Characters: Anna, Bates, Vera, Moseley, Isobel, Cora.
Spoilers: Between S2.1 and 2.2
Summary: You can't force someone to want you.
A/N: Picking up from where I left off. May be helpful to read Chapters 4 & 5 if you haven't.
John paced the dim sitting room like a shuffling bear in his cage, his bad leg dragging. Vera perched on his mother's favorite chair, her face turned away. She was repulsed. The air was gray and she wanted brightness.
Gold, shine like the sun. Shine like money at the bottom of a black pocket whispered the housemaid. Vera closed her eyes, blocking out the vile inner voice
Vincent danced in her vision. His satin red cravat. His purple velvet jacket. His lovely green eyes, rimmed in black as if some exotic cat. The juicy pink of his lips, knotted in a bright bud as he teased Vera. Cajoled her, his white fingers toying at her purse strings.
Yes, money. Vera needed money.
"Darling —"
"Don't call me that —"
"I am your wife."
"In name only."
She rolled her eyes. "Stop," she demanded and he came to a halt before her, leaning heavily on his cane and glowering down at her.
Pleating her skirt, she addressed her remarks to her toe tips. "Darling, we will need to set up housekeeping. The expenses and such."
He barked a laugh. "Of course. Money." He swung around and began to pace anew. "I offered you money to be out of this marriage. You chose me, and all my beauty and charm. So now, like the dutiful wife you vowed to be, you'll live by my rules. And that means I shall do the household shopping and pay the bills."
"What am I to do all day then?" she sputtered.
He stopped before her again. His large finger lifted her chin. His smile was chilling. "Be my lovely wife, awaiting my return."
Limping from the room, he slammed the front door so the house quivered.
She would do no such thing. Hands shaking, she tugged on her coat. Glancing around, she looked for something which could be pawned. Snatching the fine lace runner from the foyer table, she shoved it in her bag and rushed out. Vincent would be waiting for her at the ale house; she could feel his scented, soft hands on her heated skin already.
Balancing the silver tray on his fingertips, Moseley offered refreshment in the form of cucumber sandwiches to the Countess. She accepted one without looking at him. She was too engaged with telling Mrs. Crawley her tale.
"And with everything else —losing footmen right and left —Robert's valet leaves as well!"
Isobel Crawley put her teacup in her saucer and cocked her head in concern. "He found a branch that would take him?"
"Not with that limp. No, it's simply terrible what's happened," hissed Lady Grantham, lowering her voice.
Moseley melted back against the wall, making himself as unobtrusive as possible while still listening to every word. Neither woman glanced his way.
"He had a wife," explained her ladyship. "And she came and fetched him home." She pursed her mouth in aggravation. "It has all the servants in a tizzy, particularly poor Anna; she's maid to our girls, you know."
"The pretty blonde girl; yes," said Mrs. Crawley and Moseley fought to control his features. Very pretty indeed.
"Yes, her. He'd led her on," said her ladyship dramatically. "Told Anna that he would marry her!"
"But he had a wife already?"
"Exactly!" Lady Grantham took a long sip from her tea before continuing. "He was his lordship's pet project; I wasn't happy with the situation from the start."
"He was Lord Grantham's batman in the war, wasn't he?" asked Mrs. Crawley. "Men don't forget that sort of connection."
Cora waved her hand. "There you go. So Robert marched right down to the London war pensioners' hospital and found another one!"
"Another?" said Mrs. Crawley, lost in the conversation again.
"Another former soldier to be his man," said her ladyship, sighing heavily. "At least he can walk properly."
Mrs. Crawley's exasperation was clear on her face, but Lady Grantham didn't see it, having turned to Moseley, holding up her cup to be refilled.
After topping off her cup, Moseley murmured that he would get more hot water. In the kitchen, he could allow a little smile to flit across his face. So John Bates was gone, clearing the field for him.
He had been greatly displeased when he'd come across Mr. Bates and Anna passionately embracing during the fireworks display. His lordship's valet had lied to him on the day of the garden party, or rather, had lied by omission. And now Bates' true character had been revealed. A blaggard of the worst sort; a seducer of sweet young women and a liar.
Which put Joseph in a very comfortable position, as he saw it. Anna would surely be welcoming to a steadier sort of fellow who could protect her tattered reputation and offer her respectability. He'd always approved of her sensible manner, although this love affair with a man such as Mr. Bates was worrisome. But that would mean she'd be even more grateful for his attentions.
Lifting the refilled teapot, he gave a nod. Anna was such a fine worker and together, they could certainly find a desirable situation, with him as butler and her as housekeeper, now that he was assured of not being called into the armed forces. While the world raged at war, Joseph Moseley's future was looking much brighter.
