A/N: Thanks so much for the lovely and encouraging feedback on this story. I miss Gwen too, and loved seeing Rose Leslie talking so enthusiastically about keeping up with DA recently. Perhaps it's a sign...?
Another character this time, who probably gave A/B the best favour there was.
Mary sighed as she let the book she was holding fall shut with a little puff of air, which perfectly punctuated the sound that emerged from her lips. Running a hand over the hardback cover once, and then back again the other way, she placed it firmly down onto the table at her side, feeling that the decisive action she had taken not to continue to read stood for something. Or perhaps that was wishful thinking, and she really should have learned to stop believing her wishes had any currency.
She had no inclination to even pretend to be occupied with the volume she had picked up. Yet as she stood, surveying the surroundings of her room, she was struck by the feeling, slightly delayed in its approach, that she possessed the proclivity for nothing. It did not seem to matter, as she had no real purpose; now, it seemed more than ever. Sybil was nursemaid for their mother and Doctor Clarkson's unofficial assistant, as well as the one who was threatening the shadow of scandal to cast upon the house, which persisted like fog in the distance though its looming had lessened, surpassed by a darker sky of clouds. Even Edith had discovered a spark of something of late, clinging onto the remnants of war tightly within her grasp, much like she used to do with the dolls that were hers and hers alone as a child, hoarding anything that was offered to her with what Mary had always perceived to be an unjustified jealousy.
How stinging it was that now she should be the jealous one, and of Edith of all people. Though she would never dare admit it to anyone but herself in moments such as these – and even that pained her greatly – she supposed she always had been. Her sister had no obligations, no burdens of name or blasted entail resting upon her shoulders. She loved Downton Abbey with all her heart – she had once believed more than she would be able to love any man that was thrown in her direction – but sometimes the lengths that she was expected to go to to ensure that it was protected seemed too much to ask. Her purpose in life from the day she was unfortunate enough to be born a girl had been defined as less than a player; merely a pawn who was to be passed around until a suitable – not even preferable - prospect could be secured. When she was younger, even as much as a couple of years ago now, she had made the resolve that no matter how her fate was decided she would never be truly conquered. She would at the very least retain some of her fight and fire, no matter how inappropriate it may be for the future Countess of Grantham. As the months passed and events occurred, spiralling more out of her control, she felt the flames dwindling within herself. As her gaze looked towards the window that framed the room she could not help but be consumed by the heavy set of the sky as it sagged over the house, cloaking it into further despair.
The last few days had been very peculiar, and that was to put it mildly. When one by one, they had begun to topple like playing pins at dinner, her instinct had at first been to dismiss any grave concern. When Lavinia had turned grey-faced and looked as though she may swoon when she stood, everything came into much clearer focus. The sensation struck her squarely in the chest; it could very well have been her who was chosen to be afflicted. Fate had decided to be kind to her for once, or so she had believed at the time. She had been filled with fright as her mother went through what seemed to be some way past the very worst, alarm radiating around the room, everything flashing wildly before her eyes. Yet it was in a quieter moment that they had all been taken by surprise.
Rather unfortunately as she stood frozen in the room, watching Lavinia succumb as Matthew bent desperately over her bedside, she was reminded of a remark her Granny had made not long after they had first encountered Miss Swire. Something about how unassuming and naïve she was. How could Matthew be so enamoured with a girl like that? She would not know that a bird had landed on her shoulder until after it had pecked her away to nothing. Mary had come to learn that that was far from the case, and as she saw Lavinia's eyelids shiver and heard her delicately rasping breaths, an acute sense of guilt settled itself low within her stomach. She had seen them swaying in the hall the other night, she had almost certainly witnessed them doing what they should not, if it were not for the surge within their hearts that refused to be banished. It was preposterous to believe such betrayal had caused this horrible twist of fate to occur, but still the thought plagued her, from long before the second that Lavinia breathed her last.
