nothing but knots. He started to work, slowly. She settled a little closer against him. This might help. He just needed to relax her.
"I couldn't help but notice that there was something upsetting you this afternoon." Anna was still distracted. "I still don't think it was the question of censorship." She seemed to be making herself more tense waiting to tell him. He was going to have to take a more direct line. "I think, even though we've established where we stand on Mr. Carson and his attitude, there was something in what he said you may have found especially troubling." It was almost as if she had taken something personally. She remained quiet. John kept smoothing. "I don't want you to feel like you have to tell me anything you don't want to." He leaned a little neared to her. "You have said that nothing you could ever learn about me would affect how you felt about me. I hope you know the same is true for me."
"Well…" Anna squirmed. "Could…could you stop?" John stopped. Anna shifted so she was next to him. "You see… I…" She was blinking, looking at the sky and then at the ground. John wanted to take her in his arms again, but he knew he shouldn't. Not yet. Anna's voice had dropped. "Remember when I told you about Andrew? The farm hand?"
John's heart skipped a beat. "Bad skin, bad teeth, smelled, wanted to marry you? Vaguely." Perfectly.
John could see Anna try not to smile. "Well, I... I didn't exactly tell you the truth."
A shadow crossed the moon. "There didn't seem to be much more to tell. You didn't sound all that taken with him."
"Well, I never thought I'd tell anyone the truth. When I told you about him, there…there wasn't any reason to and I… it was easier to tell you the story I told everyone else."
John understood. "I'm hardly in a position to comment on your being less than forthright." Their relationship was new at the time, and if this story was going where John thought it might, Anna would want to make sure of him, his love and trust, before revealing all her secrets.
"Andrew actually wasn't that bad. He did smell, but we all did. And his teeth were crooked and his skin was spotty, but there was just something about him. And he was very nice." A breeze picked up. "He had good prospects, and since it was either be a maid or marry someone, I went walking out with him." She was taking her time. John didn't want her to feel rushed, but there were certain things he needed to know. "We weren't allowed to have young men, of course, but almost all the girls did. I was one of the youngest, and I heard them talking at night about them. They all said the only way to show the man you cared about him was to do whatever he suggested. It was only way to keep him, especially if there was to be a baby… If there was to be a baby he couldn't leave, and you could leave service." John wasn't entirely sure where this was going. Anna was not the type of person who would try to have a baby to secure a future. "But no one ever seemed to wind up pregnant."
"My mother had never said much about all that. Of course I knew where babies came from, and how, but waiting until marriage was never mentioned. I knew that…that really you weren't supposed to, but plenty of people didn't, and were still good people." She was trying to tell him she wasn't a virgin. "I'm not sure my grandparents were actually married. We were all so poor, it didn't matter." John knew there were plenty of communities in which physical consummation of a relationship equaled marriage. "One new curate made much of that, but the vicar had so many other problems, he said that God knew the families, and that was enough for him." Somehow the idea of sexual ignorance and sexual guilt evolved in society while the idea of sexual freedom and sex as a contract remained the law in rural communities. Natural law won. "And for girls like me, it didn't matter. No one expected much of us." It mattered for girls like Lady Mary.
"I really liked Andrew, but I didn't love him. But sometimes when he kissed me, I felt like I was on fire. I just wanted him to keep at it, to never stop. And one day he didn't stop." Anna's voice faded away. She looked down at her hands. One of the swans honked.
John closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and took a deep breath. He hadn't wanted to interrupt, but he had to know. "Anna... I need to know… Did you want him to stop?... Do I need to find this Andrew and hurt him? Did he force himself on you?"
"No." One of the swans flapped its wings. "No, he didn't. We hadn't actually walked anywhere; it was storming and we went up to a room over the barn, and we started kissing. It was different than usual, and it felt so good, and it was such a hot day. It felt so good. He'd unbuttoned his shirt and my dress and he just kept touching me and I didn't want him to ever stop. I was touching him too, and he felt so good. I realized that his trousers were open, and that my dress was gone and my drawers, but it felt so good I didn't care. Next thing I knew he was on top of me and I couldn't bear for him to stop then. And then it hurt and it was over. He'd ripped my shift and there was blood and I was dripping."
John leaned his head against the pillar and looked at the sky. Anna had drawn her knees to her chest. Slowly, John took her hand. She curled to his side. John kissed the top of her head. They sat in silence.
"A few days later, it was stormy again, and we went back to the little room. It started the same way, but it was so different. It was so much better." John smiled to himself and wrapped his arm around her. It usually was better the second time. "It was like we'd unleashed something in each other. It felt so good, and it was so hard to stop." Anna shifted. "We really couldn't stop." John pulled the coat up to her chin. "There were so many ways to go about it, and they were all fun." He was momentarily troubled by the image of coarse hands on Anna's soft creamy skin, the eagerness of a young man to seek his own gratification without the interest or finesse to see to Anna's. Anna required finesse. "One night when we were getting ready for bed, Sally, my roommate, told me I needed to be careful. I didn't know what she meant."