On his next half day, fortunes continued to shine on him. While strolling the high street in Ripon, he saw Anna stepping into the lending library. He followed and affected surprise at meeting her over a table of novels.
While they exchanged pleasantries, he saw how pale her face was, and that her usually vivid eyes appeared faded. Determined, he kept up his end of the conversation.
"I did not realize that you were a reader, Anna."
"I am, Mr. Moseley. His lordship has always been generous with his library as well, although there aren't many current titles." A little smile flitted across her face. "And Mr. Bates has a number of excellent books that he shares —shared." The smiled disappeared.
The opening he was looking for. "Mr. Bates..." After a pause, Joseph continued delicately, "I understand that he's left Downton."
She blinked slowly. "Yes."
"A great loss for the house."
"Yes."
He turned the book in his hands. "Have you read this?" he asked, changing the topic.
She looked at the cover for a long time, as though to focus. "Yes, Mr. Bates and I shared a copy last year," she said tonelessly.
He winced but she didn't see, still staring at the book.
She glanced up and he schooled his features to be impassive. "I best go. I have shopping to do as well," she said.
"Of course," he said, but trailed her to the front counter where she checked out a few books. "May I ask," she said to the clerk, "Do you expect to have Elizabeth and her German Garden available any time soon?"
The clerk checked her registry. "I'm afraid not, Miss." She glanced around the library and lowered her voice, although she apparently didn't notice Mr. Moseley standing right behind Anna. "We've pulled it. The topic, you see —"
"But it was written by an Englishwoman," protested Anna. "Before the war even began —"
"Of course, but you must understand, people see the title —"
Anna snatched up her books and tucked them into her parcels. "Thank you," she said tersely.
Mr. Moseley followed Anna from the library. "That's a shame about that book," he said, even though he had no idea what it was about.
"Yes, things are becoming unreasonable in many ways," Anna said as she hurried down the high street.
With his longer legs, it was easy enough for Moseley to keep up. "Have you read it before?" he asked, desperate to keep up the conversation.
"No...Mr. Bates had recommended it." She appeared unhappy to say the name of the erstwhile valet yet again. It seemed that she could not escape him, even if he'd been taken from Downton.
"Would you like to?" asked Moseley.
"Yes, it sounds delightful," she said. "I need a diversion now."
She stopped outside the dry goods shop. He supposed she had business inside but was willing to linger with him. This had to be a good sign.
"Perhaps I can find it in a second hand shop," suggested Moseley. "Surely with the ill feelings, someone is selling their copy."
"That would be ever so nice," said Anna, and that rare smile reappeared briefly.
"Then I shall look for sure. I'd like to read it as well," he added, although he'd had no interest until this moment, and that interest was firmly rooted in the young woman before him.
Her smile lingered a bit longer now, but still didn't reflect in her eyes. "All right then," she said uncertainly, and then excused herself to enter the shop.
True, she hardly seemed to have great enthusiasm for him beyond her usual polite manner, thought Joseph, but he was not discouraged. Every great journey started with but one step. He took that stride in the direction of the nearest bookshop.
Mr. Snodgrass opened his office door for his new client, a tall man with a cane.
"Mr. Bates," the solicitor said, and showed him to a chair before going around his desk to sit.
Snodgrass did not hide his distaste as he looked through the notes on his desk. As a strict Methodist, he was strongly opposed to divorce of any sort, but bills must be paid —
"Thank you for seeing me," Mr. Bates said. "I hope you're able to help."
"I'll be honest. It's not something I relish, sir."
"I'm glad that your marriage is so successful," said Bates and Snodgrass shot him a sharp look. His client smiled faintly. "I'm often envious when I see how happy marriage can be. I can assure you, I do not have such a union and never have."
"Then why did you marry the lady?"
"I was leaving for the African war. A man has many feelings at such times. The need for something to come home to, perhaps for there to be a child...And frankly, one does not want to die a virgin."
Snodgrass grimaced again. "Is there another woman?" he asked ruthlessly.
"No." Bates shifted as though he could not find a comfortable spot on the hard chair. "Or rather, it's not the reason our marriage has failed. When I returned from war, I was not a good husband, but neither was she a proper wife. We parted, and I found work in Yorkshire. I'm finally leading a honorable life."
"And now there is another woman," Snodgrass prompted, relentless.
Bates clenched his jaw, then gave a short nod. "I am in love with a very fine lady, and by some amazing grace, she loves me and wishes to be my wife."