Half of her had hoped to have seen Matthew before he departed the day before, the other half wanted nothing more than to shut herself away within these walls for the rest of time. What on earth could she have said or done? Even with everything that had passed between them, especially in the footing they had found themselves in of late, the words seemed meaningless and hollow. She was not certain that she could have looked him in the eye without being possessed to do something she would deeply regret. Matthew had lost out on everything, so very unfairly, and she was left lucky once more, in a fashion. She had Sir Richard. The very thought of his name and face twisted her stomach and sent bile rising in her throat. Her fate, her punishment.
She had word a couple of days ago from Mrs Hughes that though a fair few servants had been affected, there were no casualties, and though they had been unable to work most were bearing up well. Carson had been the most serious case; though he was over the worst of it now he was still confined to bed, on Doctor Clarkson's orders – and the housekeeper's too, Mary was quite certain. She had went to see him just before everything had gone wrong, and although she had hoped to have been some comfort to the reliable butler it was the opposite that turned out to be true instead. His affection for her was enduring, and though she had been angry at his refusal to go to Haxby, she could not stay furious. Downton Abbey was his life, too. They shared that in common, and in truth she did not blame him at all. If only she could find some way of escaping the mess she had gotten herself in to. She had the idea that she might go to the servants' quarters again to seek his counsel – indeed, she was not required to do anything else right now – but she did not wish to disturb Carson if he was sleeping, though she imagined he would not dare do such a thing in the middle of the afternoon if he could help it. No, he needed all the peace he could get.
Instead, Mary's thoughts drifted to the other faithful member of their staff she held in such high regard. Despite all the grief and chaos that was weighing down around her, she couldn't help but curl her lips in a sure smile as she considered what was to pass, if indeed it hadn't already taken place.
She had found Anna turning down the bed the other night, apologising to her when she entered. It seemed as though her unexpected entrance was not all that had startled the maid. Mary became suddenly anxious for a moment or two, noticing that Anna appeared rather preoccupied and fidgety. Her countenance was not pale or washed-out; instead her cheeks were flushed with a rosy glow, the colour of her eyes taking on another hue in the dim light. Perhaps the illness affected different people in distinct ways. Her fears were soon allayed as Anna confided the truth behind the matter, of hers and Bates's plan to be wed. She was momentarily taken by surprise, though not unpleasantly. With all the bad that had unfolded so quickly, it was a blessing to hear some cheery news, and when Anna gave the reasoning she thought her very brave indeed. Anna's anxieties had not been so easily dispelled; Mary could see that her small hands were worrying away at her apron as she stood in front of her, waiting for what she imagined would be a pained denial. Mary had no intention of refusing, soon putting her maid out of her misery. She only had time enough to catch a restrained but true smile on Anna's face as Edith called to say that their mother's condition had deteriorated. Even as she hurried along to their parents' room, the image remained in her head to lift her heart.
In all the time she had worked and lived in the house, Mary liked to consider that she had come to know Anna quite well. There were not that many years between them and Anna was a wonderful confidant, loyal and discreet and completely understanding, even when she did not confess to being anywhere near understanding her own mind and self. She believed that she had a very good idea of the maid's temperament, her feelings if not her innermost thoughts. If there was one thing that she was certain of it was that unlike many of the other maids, whom she largely heard about rather than had any dealings with, Anna was not one for hopeless infatuations. Though she felt some sadness for the fact, knowing that Anna would make an excellent wife and mother – much better made for the purpose than she was certain she could ever be, though she really had little choice – it was also a relief that it was quite likely that Anna would never go that way. She had a fondness for her, and good maids were hard to come by. She certainly had no idea why her mother seemed to favour that frightful O'Brien so much.
And yet, when Bates had arrived, Anna had been rather taken with him. Mary still recalled how she had defended him against her own dismissive comments when he had first been appointed. Of course then she had little inkling of how things would turn out, and she suspected that neither had Anna. She had a feeling that perhaps it was something of a novelty; this older, experienced, battle-worn man turning up to shake the structure. In part, Mary supposed she could see the attraction, and she had imagined that it would be someone other than an empty-headed farmer or arrogant footman who would catch Anna's fancy if anyone did. Someone who possessed more grace, substance and intelligence, as Anna was far from being uninterested in the ways of the world. She had wondered whether it was very common for servants to form romantic relationships with one another, never really considering it before. There must have been flings and dalliances over the years that her parents had pretended not to know about, or that had otherwise gone undiscovered. Now, given what was common knowledge about her own sister and the chauffeur, she supposed that anything was possible. But whatever happened between Anna and Bates, it would not be entered into lightly. Both were sensible and upstanding, and she imagined – or at least she hoped – Bates would not be reckless with Anna's heart. She was almost hesitant to say it, but the feeling must have been true for the depth that she believed was apparent; the two must have loved each other.
