Part II: To Earthward
Anna leant back, turning her head towards the sky. The sun was hazy and masquerading behind a blanket of cloud, straining to break through its barrier. The smouldering breeze picked up, swirling in the atmosphere, threatening to shake the overhanging tree clean of its leaves and sending the gathered dust of the earth soaring into the air. She swiftly set her gaze back down and gripped her hands tight against the edge of the iron bench, glad to feel something solid: to be centred. Another daze had descended upon her during the journey, an intense and frightening kind which made her at once acutely aware of every inch of herself pulsing wildly and yet detached, disconnected. The world shifted suddenly, caving in around her in the cab of the car. Her heart, having risen to rest at the back of her throat, hammered at a horrifying rate. Her skin tightened, shrinking on her slight frame; everything feeling far, far too small all of a sudden. She had the urge to bang her fists against the partition, clamber out of the moving vehicle as it shuddered along. Her legs already felt as they if they were flying from underneath her, restless and lighter than air itself, they were fixed and tensing against the seat. When she was granted her escape she didn't expect that they would be able to carry her out, was sure that her knees would buckle beneath her. Somehow they didn't and had sent her along to where she was now sitting. The tension had turned her limbs heavy, casting them to the same substance as the lone bench, although her head retained a dizzying weightlessness. She had been thoroughly disappointed to discover that she was not to be allowed inside for their reunion – yet more time to count down, to keep waiting – but was easier about it now, feeling claustrophobic enough even in the outside space. She inhaled a large portion of the air, as dust-ridden as it was, hoping it would resettle her; bring her back to some sort of equilibrium, back down to earth.
She looked across the way towards the prison, two tall rusting gates obstructing its path and severing it from the rest of the world. Its own demeanour immovable and impenetrable, yet it was responsible for a vast range of emotions erupting at her core. She was reminded of the first time she went there, standing insignificant in its wake as it towered imposing over her, taunting mercilessly. She had only ever remembered feeling that small and scared once before in her life – as she arrived as a young girl at Downton, so much expectation weighing heavily on her inexperienced shoulders. But then, even as she was scared out of her wits, she knew it was good; embraced the nervous excitement that accompanied a new beginning, an entire future that lay ahead for her. The fear was altogether more unbearable when it marked a certain end. As intimidated as she was she remained composed, fighting back demons with all her might. She would not turn and run away. She would have walked over broken glass and through any number of infernos to be with John again for even a moment. Now, the place no longer terrified her. Instead it made her feel many other things: anger, resentment, defiance, frustration, sorrow, gratitude. Despite the darkness and disorder, she felt a security there that was lacking elsewhere. She knew it had everything to do with being near him; his presence in the same building, never mind the same room, protecting her completely and making her safe from all harm.
Then she recalled her last visit. It had been more than a month previous, before anyone had discovered anything about the real culprit of the crime that kept him so unjustly incarcerated, likely for the rest of his days: though neither made mention of it anymore, hoping the fact would cease to be true if unspoken. On that afternoon the flicker of delight she would feel on catching the longed-for sight of him, real in front of her eyes rather than conjured up by the mists of her mind, evaporated promptly when she witnessed how weary and utterly worn-down he was. She had noticed it immediately; it was etched deep upon his features. His face had become drawn, tired, hanging heavy with sadness. His eyes searched her own, imploring, looking urgently for an unknown answer to an unanswerable question. She could distinguish a redness round their rims, the tell-tale tracks of tears cried not too long ago. He still smiled as she sat down, seeing that she was shaken by his appearance, aiming to reassure her silently that he really was fine. It was a smile that didn't meet his eyes, seeming forced as if he'd forgotten how to do so, but at the same time sincere. Her own eyes prickled with hot tears which she willed not to fall; she had promised herself that she wouldn't cry in front of him, wouldn't spoil the short time they had together. His hand reached across the table and she stretched hers to meet it without thinking. He grasped it in his own, squeezing it intently before relaxing his grip, thinking perhaps he had alarmed her a little too much with his desperate need. Instead he began to stroke her palm softly, his touch wraithlike; the last remnants of his fervour used up in that first frantic clasping of fingers. Barely felt caresses encapsulating what he had become: a forlorn phantom of a man. Her heart sank to her feet, aching intensely for him. She wanted instantly to pull him close, cradle his head tight to her chest, place kisses on his hair and circle her arms soothingly around his frame, covering him with her love and devotion. She would have done so if only that damn guard wasn't standing there, observing every miniscule movement they made with an unyielding stare. Instead she closed both of her hands around the one of his that lay on the table and gently but attentively swept her fingertips over it, a modest gesture of affection and comfort. It was not enough but nothing ever was here. As she continued to placate him, they began to talk; his façade slowly but surely resurfacing, the ever-noble John Bates returning to deftly conceal his distress. It was an instinct, a habit so firmly ingrained in his nature that it was slipped on subconsciously. She knew that he was wearing this mask for her sake, but it had the adverse effect of making her sorrow swell. She wished that he would cry out, let his tears flow forth even if they would stab at her soul, say what she knew he truly felt at the bottom of his heart; that he was giving up all hope, was ready to relinquish completely. But he wouldn't; he didn't, remained stoic and strong as ever, at least on the outside, betraying and burying his despair deep within. Anna cursed this entirely impossible situation and everything it had created. For so long, they had been hiding from everyone else and now, when they had to no longer, all this had made them hide themselves from one another. It was the one thing that she had never wanted to happen, and it made her want to weep.