"Your current wife knows of this woman?"
"Yes."
Snodgrass made a note. "That is a problem."
"Yes," Bates repeated gloomily. After a moment, he said, "I've inherited a great deal of money upon my mother's death. I've offered all of it to her if she'll grant the divorce —"
"And your friend is fine with that?" Snodgrass asked cynically.
"Anna. Her name is Anna Smith." Bates removed his wallet from his inner jacket pocket and pulled free a photograph. "This is she. We served together in the house of Lord Grantham."
Snodgrass accepted the postcard. A fair young lady looked levelly at him from the photograph. "She's lovely," he admitted.
"Very." Bates added, "She'll take this old cripple penniless, if you'd believe it. She's even willing to run away with me —"
Snodgrass furrowed his brow in consternation and handed the picture back.
"I know," Bates said, reading the solicitor's expression. "It sickens me that she would be so desperate to make me happy. When I want only happiness for her."
Snodgrass allowed his emotions to flash to the surface. "Then you should send her away," he lectured. "She's young. She'll forget you in time."
"I've tried to convince her of just that, Mr. Snodgrass," Bates insisted.
The solicitor thought of the pretty girl from the photograph and sighed deeply. Just how hard had Mr. Bates tried? And could he blame the man for not giving it any great effort? He would leave that to God's judgment.
"What will be necessary to gain a divorce?" asked Bates.
Peaking his fingertips, Snodgrass settled back in his chair. "You say that you've been apart for years. Do you believe your wife may have been unfaithful?"
Bates chuffed a bitter laugh. "I'm quite certain she has."
"Do you have any proof? Men who'd make a statement to that effect?"
Bates gave it some thought. "She has signs of the French pox, but I suppose she could claim it was from before our marriage. She was not untouched when we wed. Having been away, I don't know of any specific men recently. I can ask around the corner pub. Or get the information out of her somehow."
Snodgrass flinched. He despised working with such tawdry cases.
Mr. Bates caught his reflex and gave another humorless chuckle. "It would be so easy for me see this marriage as a punishment for my past misdeeds. That I must sleep in the bed I made." His next laugh was freer. "So to speak," he added with a sparkle in his eye.
Serious again, he said, "But Anna is the reason that I can't give up. She's had such utter faith in me...How I can I not believe in happiness if she will believe it possible?" He studied his large hands clutched in his lap. "I want to be the gentleman I see reflected in her eyes."
Clearing his throat, Snodgrass nodded. "Right. But it may be necessary to be less than a gentleman for the time being —"
"That will be no problem," growled Mr. Bates. His dark face cleared and he became more businesslike. "And once I have that proof, we can go to court? Force her into it?"
"Not quite," Snodgrass admitted. "You'll then leave the house that you share, to show that she had driven you to break the marital home."
Bates nodded. "I can do that for sure. I know where I'll go —"
"Stay away from your young lady, Mr. Bates," warned Snodgrass. "If Mrs. Bates can accuse you of infidelity as well, it will muddy the waters. She could claim that she was pushed into another man's arms —"
Standing, Bates leaned on his cane and smiled gently. "Don't worry. If I go to Anna, I may be too tempted to take her up on her offer. And I can't drag her down further than I have..." He looked around the dim office. "Into this disreputable situation."
Although Snodgrass knew Mr. Bates was folding him into that judgment, he appreciated the sentiment. He stood and shook the man's hand. "I hope to hear from you soon then, with good news."
Placing his hat on, Mr. Bates secured it with a tug. "I know there's a man out there. Where there's Vera, there's a man."
Vincent gulped his glass of brandy. "Vera, darling, I must have money."
"I know, my dearest," cooed Vera, hanging on the young man's slim arm.
He raised a carefully plucked eyebrow at her. "Do you, truly? I cannot wear this coat even one more week. I've seen the loveliest one on Bond Street —"
"And it shall be yours," she promised in a rush. She loved Vincent passionately, desperately, because he was so resplendent with color, like a peacock.
He's looking at your wrinkles, giggled the young maid at her ear.
Vera swatted at her shoulder.
"What is it?" Vincent looked around in horror. "Is there some bug? I do hate bugs."
She rushed to assure him. "Not at all. I saw a shadow and thought it was a spider web."
See how he looks around...Seeking someone younger, someone prettier, someone with money...
Vera gritted her teeth to keep from screaming. "I will need your help, my dear boy."
"Help?" he drawled, disinterested as he picked bits of dust from his scarlet sleeve.
"Yes. I need something in particular..." She leaned close and lowered her voice. His pretty eyes widened at what she said.
~ end, Part Seven