Chapter 15 – Crossing Lines
"Lord Grantham, there is a man here asking about the whereabouts of Anna Bates," Thomas Barrow said. "He says he has a missive for her from an old family friend."
"Show him in Mr. Barrow," Robert Crawley said. He was working at his desk in the library. It was early December and the weather had turned chilly. They hadn't heard a thing about Bates for months. The police had been following up on leads but the trail had gone cold.
Thomas returned with a well-dressed man following him.
"Mr. Nigel Barrington, milord," Thomas said before he waited by the door at attention.
"I'm Robert Crawley, Earl of Grantham, Mr. Barrington. Mr. Barrow tells me you're looking for Anna Bates," Robert said.
"I'm sorry to intrude, Lord Grantham, but I inquired at the post office in the village when I found the cottage where Mrs. Bates formerly resided was empty. The post mistress suggested I try here," Mr. Barrington replied.
"May I inquire as to the nature of your business with Mrs. Anna Bates?" Robert inquired. "She was a long time employee of my estate and her husband was involved in…well a rather nasty business shall we say and leave it at that."
"I work for the London Times, Lord Grantham. I was recently on assignment in Nice where I met a man named John Balfour. He asked me to deliver a note to Mrs. Bates and stop by to check up on her. He said he was a long time family acquaintance and wouldn't be back in England for another year and a half."
"Balfour…Balfour, I know that name," Robert said thoughtfully. "Mr. Barrington, I know this may sound odd, but do you have any identification?"
"Yes, of course, Lord Grantham," Nigel replied. He reached into his billfold and produced his press identification and driver's permit. Robert took them looked them over quickly and handed them back.
"Mr. Barrington, Mr. Bates is wanted by the police. At the moment no lead is too small. Do you have time to wait while I contact the Detective Inspector taking care of the case?"
"Wanted by the police? Mr. Balfour led me to believe Mr. Bates was deceased."
"Deceased!" Robert said. "Now I know where I know that name from. Could you describe this Mr. Balfour?"
"Average height, dark hair, soft spoken and he walked with the aide of a stick."
"Mr. Barrington it is imperative you speak with the police."
"Lord Grantham, I assure you I am just an innocent bystander. I was only attempting to deliver a letter of condolences to what I assumed was a grieving widow."
"No, don't apologize. You'll be doing my house a great service by speaking to the police," Robert replied. "Now if you'll excuse me I'll contact the police station in Ripon. It's only a short drive. They should be able to have someone over shortly. If not my driver can take us to their offices."
"Very well, Lord Grantham. I'll help in any way I can if you're sure Mr. Balfour wasn't given misinformation as I was."
"I'm quite sure," Robert replied. "Barrow bring tea and sandwiches for Mr. Barrington."
"Very well, milord," Thomas replied before he turned to do Lord Grantham's bidding.
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"If this John Balfour is John Bates, why can't you contact the French authorities and have him arrested?" Lord Grantham demanded after the Detective Inspector had arrived with the Sergeant working on the Bates' case and questioned Mr. Barrington. Robert had remembered John Balfour as dying under his command in South Africa. He remembered Bates being distraught at the man's death. He had lost a number of men in the battle. The experience was burned into his memory forever. It just wasn't something one ever forgot.
"It's not that simple, Lord Grantham. The French authorities will not get involved unless all or part of the crime was committed on French soil. Since the crimes Mr. Bates are wanted for were all committed on English soil the French won't touch him," the Detective Inspector said.
"It is amazing I stumbled across this story completely by accident," Mr. Barrington commented.
"You can't print a word of this," the Detective Inspector cautioned him. "It will alert John Bates that we know his assumed identity and push him further into hiding."
"An exclusive when he is arrested?" Nigel Barrington asked with a raised eyebrow.
"If it will buy your silence and cooperation, then yes," Robert snapped. He immediately thought better of his statement. "My apologies Mr. Barrington. We believe Mr. Bates was responsible for the death of my heir, Mr. Matthew Crawley. The Detective Inspector is still working to prove the murder charge."
"Mr. Bates is wanted for arson, larceny and perjury, Mr. Barrington," the Detective Inspector said to clarify things. "Additional charges for larceny and murder are still pending."
"Good gracious," Nigel said. "The man I meet in Nice was mild mannered, kind, quiet. One would never think he would be connected with anything so nefarious."
"His modus operandi," the Detective Inspector said.
"You weren't the only one he had fooled," Robert said hitting his hand on the mantel. "What can we do? I want to go to Nice and wring his neck with my bare hands."
"Which would only result in criminal charges against you, Lord Grantham," the Detective Inspector said. "We will have Mr. Barrington deliver the note to Mrs. Bates and watch for any correspondence between them. I'm still not convinced she was not an accessory to perjury."
"I highly doubt Anna Bates was an accessory to anything," Robert said with a sigh.
"May I point out you also trusted Mr. Bates," the Detective Inspector said.
"What about a private detective to pick up his trail in France," Robert asked.
"The department can't afford that luxury, but if you feel the need it would help if he ever sets foot on English soil again. The minute he sets foot anywhere under English rule he can be arrested and charged," the Detective Inspector replied.
"I can't sit by and do nothing. I'll have my attorney set something up," Robert stated.
"In the meantime, Mr. Barrington, we'll have you deliver the note to Mrs. Bates as was planned. Perhaps something in the note that doesn't make sense to us, will make sense to her and she will lead us to the proof we need to finally prove the case without a shadow of a doubt," the Detective Inspector said.
"Of course Detective Inspector. I'm quite happy to oblige," Nigel Barrington replied.