They both knew of the fact when Matthew was away at war and Bates had left to accompany his wife back to London. As Anna readied her for bed one night, she had asked her, though there had been no need. Anna was in love with Bates; indeed, he was the love of her life, and she would be willing to have no other as second best. She would gladly spend the rest of her days alone and pining for the love she had lost than try to obtain even a shadow of happiness. In a way Mary could not fathom it, and yet she knew only too well. Though she did not envy Anna's anguish, she did envy her ability to choose what she would do for herself. Not long after, Mary had worried about Anna's apparent desire to work herself into the ground in Bates's absence. She had replied that she felt quite mad but supposed it was understandable, really; love was a kind of madness, probably the worst that existed when it wasn't going your way. Once more, she could identify to a degree.
She was happy when Bates returned, pleased that she could make something work to her favour in these doomed circumstances in helping to track the valet down. She liked the man, and found that she was in debt to his dignified act of disappearance; after all, it was to keep her reputation secure that he stayed true to his word and caused Anna such despair. Now her maid was joyful again and it elevated Mary's mood in turn. The trials and tribulations did not stop, Bates's awful wife followed like a bad stench afterwards, and once more Mary did what she was able to chase her away, though it was not a great deal. It had been a shock to discover that she had been found dead, but not for a second did Mary believe that anything suspect had taken place. From what she knew about the woman she was deeply bitter, vindictive and had sharp wits about her; it would not be a stretch to find she had craftily concocted her own demise, to ensure that Bates and Anna were robbed of their serenity. Yet thankfully the good had persisted, in the same way that Anna had always battled on. She was not blind, she knew what may be awaiting. That had been the reason for the secret union, although Anna's euphoria regardless could not be denied. If only she could have learnt by her maid's example long ago and shown the same kind of conviction when Matthew had first asked her. Perhaps she would have been in a vastly different position now. And by that thought, Anna would have been too.
Mary shivered for a moment. It was true that she was far past the point of caring about her own nuptials, only able to muster the slightest enthusiasm when it was required. She knew she would never be truly happy with her life that would not even be second-best, but she was making her peace with that. If anyone deserved the truest happiness that could ever be afforded in the world for all the service and selflessness she had shown, it was Anna.
Spurred on with a sudden energy she made her way downstairs, not quite knowing what she was looking for. The afternoon was wearing on, and a clear glint of sunshine had broken through to flood the hall with warm light. With the knowledge she had, it appeared to be a sign. Once again her mourning faltered as she considered the couple, arm in arm perhaps as they walked from the registry office, pronounced as man and wife. Anna's smile brighter than the sun that shone in the sky.
She did not notice her sister descending the stairs until the light whine of her voice disrupted the silence.
"I can't find Anna," Edith announced as she stepped down, walking across to where Mary stood. "I want her to sort out my black for Monday."
Annoyance crept over Mary again. Goodness, could she do nothing for herself, even in these circumstances? She was careful to stifle her smile when she replied, lest Edith think she had gone mad and give her more ammunition.
"I sent her into Ripon for something," she replied flatly. "I'm sorry."
Edith returned with a rather pointed look, wondering what could have possibly been wanted at such a time. Still, whatever Mary wants, Mary gets, she was no doubt thinking, and Mary could have laughed out loud at such an absurdity.