John shifted his leg. This was where the story was going. He stared into the darkness and pulled Anna a little closer. She felt tense again.
"I should have asked what she meant." John tightened his grip. "I didn't think much of it until a few weeks later. Things had never been very… regular… and I didn't really notice until… things… were very late." John felt his heart tighten. He felt Anna take a deep breath. "I started to feel sick, all the time, and I was so tired. But then, my breasts hurt and there was some blood, and I thought…." Anna's voice shook. "The bleeding stopped almost as soon as it started. I didn't know what to do, so I didn't do anything. I thought if I just went on as usual, it wouldn't be true." Anna had had a baby. "A housekeeper like Mrs. Hughes would have known immediately and turned me out. Luckily Mrs. Polwarth never noticed much of anything."
John took a deep breath. Anna had had a baby. "Eventually I had to tell Andrew. I was so scared; I didn't know what to do." Andrew, the cad, had left her. "He was excited, and asked me to marry him. I didn't want to, but I said yes. There wasn't anything else. I'd be dismissed, and my mother certainly wouldn't have had any more to do with me." Andrew kept surprising John. He did seem like a nice enough young man. Clearly the story was going to get worse. "That night, when I was awake in bed, I started thinking about my Pa, and all he'd planned for me. He wanted so much more for me than that. I felt like such a slut, and so stupid. This never happened to anyone else. I could see years and years ahead, living in a hut, with a dirt floor, and no money, and ten children. We'd be dirty and hungry. I would be old, and tired, couldn't love them, and if Andrew and I had loved each other, we wouldn't have by then. I didn't want that. I hoped I might die." Anna squirmed slightly. John didn't want to loosen his grip, but he did. The female swan was diving for food. "My mother never let me forget what a burden I was, and I didn't want that if I ever had a baby." It would be so easy, in that horrible situation, to turn into her mother.
If she had ever had a baby. Anna had been pregnant. Had she had a baby? It was worse than John had imagined. Anna had given up the baby. Andrew had left her, or died, and she had given up the baby. John slid his arm to rest around Anna's shoulders. She was looking into the darkness, blinking. Quivering. He wished she'd cry. Watching her struggle not to was too painful. "Anna." He braced himself. He let her draw nearer. "What happened to the baby?"
Anna was clenching her skirt. She took a deep breath. "I didn't have one." She nestled into the curve of John's body and looked up at the moon. "I woke up one night, with horrible cramps. I thought I was going to be sick. I was bleeding. I was bleeding a lot. I managed to get out to the privy without waking anyone. I spent the night out there." Anna's face was soaked in tears. "I couldn't see much, but I felt a lump come out." She leaned her head back so it was on John's shoulder. "I went back to my room just before daylight. Sally was awake. She asked me what I'd taken." She was whispering. "I didn't think she'd known. No one knew but Andrew. I hadn't taken anything." John pulled her onto his lap. "But I would have. I was so relieved. If I had known there was something I could have taken to make it stop I would have. I didn't want it." She tried to catch her breath. "It would have had a horrible life. It was better that it died. I didn't deserve a baby. I couldn't take care of one. But I loved it." Her voice finally broke.
John pressed her to his chest. He thought the mystery of her professed disinterest in children was solved. "The bleeding kept up, but not as bad. I handed in my notice the next day. Mrs. Polwarth found me this place. She said it was perfect for a girl like me with so much potential. She said she was sorry to lose me as I was the only girl who knew how to work and never gave her any trouble." Anna took another breath. "Andrew cried when I told him. He still thought we'd get married. He told me his parents had cleared a corner in their cottage for us, and that he loved me. I told him I didn't love him, and didn't want that kind of life, and walked away before I started crying." She buried her face in John's neck. "I felt so relieved that it wasn't going to happen, but I felt like I had killed the baby by not wanting it. It was better that it died, but I loved it."
John didn't know what to say. He smoothed his hands down her back as she sobbed. "I'm so sorry." He whispered into her hair. "I'm so sorry that happened." She smelled like soap and sweat and powder and lavender. She was shaking. John suspected this was first time the grief had ever really come out. "I can't imagine how horrible it was." John blinked away a tear of his own. Anna burrowed into his neck. Her face was hot and she felt frail in his arms, and her arms felt cold through her sleeves. John held her tight against him with one arm, and tucked his coat back around her. Eventually her sobs quieted. Her breathing became more gentle. John rested his chin on her head as she slept. The swans drifted past, in perfect harmony. Swans mated for life.