But she realised with remorse that she was no better, her own deceits hanging over her head, surely becoming patently visible despite her attempts to veil them. The inevitable queries would arise: Was she keeping well? How was everything, inside of Downton and beyond its doors? Underneath the innocuous and in words unspoken, a more insistent line of questioning, wanting urgently to know whether she had kept the promises she somewhat reluctantly vowed to him: to make friends, to have fun, to continue to live her life purposefully and, he hoped, happily. The best she could do was to pin on an encouraging but inherently false smile, ensuring that her gaze did not fall from his own thus betraying her, and say yes, she was doing so well; all the while feeling deeply shameful for deceiving him so plainly. She simply couldn't confess that she was very far from being contented and carefree, was instead wracked with worry, wondering about him; wishing every moment that she would turn a corner of the house and find him suddenly there, the only person she could and could ever want to spend happy hours with. A number of maids had begun at Downton since he had been gone and while she had made her best efforts to strike up companionships, was as welcoming as she had always been with new arrivals, she found herself shunned. Nobody wanted to be seen getting too close to the murderer's wife, unless it was to find out information – not that they would dare be so bold as to directly satisfy their curiosity. Instead she was the subject of scurrilous gossip and conjecture, walking into their whispers with every step she took.
"Oh, surely she must have known what she was getting into? What a silly girl, tricked by such a devious criminal. And surely that's not all he's done…no, he's been inside before he came here, apparently. A definite record. God knows what he's got up to. Doesn't she have any shame? Not a bit, it seems. She must have been desperate for the attention. And of course he took it: well, a man like that would, without hesitation! Well, she'll have to live with her mistakes now. Unless of course he does the same to her…she should keep her wits about her. All it will take is one little moment, and then he'll snap…"
Every word they uttered sent fire searing in her stomach, infuriating her. Though hurtful, she didn't care about the comments directed at her: it was what they were saying about John – awful things; sneering and scornful, often entirely offensive – that made her want to snap, scream at them, let them know the entire truth of the matter. But she knew to do so would simply lead them to talk even more, so she did what she could to shut out their vicious mutterings and thought that she would much rather be lonely than befriend anyone like that. However, they had quietened considerably in the last couple of weeks, since an encounter of one evening. Anna was in Lady Mary's room helping her dress for another society dinner party, the latest in a long line since she had married Mr Crawley. Two of the maids, including one who had a particularly loose and sharp tongue, were also in the room – as this was an especially important event, extra hands were needed for preparation. Anna winced at the palpable atmosphere in the room, watching them watch her from the corner of her eye. Instead of trying to determine what they were thinking she put all her energies into ensuring her hands didn't shake and spoil Lady Mary's hair. Luckily, Lady Mary chose to break the tension.
"Oh Anna, I am so tired of going to these things. I thought there wouldn't be quite so many once I had married but instead they've doubled; indeed, tripled. Perhaps I wouldn't mind so much if there was some interesting company, but unfortunately most of them are utterly frightful. I'm sure I've never met such boring people in my entire life. And my, they do love the sound of their own voices – even though all of what they say is hot air. You know, Granny has a saying: 'Those who speak the loudest understand the least, and those who listen to them understand nothing at all.' I can't think of a truer statement, in any circumstance."
Her eyes met Anna's in the mirror and she smiled. At her back, Anna perceived awkward shuffling and mumbling as the two other maids decided they were quite done and hurried out of the door. Confusion hazed her face and she opened her mouth to enquire, but was stopped by Lady Mary turning to face her.