"It'll keep," she sighed, tossing her head lightly. Her voice lowered several octaves. "Mary…" she uttered before hesitating, looking about her conspiratorially. "Are you going to try again now?" Mary was utterly baffled. Edith's tone dropped lower still until it was a breath between the two of them. "Now that Matthew is…"
How could she possibly have that thought, at such a time and such a place? Contrary to her sister's beliefs, nothing was that simple. Not to mention it would have been insensitive and unthinkable to even contemplate the thought. She felt deeply ashamed that somewhere within her, she harboured a little hope.
"Try again for what?"
Before she could move to answer Edith, Mary flashed white to hear another sly voice. She took a sharp intake of breath to see Sir Richard appeared apparently from nowhere.
She soon pinned on a half-smile, nothing that would reveal anything of her tumultuous emotions.
"To get into last year's funeral kit. But to be honest, I doubt it would still fit."
She offered another polite stare and nod of her head before she turned on her heels, walking past Edith and back up the stairs, without looking back at her fiancé. Seething with anger at his presence, walking around as if he owned the place – her home and her birthright, if the law had made any sense – she could stay no longer.
Once she was at the top of the two flights and some way down the corridor, she felt herself calming. As the mist faded from her mind, she passed one of the guest rooms, hardly ever used, its door left open to signify that it needed attending to anyway. An idea quickly began to form in her mind, she had not known why she hadn't considered it sooner.
It emerged that she did have a purpose after all, and it pleased her that it was a far happier and selfless one than anyone may ever think.
Jane appeared to look very much like Mary felt, the two women locked in silence. While Mary sat at her dresser the maid stood starchly, her raven hair a complete contrast to her whitened features. Though she was polite enough not to lose eye contact with her superior, Mary discerned a peculiar and hardly disguised alarm in Jane's gaze, the same kind of fevered look that could be seen in the eyes of a small animal when its hunter had cornered it. She was accustomed to servants being rather intimidated by her presence, but this instance unsettled her particularly.
She did her best to move past the strange sensation, and make it easier for the both of them, though it was not really her job to do so. But then she remembered swiftly that it was not her own needs that were at stake here.
"Jane," she uttered the maid's name with a tight smile.
"M'lady," the maid replied quickly, performing a small, semi-curtsy apparently unconsciously and then looking embarrassed about the action, her gaze briefly departed before it was back in place.
Mary decided to pretend as though she had not noticed.
"I know we haven't really met properly, and I suppose there hasn't been need for us to. But still, it seems rather unfair."
"Not at all, m'lady," Jane responded promptly, no sign of pandering in her voice. Though of course she expected civility from the staff, it irritated Mary when they were overly deferent to her. It always smacked of insincerity, and of trying to worm their way upwards. In their first real contact, she was assured that Jane was proper in her amount of courteousness. "You have Anna for that, after all."
Not for much longer, came a sigh in her head.
"Actually, it was about Anna that I called you up."
Jane's whole being changed; though she remained standing straight, Mary noticed that she visibly relaxed the tension in her shoulders, and her face retained its colour. The swift alteration in the maid was rather odd, but she would not begin to try and fathom it.
"I trust that you are aware of the situation between Anna and Mr Bates," Mary began in a clipped tone, feeling faintly self-conscious suddenly. She wasn't quite sure how much servants shared in the way of these matters, though she knew very well that some were more interested in sniffing out gossip than others.
"That they are engaged, m'lady? Yes, it's of knowledge to us all," Jane replied with brightness in her tone, seeming to share a certain joy in the fact. "Though they don't make a show of it. They're both very private and respectful, and their duties always come first, I can assure you, m'lady."
"Quite," Mary answered, stifling a more mischievious notion in her mind. In that case, they deserved this all the more. She wasn't oblivious enough to believe that there had not been stolen moments between the pair in the veils of moonlight, or perhaps even in hidden corners within the house. Poor Anna must have been quite frantic with the torture of it all. "I'm assured you'll keep the secret. They departed to Ripon to be married this day. Certainly, by now, I should think it will all be official."
Jane prevented herself from clapping her hand to her mouth given the company she was in, though her fingers twitched by her side. "Oh, that is wonderful news, m'lady. It's been such a time for them, they'll be ever so happy. If I may say so, I am incredibly pleased for them too."