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Anna had been surprised when a man she had never met before stopped by the Hotel in Scarborough shortly before Christmas and handed her a note from a Mr. Balfour and a bouquet of flowers. She had almost said she didn't know a Mr. Balfour until her memory had been jogged. Her heart had raced all day until she finally had a few minutes to herself to slip the note out of her pocket and tear it open. Her hand went to her chest and tears came to her eyes at the words on the page. John loved her and professed his innocence. He couldn't stand the thought of living without her or going back to prison that is why he had run. He regretted not taking her with him or arranging a place where they could meet. He'd included fifty pounds in the note, saying he had taken a position where he was and saving every last cent for the day they could be together and carry on with their dreams in Ireland.
She slipped the note back into her pocket, wiped her eyes and went about her duties. She couldn't keep the smile from her face. Life at the hotel was different than at a big house. The constant comings and goings meant rooms had to be stripped and cleaned almost daily instead of once a week. Her work tended towards packing and unpacking the ladies staying there and seeing to their hair. In the afternoon, Anna was required to work the front desk while the other staff went on their lunch break. That evening when she went to her small room in the attics, she got out a pen and stationary to carefully craft a response. She would have to be careful incase the police or authorities opened her outgoing mail.
December 18, 1925
Scarborough, England
Dear Mr. Balfour:
I was very surprised to here from you after such a long pause in our association. Thank you so much for your condolences. I am pleased to report I am doing quite well on my own. I have moved to a new position in Scarborough at a small hotel. It is quite a transition after so long at a grand house.
Once my husband's and my affairs are in order I am planning to go to Ireland to open a small establishment of my own. I sincerely hope if you ever have the occasion to travel to Ireland you will look me up so that we can renew our acquaintance.
Sincerely,
Anna May Bates
"It's perfect," she thought as she reread the short note. An answer to condolences wouldn't draw the least attention if it was intercepted and she had let John know how to find her. She took the letter from him once she had written the address in Nice onto her note and hid it under a loose floorboard in her room. It nicely took care of the annoying squeak she received every morning when she got out of bed and his letter was safe from prying eyes.
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Mrs. Hughes walked to Mr. Carson's cottage for tea, on her day off. Preparations for Christmas were well underway and keeping her busy training the new head housemaid in all the things that needed doing at the Abbey in preparation for the festivities. She and Mr. Carson had been getting together regularly twice a week this last while. They had been interested in each other for years, but the restrictions of a life in service had kept them apart. She didn't regret it. The people under her care and supervision had been like her children. Mr. Branson still turned to her when he was in need of a word of motherly advice or a friendly face. She was entrusted with the young girls and boys who came to work at the Abbey as their first posts. She kept a strict eye on them as if they were a flock of chicks that had just left the nest.
She tapped on the door and smiled as Mr. Carson opened the door to let her in.
"Welcome, Mrs. Hughes," Mr. Carson said.
"Haven't we known each other long enough for you to call me Elsie when we're on our own," Mrs. Hughes replied.
"Only if you call me Charles," Mrs. Carson said.
"Very well, then Charles. Thank you for inviting me for tea," she said with a small smile.
"You're most welcome, Mrs… Elsie. I hope you don't mind left overs from the shop. I saved a pair of meat pies and some cakes just for your visit today."
"I'm sure they'll be lovely," Mrs. Hughes said as she took her regular chair across from Mr. Carson. He had the small table already laid out beside her. He poured a cup of tea and handed it to her. He knew exactly how she liked it and didn't have to offer her the milk and sugar.
"Have you heard anything from Anna recently?" Mr. Carson asked.
"Aye, I have. She's working as a maid/ladies maid at a small upscale hotel in Scarborough. She's quite happy there. They have her on staff for the ladies who are traveling without their maids or need extra help at the last minute. I believe she's helping out on the front desk as well."
"No one's seen hide nor hair of Mr. Bates since he hightailed it out of here and left her high and dry," Mr. Carson said.
"You would expect no less when someone is on the run," Mrs. Hughes pointed out. "The new staff car at the Abbey is turning out to be quite popular. It's quite the time saver. Miss O'Brien has her driving permit now and took the car the other day to pick up a dress Lady Grantham had ordered in Ripon."
"Wonders never cease. You never know who is going to try something new," Mr. Carson replied. "I was wondering, Elsie if you might like to join me for the dance at the Odd Fellows on Saturday next?"
"Charles, are you asking me out?" Mrs. Hughes said a bit in shock that he would finally ask her after all these years.
"Indeed I am," Mr. Carson said. "I'm no longer in service and you're thinking of hanging up the towel in another year or so once you have a replacement trained. It's time we stepped things up a notch."
"Are you sure a dance at the Odd Fellows isn't beneath the dignity of a local shop owner?" Mrs. Hughes teased.
"Not if he has a beautiful woman on his arm," Mr. Carson replied. "The dance is for a good cause and it will do my heart good to take a few turns around the floor."
"Charles, what has gotten into you all of sudden," Mrs. Hughes said with a blush.
"Not all of a sudden, Mrs. Hughes. It's been years. Would you be interested in making things permanent when you're ready?"
"As long as you install an icebox in the kitchen."
"An icebox and a ring, for the lovely Mrs. Hughes," Mr. Carson quipped.
"And in the mean time a dance," Mrs. Hughes said.
Mr. Carson set down his cup and saucer and stood up. He drew her to her feet and danced her around the cottage sitting room.
"It's about time, Charles," she said.
"It's more than time," he replied with a smile.