"I overheard them speaking about you and Bates just the other day. They're nowhere near as discreet as they think they are; they clearly haven't learnt the art from O'Brien as yet. Anna, please don't let what they say upset you. They'll soon find another thing to gossip about. If this party is anything like the others, I'm quite sure I will be driven to do something that will give them plenty to talk about."
Anna allowed herself to laugh softly. "I won't, m'lady. And thank you."
Though she had always felt an affinity with Lady Mary she had been reluctant to term their relationship a friendship, but in the past few months their bond had strengthened: indeed, Lady Mary had become her closest ally and defender in this most turbulent period in her life and she was not only grateful but sincerely heartened by her support. Still, she was not so naïve to easily ignore the vast chasm that remained between them, one which was especially prominent – and painful for Anna – when it came to their respective statuses as married women. There, the distance was immeasurable, widening even more as she placed the delicate silver necklace on Lady Mary, listening to her talk fondly about how Mr Crawley had had it made especially for her and saw her beam in the mirror with the unabashed ecstasy that belonged to a newlywed wife; the delight that by all means, Anna should have been able to match with her own. And so after being buoyed temporarily by some kind words and mirth, when she returned that night to the servants hall the ache of being alone returned to her, stronger than ever.
All too soon the time had come for her to leave him alone once again. Thirty minutes had slipped away unseen and as they sat, hands clasped and bodies having subconsciously drawn closer together – as close as it was possible to get with a huge, immovable physical object obstructing any considerable contact – the guard loomed over them and barked "That's it now", determined not to let them have a fraction of privacy. Anna stood, not averting her gaze for one second from John's eyes as they bore into her. With one hand remaining intertwined with his resting on the table that separated them from being able to embrace, her other went to his face, softly touching the temple before curving across his cheek. He closed his eyes momentarily and sighed at her touch, an instinctual response of a husband to a wife but also, more tellingly, an emotional release of a tortured soul. Anna blinked and swallowed hard, trying to rid herself of the lump that engulfed her throat and the tears that were once more clouding her vision. She bent her head to lay a kiss on his other cheek and when she had done so she felt his fingers meet her own, sweeping over them before pulling her hand firmly away from the side of his face. Overwhelmed by emotion and perplexed by his action, she found she couldn't speak. He looked up towards her wide eyes:
"Anna, promise me…please." His voice cracked briefly but noticeably as he finished his request.
"Don't be silly," her words rushed from her. "You'll be home soon enough."
"Please, Anna. My life might be finished but yours isn't. Go and be happy."
She stared down at him and started to shake her head fiercely: "But you know I can't, not without…"
Suddenly strange hands were placed on her; the guard was walking her towards the door: "I've told you, time's up." As she left the room, pushed along by the nuisance guard, she turned to look over her shoulder and into the small barred window. The sight she witnessed would stay with her, more distressing every time she recalled it in her already over-anxious mind: John curled tight, his broad frame shrunk into a ball, head in hands and splayed on the table where he sat. Shoulders shaking, she was sure, with heavy sobs unleashed upon the minute of her departure. There was no doubt; he had finally come apart and accepted his fate. Was now crumbling, collapsing, crashing to the ground with almighty force as she drifted away.
She gasped abruptly, her breathing becoming too shallow too fast; she felt her lungs contract with a shudder as she choked on the air she was exhaling. The recollection had sent her spiralling out of herself, hurtling toward the earth at a rapid acceleration. Or at least that's what her brain had told her was happening; that she was falling hastily forward without anything to cushion the brutal landing. But in truth she hadn't moved, was still sitting with feet firmly on the ground. When would she stop believing in the tricks that her mind persisted on playing? She loosened her grip on the bench, her hands white and tingling unpleasantly. She shook them, trying to rid herself of the sensation as she lifted her head and looked to the sky once more, eyes drawn to the glowing leaves overhead that barely clung to their branches, trembling against the increasingly hardy autumnal winds. One in particular, a tiny maple leaf on the very edge of the nearest branch, was swaying precariously back and forth; any second its stem would snap and it would come floating serenely down, utterly graceful in its defeat against nature. Anna watched as it descended, almost in slow motion, fixated. She wished to take its place, to be released from her agonising anticipation with the same soft swiftness. Instead she was suspended by an invisible but unbreakable thread, unable to do anything to break free; hanging helpless and entirely at the mercy of some higher power, as unpredictable as it was unkind. Though the cord was soon to be cut, it was only too evident that the wind could change direction in an instant; and so she may still remain, up in the air while everything else had returned earthward.