"As am I," Mary smiled widely, letting the reserve of her exterior drop in the moment, feeling once more that she was a girl engaging in play behind the back of her governess. "I'm certain that the day has been wonderful, but it doesn't seem fair that they should be denied the night."
Mary's cheeks began to blaze; to the knowledge of most, she remained unaware of these matters, and she was, really, when it came to the act being shared in the deepest love.
"I cannot do much, but we do have many rooms, and I would like to afford one to them."
"Very well, m'lady," Jane nodded her acquiescence, and made to turn to attend to the room at once. Before she could leave, Mary halted her by speaking once more.
"I don't wish for Anna to believe that I am prying in her personal affairs, so if you could come up with something," she added, somewhat haltingly. She did long to reveal the full truth to her maid herself, as some kind of repayment for everything she had done for her over the years, going beyond the call of duty in her faithfulness, but social constraints still existed for a reason, and Anna's privacy was to be respected as much as her own.
"Yes, m'lady," Jane answered the command. "You can say that it was my idea for a leaving present."
"That would be an excellent notion," Mary gave a smile to the maid, who returned it towards her. "I hate to sound like a tyrant at this time, but I expect they will be back shortly, and I wish it to be prepared to the best of appearance."
It could be no less than perfect, she had decided long before.
"Yes, m'lady. I will see to it straight away."
Mary couldn't be more pleased now that the wheels were fully in motion, being certain there could be no better treat for Anna.
"I'm terribly sorry, m'lady," Anna was full of apology as she closed the door behind her, hastening into the room to draw back the curtains. "We're still not back to our full complement downstairs, so all hands are needed."
"It's perfectly alright," Mary waved away any question of concern, smiling as Anna took the tray from her and then began to pull the covers back.
As she went about her work fluidly, Mary watched closely to see if she could discern any noticeable changes in her maid's appearance, anything that told of the hours before that had not long flew away. Anna remained the picture of professionalism as ever, though as she carefully laid out the black clothes upon the now smoothed bed from their place in the wardrobe, a tell-tale smile could be seen playing at the corners of her lips. Her hands danced upon the silky fabric of the blouse, and Mary followed their movements from the chair at her dresser, full of enchantment and wonder herself. As if both aware of the sombre mood that she was supposed to be in and that she was being closely watched, Anna composed herself immediately. When she stood behind Mary at the dresser, brush in hand, a smaller version of the blissful expression appeared naturally on her face, and Mary could not help but feel aglow inside.
"We're not at normal service ourselves, until Monday." Mary bristled, and she was certain that Anna could feel her strain, gliding the brush with a gentler stroke through her hair. "Not that such a thing could ever be called normal."
"No, m'lady," Anna responded quietly as she maintained her movements. "We're all very shocked about Miss Swire, still. She seemed like such a lovely person, and what with everything…" She paused for a moment, meeting Mary's eyes in the mirror and instantly sensing all that was too difficult to say, and as usual, leaving it where it longed to be. "I hope Mr Crawley knows that we all offer our condolences."
"I'm certain that he does," Mary managed a smile at Anna's tone, trying not to think too much about the awkward moment when she would have to come face to face with Matthew.
Anna worked in silence for a few minutes, adding the pins with practised ease, an air of calmness around her that placated Mary too.
"And her Ladyship is feeling better now?"
"Much better," Mary sighed with relief. "I don't think she will be up and about for the funeral, but we're all sending blessings that she has got through it."
"That's wonderful, m'lady. Miss O'Brien was very worried, she's barely rested since she knew her Ladyship was taken ill."
Mary pursed her lips, keeping her head still as Anna made her final adjustments. She decided enough time of observant mourning had passed and that a cheerier atmosphere should prevail. Plus, she could see no harm in asking, eager to know whether all had been to Anna's liking. Well, she was quite certain that some aspects had.
"I trust that Bates liked the surprise when he saw it."
Bates was an appreciative man and no doubt would have been in gratitude for the luxury of the room, but she had to wonder whether he would be able to accurately give the colour of the curtains or describe the pattern on the walls if he had been interrogated. It wouldn't have been difficult to imagine that every faculty he possessed was focused intently elsewhere, upon the only other who occupied the room that night.
Anna's hands fiddled needlessly with one of the pins that held back a well-secured curl.
"Yes, he did." Her voice was light, and only a little reserved. "He means to say thank you, as I do again."
"You needn't thank me. It was Jane's idea, after all."
Her maid fixed her with a knowing look through the pane of the mirror, and Mary smiled, her shoulders shrugging backwards.
"I should know that nothing gets past you," she remarked with a small laugh, standing to allow Anna to begin the task of dressing her for the day. "I am just glad that it adequately fulfilled its purpose."
With the nightgown in her hands, Anna coloured a shade of deepening pink. Mary smirked while Anna lifted the clothes from where they lay, picking small bits of fluff from the blouse's shoulders, her gaze narrowed but unable to avoid the heat of the silently questioning stare that came from not far away.
"I dare say that it was more than adequate, after the amount of time you've had to wait." It was crossing the boundaries a little, but she couldn't resist. "I do hope that you both enjoyed it rather than just liking it."
Even as the blush sank further into her cheeks, Anna looked upwards once she had fastened the buttons upon the garment, meeting Mary's gaze head-on.
"Enjoyable is one of many words I could use," she confessed with a smile that nearly split her face apart, a definite glint in the depths of her irises.
"Anna, I'm shocked," Mary feigned a gasp, "how wayward married life has made you so soon."
The two women shared a laugh, and before she could look for anything more, Anna darted around to do up her skirt. She knew enough if the grin that was surely still gracing Anna's features was anything to go by.
"I'm ever so grateful that you allowed it, m'lady," Anna's voice came from below her shoulder. "It was not what either of us expected at all. It was such a kindness, and really, I don't know what to say. Except thank you, ever so much."
Mary felt slightly uncomfortable in receiving such praise, and yet at the same time she did not feel like it had been enough. Anna had all but saved her from being thrown into torrid scandal, offered such heartfelt comfort in times when she had felt herself defeated by life and the more difficult business of love. This one favour seemed too little by far in comparison for all the unwavering duty she had shown. Yet as she came to face her again with bright eyes and a completely serene manner, it appeared as though it had been enough to equal more than the world had to offer.
"Anna, it's the very least that I could have done. You have been so good to me in all these years, even when it has been the last thing that I have deserved, being so very foolish."
"I wouldn't say you were that, m'lady," Anna offered sweetly.
Mary smiled, knowing she was beyond lucky to have such a very kind and trustworthy maid serving her. Of course, it wouldn't stay that way forever, not now that she was a married woman. She would have her own life to think of; indeed, not just her own.
"I would have liked you here for longer, even if you wouldn't be accompanying me. I'm sure Mrs Hughes and Carson will miss you as well, they value you so highly."
Anna fussed with the neckline of her blouse, shrugging off the compliments.
"Well, I've no intention of leaving just yet, and I don't see that changing soon."
"You may have no say in that now," Mary drily insinuated, imagining Anna's petite frame swelling outwards.
Anna seemed shocked into silence for a moment, before biting back a shy smile. "I suppose it's not impossible," she admitted rather quietly, as if her mistress was suddenly unaware of what had taken place. "But I don't think so, somehow."
"You must hope?" Mary could not imagine Anna without children surrounding her feet, thinking of her and Bates doting on a little brood of their miniature forms.
"Oh, of course, m'lady. Mr Bates and I have discussed it, and should we be so lucky one day we have plans that we would very much like to pursue." A rather breathtaking smile flooded Anna's features as she visited a dream that was clearly dear to and often visited by her. "We have enough to think about getting used to it all now, just by ourselves. Once it's out in the open, it'll be another story again. But for me, and for both of us, it's more than enough. The promise of our own home will keep us going."
Mary could see that Anna was full of memories already made to sustain her, the biggest dream that she had had for so long finally come true.
"Hopefully it won't be too long until you can say."
"Hopefully not, m'lady. I would rather like to be able to wear my wedding ring all the time." Anna smiled another beaming smile while she wrapped the fingers of her right hand around the finger of her left. "We shall see what the future holds."
There was a very small note of trepidation in her tone. In the haze of shared excitement, Mary had quite forgotten about the problems that surrounded Bates. It was clear that Anna had not. After everything that had happened, Mary hated to see a faint shadow corrupt Anna's dearly held happiness, and endeavoured to bring the cheer back to her again.
"It's awfully unfair that a husband and wife should have to be separated after one night," she mused, sitting back down at the dresser as Anna moved towards the door. "You should sneak back up tonight. I can't imagine that Bates will be able to do without you, now he knows what he's been missing, and the same goes for you too."
"M'lady!" Anna exclaimed, a vaguely hopeful sparkle in her eyes betraying her apparent surprise. "Such a thing could never happen."
"I don't see why not," Mary replied teasingly. "Nobody will notice you're gone. I will even keep guard if you want me to."
Anna wrinkled her nose and shook her head, the smile at the idea still remaining on her face.
"No, m'lady. As lovely as it was, it was meant to be a special night, and it was. We can be patient until the next time, when we needn't have to wait again afterwards."
"You're far more patient than I am," Mary smiled, pushing down the sorrow she felt within. She could not say that she was so anxious for her own married life to begin, but the image of Anna so joyful gave her some hope that perhaps she could find some semblance of happiness in her future after all.
"Will there be anything else, m'lady?" Anna stood patiently waiting, her words interrupting Mary's thoughts.
"No, that will be all, thank you Anna." Mary absorbed one last look at her maid by the door, glowing with a contentment that she had once believed she would obtain for herself with Matthew. Still Anna, as always, but now the secret Mrs Bates, also. "Go and find Bates, while you can."
Upon hearing the valet's name being spoken, Anna let out a delighted giggle that echoed in the room.
"I'll try, m'lady. But even if I don't, it's not the end of the world. He's always with me."
She patted the left side of her chest before leaving Mary alone, the door clicking shut behind her. Left only with her thoughts once more, Mary had to now learn the task of keeping her own heart under control.
Later that same day, Mary emerged from her parents' room. The house was still being transformed, preparations for the wedding that had been due to take place being disassembled by ashen-faced members of staff. Eager to avoid the goings-on, and also to avoid Sir Richard, she had spent much of the morning keeping her mother company. She was still too weak to be able to talk for very long, and for that Mary was both guilty and glad. The last thing she needed was more worries filling her head, fighting as she was to pen the ones that already existed there.
She was in the thick of these troubles as she descended the staircase in a perfunctory manner, the bleakness of her own world meeting with the sorrow that swirled in the air throughout the house, proving quite suffocating indeed. As she reached the top of the second flight, she saw a few servants milling around in the hall below. Their movements passed her by largely, until she noticed two figures that were separated from the rest. The sunlight that crowned the house made Anna's golden hair shine brilliantly, and even from this distance, the private elation of the couple radiated. A glimmer of hope amidst so much tragedy.
Even though what they were saying to one another was silenced to her, Mary did not need to guess that every word was sweeter than the last. She caught sight of Anna's smiling face as she made to turn back in the direction of the servants' hall, her countenance utterly striking. Bates touched her arm lightly, a brief and delicate brush, his fingers slipping down to kiss Anna's palm in a gesture that spoke of longing and eternal promise, and love above all. It was so very simple but obviously charged with significant meaning to the pair; Anna could be seen reciprocating with her own small hand that had disappeared in the circle of her husband's while she gazed at him once more, unaware of anything or anyone else but him. Nobody was there to see it, aside from a pair of enrapt and newly enlivened brown eyes.
It suddenly struck Mary how intrusive she was being and she retraced her steps, not without stealing one final look below. It was hard not to be drawn in by how much pure happiness existed between the two, clearer than day to see. How regretful that it had not been consolidated sooner, though it did not seem to matter much now, least of all to the newly wed pair.
In that moment, Mary realised something. That there were many odds in life to be overcome, all quite different for each person who was confronted, but when such love existed in the universe it seemed hard to imagine that they could not be beaten somehow.